Her Sexiest Surprise. Dawn Atkins

relaxed into the moment, not wanting it to end. If this were a movie, the director would cut to a bed and their naked bodies in golden lamplight. There would be no tense seconds, no awkward fussing with zippers and clasps and discussions of prophylactics and blood tests.

      She leaned back.

      Honk…honk…honk…honk…honk. The car alarm she’d set off brought her back to reality. She was no screen star embracing the man of her dreams. She was Chloe Baxter, talented cook with a problem father, a flaky sister and a cranky cat. Her goofy birthday promise had her making out in a parking lot like a hormone-crazed teenager.

      Riley laughed good-naturedly, not a bit thrown by the honking. “My house is close and I promise no alarms will go off.” When she hesitated, he added, “It’s reasonably clean, I swear. For a guy.”

      “It’s not that. It’s just…”

      “Your mama told you not to go home with strange men. I get that. But you know me, Chloe. I’m at Enzo’s all the time. I’m harmless, I swear.” He crossed his heart. “If I misbehave, my dog will pin me to the ground and gnaw my nuts off.” He looked so sturdy and sweet and trustworthy, she could only laugh.

      “You in?” he asked, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

      “Let me see…” She rose on tiptoe to kiss him again. His lips were strong, yet soft, his kiss slow and urgent, and she went boneless with desire. “I’m in,” she breathed, hoping the kiss would prolong her courage.

      Riley seemed to sense her doubts. “You call the shots, you know. You’re the birthday girl. We can have a beer, watch TV, play cards or, hell, do you like Guitar Hero?”

      She laughed, feeling surprisingly comfortable with the man.

      “Or we could hit a bar if you’d rather.”

      “No. Let’s go to your place.” Something about this man and this moment made it right. She felt different. New. Ready for anything. Well, not anything. And not entirely different. Just enough for tonight. She shivered in anticipation.

      “You cold?” Riley asked, running his hands up and down her arms as if to warm her.

      “Just excited, I think.”

      “Good, then. Let’s go.” He gave her his address and she followed his vintage red Mustang the few blocks to his house, her heart pounding, her toes and fingers tingling, her stomach fluttering with a million butterflies. The champagne buzz was gone, so it had to be nervous excitement she felt.

      Riley held her door for her, then led her up the walk, a gentlemanly arm around her shoulders.

      At his front door, she stopped. “This isn’t like me, you know. I’m usually cautious and careful and, I don’t know…”

      He waited for her to figure it out.

      “Boring,” she said, realizing it was true. “Utterly dull.”

      “You’re sure not boring me,” he said, kissing her again, soft and coaxing and warm and sure.

      When he opened the door, they were greeted by a barrel-chested dog with wispy black-and-white fur—an oversize Chihuahua on stilt legs who galloped around them, barking.

      “This is the guy who’s supposed to knock you to the ground if you get fresh with me?” she teased.

      “Oh, you don’t want to get on his bad side,” he said, bending to the dog’s level. “He’s ferocious, aren’t you, boy?”

      She bent down, too, glad of the distraction. The sudden intimacy of being in Riley’s home made her feel awkward.

      “This is Idle,” he told her.

      “Nice to meet you.” She patted the dog, who was remarkably ugly but had the warmest eyes. “He’s sweet.”

      “He’s usually shy with strangers, but he’s taken with you. So am I.” He leaned over the dog to kiss her.

      Her lust surged again, telling her she wanted more from this man, this night, though she wasn’t sure how much.

      He helped her to her feet, holding both her hands, then led her to the sofa. “Would you like coffee to clear your head?”

      “My head is clear. Or reasonably clear.” She laughed, still a little uncertain how she’d gotten here. “I only had a little champagne really.”

      “A beer then?”

      She stayed away from alcohol as a rule. She’d tested herself in high school to be certain she didn’t have her father’s disease, deliberately getting drunk to see if a craving commenced. She’d thrown up lemon Schnapps until she could hardly crawl. Even now, the smell of lemonade gave her a twinge.

      “How about juice?”

      “I’ve got orange.” He headed to the kitchen to get their drinks. His dog followed him with his eyes, then stayed put. She patted him, trying to slow her thrumming pulse. What would happen? Would they just make out? Or do more? Have sex? Could she see herself going that far?

      She shivered and looked around. This was a guy’s place. No real decorating, generic furniture, though the brown leather sofa was remarkably comfortable. The cream walls held art posters—a race car, a beach scene, a sepia print of a black jazz band. Shelves had books, DVDs, CDs and video games for the consoles that shared space with a fancy stereo and a plasma TV in the entertainment center. The cocktail table had car magazines and Popular Mechanics. But it was neat, as he’d said.

      Riley brought the drinks in plastic tumblers and sat close beside her, handing her hers.

      She sipped, then smiled, nervous again. “Your dog is so friendly. Nothing like my cat. She’s feral. I named her Pepper Spray because if you get near she hisses and spits. Mostly she hides. I only know she’s around by the shredded curtains and the empty food bowl.”

      “How did you end up with her?”

      “She’s a rescued cat. My friend has a shelter and couldn’t find a home for her.”

      “So you took her?”

      “Yeah. Every few nights, she tears around the house like she wants to escape. I don’t know what it takes to convince her she’s safe.”

      “Maybe find a farm that needs a mouser and get yourself a friendlier one.”

      “She’s family.” She shrugged. “I love her.”

      He studied her, as if puzzled by that admission. “So, I didn’t count. How many candles were there?”

      “Twenty-five. I can’t believe I’m that old.”

      “That’s not old. Try thirty-two.”

      “Wow, old.” She laughed. “Just kidding. I guess I feel like I’ve been waiting for my life to start.”

      “Why is that?” He leaned back, ready to listen. He was easy to talk to. Maybe it was the kissing or her long-held crush, but she felt as if they’d sped through the usual getting-to-know-you steps and landed in more intimate territory.

      “I don’t know,” she said. “Family obligations. I have a younger sister who’s struggled, and my father has had problems.”

      “So you helped them out?”

      “Yes. I was happy to do it, but the years slipped by and I’m twenty-five and it’s time for something new. Something less cautious, careful…”

      “And boring?” He grinned.

      “Exactly. That’s why I kissed you. The old Chloe wouldn’t have had the nerve. The new Chloe goes for what she wants.”

      “Nice to meet you, New Chloe.” He tapped his glass against hers. “You can call me Lucky.”

      “Lucky?”

      “Lucky