Maybe Married. Leigh Michaels

a little. “It’s cold. If we’re only going to do this once, I want to do it right.”

      Her gaze burned into his and she slid off his lap. In the time it took her to get right-way around and grab her purse, he was out and at her door, reaching for her hand. Halfway to her back door he swept her up in his arms and she let out a musical, sexy laugh that made him smile. After a quick search for keys, he carried her through the door and into her small foyer, then let her down. Her legs slid against his until her toes touched the floor. Once they were stable he moved forward until her body was pressed between his and the wall.

      Articles of clothing began to come off; coats dropped to the floor, a few buttons popped as she struggled to release him from his shirt, and her braid was tattered from both his hands and the tangle from pulling her shirt and bra over her head.

      It wasn’t until Duke’s hands got busy beneath the waistband of her jeans that things suddenly seemed to be too much for her. Soon they’d cross a line they couldn’t turn back from, and he sensed the moment Carrie’s doubts started to creep in. She pulled back a little. Didn’t resist his touch but didn’t lean into it either, and he slowly got back his control and decided that perhaps a little finesse was required.

      “Duke,” she breathed, and he was pretty certain his name had never sounded quite that sexy before.

      “Hmm?” He nuzzled at her neck, taking his time. It wasn’t a race after all.

      “I don’t think I can do this.”

      Damn.

      He swallowed. Took a deep breath.

      “Is it because I’m your boss?” He dropped light kisses on her cheeks, across the soft curve of her ear, resting his hands on the warm skin just above the waist of her jeans. “Because that doesn’t matter. Trust me. I can always fire you and then it won’t be an issue.”

      She let out a breathless laugh but it faded quickly. “No, it’s not that. Not entirely. I’m...I’m not ready. That probably sounds stupid.”

      They hadn’t even bothered to turn on a light when they’d come inside. In the shadows Carrie’s eyes appeared dark and apprehensive.

      Several seconds spun out while Duke tried to regain his equilibrium and common sense. “Whew,” he finally said, down low. “Okay. Okay.”

      “You’re not mad?”

      “Of course not.” He frowned. “You always have the right to say no, you know.”

      “I thought you’d be disappointed.”

      And, oh, he was. His body was still jacked up from all the stimulation, and he was going to have to find some sort of displacement activity to burn off the energy. “Hell yeah,” he murmured, running his finger over her bare shoulder. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But not disappointed in you. Right now I’m just cursing your sensible side. You’ve got me wound pretty tight, Miss Coulter.”

      “It would appear we have some chemistry going on.”

      He chuckled. “And that’s the understatement of the century.”

      He bent and picked up her top and helped her get it over her head, but she wore it without her bra, and the idea of her bare breasts beneath the fabric didn’t help deflate his libido one bit. As he shrugged on his own shirt, she hiccuped softly and he knew without a doubt that she’d been right to put on the brakes. She wasn’t drunk but she wasn’t quite sober either, and he didn’t want that on his conscience. If they ever did go through with it, he wanted her clearheaded and present for every single second....

      And that line of thinking wasn’t helping cool his jets, either.

      “I should go,” he said quietly. “Are you going to be okay?”

      She made a dismissive sound. “I’m not that drunk.”

      He laughed. “No, ma’am.” He went forward and put a finger beneath her chin, lifted it and dropped a light kiss on her lips. “You are, however, a very difficult woman to walk away from.”

      He’d surprised her with that. He could tell in the way her lips dropped open the slightest bit and her eyes widened.

      “It’s probably better this way anyway,” she said, stepping back. “If we...you know...it would be awkward at the ranch.”

      Only if they let it be, but he understood her concern. “I had a nice time tonight,” he admitted. “And that was unexpected, so thank you, Carrie.”

      She nodded quickly. “Me, too.”

      “I’ll be going, then. Unless...”

      There was a short pause. “No, it’s better this way. I’ll see you later.”

      It was another awkward moment where neither of them seemed sure what the right next move was, so Duke stepped forward and placed a kiss on her forehead before sliding out the door and heading for his truck.

      He was backing out of her driveway when a light came on inside, and when he went to put the truck in Drive he noticed his hands were shaking.

      It bothered him to realize how much he’d truly wanted to stay. And bothered him even more to know that he’d temporarily lost his mind simply because he’d danced with her. Who knew a woman could have such a rapid and visceral effect on him?

      It was going to be a problem, though he would never admit that to Carrie. He’d have to either forget about her or get her out of his system. Considering she would be at the ranch day in and day out, forgetting didn’t seem like the most likely option.

      * * *

      CARRIE’S HEAD SEEMED to pulse at the same tempo as her heartbeat. She swiped her hand across her eyes, scraping away the grittiness in the corners and wincing at the pain that throbbed just behind her forehead.

      Stupid rum and cola.

      Sun glinted through the blinds she’d forgotten to shut last night, and she squinted. What time was it? A quick check of her ancient clock radio said eight forty-five. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept this late. As she sat up in bed, the room took an uncertain shift. She waited it out, then cautiously stood, shut her blinds, and went in search of acetaminophen and a large glass of water in an attempt to rehydrate.

      It was half-gone when there was a knock on her door.

      Probably Kailey, Carrie mused, shuffling her way to the foyer. She’d want a play-by-play of last night for sure. Instead she opened the door to find Duke on the step holding a cardboard tray with two coffees and a smile.

      She then realized that she was in her panties and the same red shirt—still minus her bra—that she’d been wearing when she fell into bed after he left. His smile was replaced by a slightly shocked expression that mellowed to amusement. “I’d offer you hair of the dog,” he said warmly, “except I thought you’d appreciate coffee more.”

      She would not freak out that he was seeing her in her underwear. She would not. “Gimme,” she muttered instead, and reached for the tray. As she disappeared into the kitchen, she called back, “You coming in or what?”

      She heard his boots hit the tile and the door shut behind him. “How could I refuse such a warm invitation?” he responded, coming through to her small kitchen. He looked her up and down. “Do you always answer your door in your underwear?”

      “I thought you were Kailey.”

      “Right.” He grinned at her. She really wished he’d stay grouchy and broody. He was easier to dislike then.

      “You didn’t need to bring coffee over.”

      “I thought you might be a little worse for wear this morning, that’s all.”

      Which she was. Not that she’d had trouble sleeping. But she distinctly remembered dreams last night. Dreams about Duke and what might have happened in his truck. Or inside. She