His warm breath gusted her cheek. She turned. His mouth was so close. Tantalizingly close. She caught a whiff of his mint toothpaste. Her gaze darted from his lips to his eyes, so dark and mesmerizing. They pulled her in, muddied her thoughts. She leaned in slightly, forgetting everything, wanting that mouth.

“Such a shame,” he murmured. His thumb brushed her bottom lip and a bolt of lust shot through her body. “I should have tasted this mouth when I had the chance.”

Desire licked through her, mingling with regret. He exerted more pressure on her bottom lip, parting her mouth so that his thumb dipped between her lips. Her breathing hitched. She tasted him with her tongue, the barest, swirling stroke, and his eyes went black with heat. He closed the fraction of space between them, his chest grazing the front of her dress. Her breasts grew heavy and tight, aching. Sweet Jesus, he was going to do it. Yes, yes, please.

He dropped his hand and pulled back.

She fell back a step against her car, gulping a shuddering breath, fighting for composure. Tossing him a faltering smile, she slid inside her car. “Glad we had this talk.”

He stared down at her, the heat in his eyes banked.

She offered him a tremulous smile. Everything was supposed to be fine between them now. There wasn’t supposed to be any more weirdness or tension. Except for the fact that she couldn’t quite catch her breath and her skin felt like it might catch fire.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat, desire still pumping through her and settling heavily between her legs. “I’ll see you around.” Ugh. Couldn’t she project more confidence? It sounded more like a question than a statement.

He nodded, looking at her with his cold, hooded gaze. The dark, slashing brows over those deeply set eyes made her stomach dip and twist.

“Sure,” he said, but his hand lingered on the frame like he was going to stop her, and a part of her wanted him to.

She wanted him to argue with her. To insist things could never go back to normal. To yank her door open and haul her out of the car, snatch her up in his arms and kiss her senseless.

Only he didn’t do that. Of course not. She wasn’t the irresistible sort that drove controlled men like Cullen to lose control. Last night had been an anomaly.

She tugged on her door and he let it go. It shut with a thud, sealing her in like she was protected within a little bubble. She on the inside. He outside.

With shaking hands, she turned her ignition and started the car. Still watching him, she backed out of her spot, her breath a ragged rattle in her chest. Get it together, Huntley. You have a date.

Training her gaze ahead, she drove away.

* * *

It took everything in Cullen not to march across the parking lot and get into his truck and follow her.

Why the hell hadn’t he kissed her?

Now he was consumed with this regret, feverish for the taste of her he had missed.

Shit. He dragged a hand over his scalp. When it came to Huntley, he had ceased to think. The only thing guiding him was his cock. It was a real problem.

He could only replay her words in his head. We didn’t even kiss. We skipped first base.

It was a fact he had been achingly aware of from the moment she left his house last night. He couldn’t explain the oversight. Only that when he felt her back her ass into him, he could only think of getting his hands on her, sliding his fingers inside her heat, touching her where he imagined burying his dick.

Her words served to taunt and challenge him simultaneously. He knew she didn’t intend for that, but her intention didn’t matter. There was only what he felt. The need to chase her, pin her down and take. Claim. Finish what they began. This possessiveness was a wholly new experience for him. It never happened with other women, and he knew it was because Huntley wasn’t like other women for him.

Cursing, he retreated to his truck and headed home. Once there, he changed and took a run, pounding out his frustration on asphalt in the fading light of day until sweat clung to him.

He pushed himself until his muscles burned, and then he turned back and ran the remaining miles home. He sought exhaustion. Bone-deep weariness. Maybe if he were good and tired, he wouldn’t spend the rest of the night thinking about her.

That plan lasted until he returned to his empty house and took a shower. Walking into his bedroom, he glanced at the clock. Five minutes past seven.

Immediately, he had a vision of Huntley sitting at Java Joe’s, nursing her steaming mug with whatever latest book she was reading in one of the coffeehouse’s comfy, well-worn armchairs. She was probably there now. He usually joined her. He chalked it up to doing his part, keeping his promise to Beck and keeping an eye out for her.

But Beck was back now. You don’t have to go there and babysit her.

He pulled a black T-shirt on with angry movements, wondering why that didn’t seem to matter to him. He grabbed his keys and headed out the door. He knew he should probably give them both some space after yesterday. God knew he needed perspective. Or maybe a quick hookup with someone else to help him shake off this unacceptable bout of lust he was feeling toward her.

And yet the image of Huntley sitting alone in Java Joe’s spurred him on.

He told himself he was going there for her, because he couldn’t stand the thought of her sitting all by herself. Because he was her closest friend in this town.

Not because he wanted to see her again. Not because he craved more of last night.

Not because he intended to have her.

Chapter Seven

“You’re a lot prettier than your picture.”

Huntley forced a smile at the compliment. “Thank you.” And you look shorter in person. The thought skidded through her mind as she swapped pleasantries with her date. They stood at the coffee bar, waiting for their drinks. She chafed one hand up and down her arm, pretending not to notice him checking her out.

“I bet your patients never want to go home,” he continued. “Security probably has to drag them out of the ER.”

She smiled again, wondering if they were going to move beyond the inane compliments. According to his profile, they had a lot in common. When were they going to start clicking?

Her favorite barista, Sheridan, set her drink down before her, her purple-tipped red hair bobbing stylishly above her shoulders as she moved. “Here you go, Huntley.”

“Thanks, Sheridan.” She picked up her mug and met the girl’s inquisitive gaze. In the years Huntley had been frequenting Java Joe’s she had never brought a man here. Well, other than Cullen, of course.

“And here’s yours.” Sheridan slid a mug at Greg, her smile slipping. For whatever reason, she did not bestow her usual perky smile on him.

Greg accepted his drink. When his phone started pinging, he fumbled for it in his blazer pocket. Glancing at the screen, he looked up at Huntley through his wire-rimmed glasses. He was cute in a scholarly way. Not muscular. Not a soldier. Her hands might even be larger than his. His hands definitely weren’t like Cullen’s big, capable mitts. Nor like his long, deft fingers that stroked—

STOP. She gave her head a single swift shake. This was the kind of guy she was looking for. Someone gentle and academic, cerebral, who liked to spend his free time at libraries. According to his profile, he made an epic goat cheese frittata.

It would be nice, after a day of mayhem, to return to a home-cooked meal. An image of Cullen’s big body over hers, his hand working between her thighs, making her shudder out her release, flashed across her mind. Sweet Jesus, yes. That would be nice at the end of a hard day too.