Every Girl's Secret Fantasy. Robyn Grady

supposed to have done now?

      “Bad news?” Pace asked, folding down beside her.

      “To put it mildly.”

      “Looks like you need a distraction.” His gaze dipped to trace the line of her mouth and a telling warmth swirled through her middle. “Grab your coat,” he prodded. “Come out with me.”

      Phoebe gripped the phone. Her fingers ached to brush that raspy jaw. They also itched to ring Steve back and tell him to quit being such a baby, to grow up and use some manners. She was tired of showing up for work wondering what low comment Steve might have for her. She wished she could think of a way to fix the problem, but she wasn’t about to leave the job she adored. Steve wasn’t going anywhere either.

      Mixing business with pleasure…

      Her gaze roamed Pace’s handsome, expectant face and she pushed to her feet.

      She wouldn’t make that mistake twice.

      She shook her head. “Pace, let’s not do this.”

      He rolled back those shoulders. The intensity of his determination was palpable.

      “I want to try something,” he said, in a take-no-prisoners tone. “I want you to touch me.”

      Phoebe backed up, horrified. Tempted.

      Touch him? She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

      Her eyes popped.

      Oh, God. He was winding out of his jacket!

      “Don’t bother making excuses,” he said. “I was right about the lift, wasn’t I? You were worried about nothing. You enjoyed the ride.”

      She honed in on the definition of his chest, discernible through the shirt, and when her slack mouth refused to work she licked her suddenly dry lips and willed her voice not to crack.

      “Th-that was different.”

      “No difference.” His jacket dropped and buckles pinged on the floor. “Promise.”

      Her cheeks felt on fire. Her legs were all wobbly and dangerously weak. She wanted to recoil. Show him that she was serious and that this time he’d gone too far.

      “I don’t see that this has anything to do with—”

      She was cut off when she found her hand, small and pliable, engulfed in his.

      His brows fell together. “I’ll tell you what this has to do with. You accepting that we’re attracted to each other. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to be worried about. I don’t have a criminal record. I’m not a Jekyll and Hyde. Take this one little step, Phoebe. If you feel uncomfortable I’ll leave and never mention it again. You have my word.”

      Entranced, Phoebe stood, trapped in his eyes.

      Crazy…foolish…but she believed him.

      More importantly, there was a way to work this standoff to her advantage.

      She could go along with this game, and if she didn’t melt not only would Pace back off from now on, but her curiosity in that department would also be satisfied. She’d wanted to sample more intimate contact with Pace without the risk of embarrassing herself. This was her chance. It didn’t mean she had to go any further if she didn’t want to.

      Or he didn’t.

      After a deliberating moment she nodded, and let him place her palm on his chest.

      Immediately a delicious buzz sped through her body. Her insides contracted and her eyes drifted shut.

       Heat.

       Rock.

       Very…very…nice…

      She heard her own sigh and, caught out, let her eyes fly open. He was looking down at her, completely in control. Annoyingly superior. What must it feel like to know you were just that good?

      Snatching her hand away, she hoisted up her chin and croaked, “Satisfied?”

      “We’re not finished.”

      His roughened hands caught both of hers and held them firmly against his hard chest again. His piercing gaze seemed to search her soul. “Now put your cheek on mine.”

      A world of alarm bells went off.

      “I can’t,” she cried while his hot hands kneaded hers.

      Could she? Should she?

      “Give me one reason why not,” he said, a hypnotic smile shining in his eyes.

      “You’re…” She licked her lips again while her heartbeat boomed. Finally she murmured, “You’re too tall.”

      He grinned. Bent lower. “Your cheek, Phoebe. Here on mine.”

      His deep voice vibrated beyond her fingers, booming a breathless path through the channels of her mind and her body. She’d come this far. If she didn’t go further, even a little, she would always wonder.

      Carefully she craned her neck. Her face touched his, that wonderful scent spilled through her system, the tips of her fingers tingled and the room began a slow spin.

      Eyelids growing heavy, she instinctively rubbed her cheek up. He, in response, grazed his down. She dissolved as a smouldering pulse leapt to life between her legs and dragged another sigh from her throat.

      Sandpaper scuffed near her ear when his chin dipped around. Noses brushed—once, twice—before his slightly parted lips dusted hers. Overtaken by sensation, she trembled to her socks when his deep, rich voice hummed against her left temple.

      “I’m right about this, Phoebe. Right about us.”

      The moist, heaven-sent kiss that lingered on her brow dropped an airy veil of longing upon her shoulders. He moved back and she trembled, waiting for those lips. Waiting for that kiss. Waiting…

       Waiting?

      Her eyes shot open, and the wonderful fuzzy feeling evaporated like six p.m. cocktails.

      The door was wide open, but Pace, and his leather jacket, were gone.

      Chapter Three

      BY A quarter to twelve the following day, SLAMM had finished its Saturday morning recording.

      The floor manager was ushering out the chattering audience. Overhead, banks of lights were fading down. Soon the crew would disassemble and move the set to scenery. And in the back row of the bleachers a patient Pace Davis sat and watched and waited.

      Out of sight, anxious and hidden in the wings, Phoebe curled her fingers around the studio floor curtain and rolled her teeth over her bottom lip. She hadn’t noticed until halfway through the morning that Pace had followed up on his suggestion of the day before. He’d come in to see for himself how a television show was recorded, and had left her seriously off balance in the process.

      When she hadn’t been in front of the camera she’d watched him from the wings, as she did now. Was it her imagination? Or had he indeed been distracted a great deal of the time, absorbed in his thoughts, and not pleasant ones. But whenever their gazes had meshed over the heads of the energised audience crowd, his vibrancy had faded back up and her limbs had turned to jelly. Amazing. Even in this very public environment, surrounded by hundreds of people, her reaction to his presence was something perilously close to overwhelming. Given the steady gleam in his eye, she wondered if he planned to play another of his games, and this time claim the kiss he’d left behind last night.

      Swallowing against the nerves jumping in her throat, Phoebe watched as Pace pushed to his feet and looked expectantly around. She’d been upset last night when he’d left her standing, waiting, in her doorway. No, upset wasn’t the word. She’d been livid.

      Every time they met