He flat out overwhelmed her. She could smell him, spicy and warm with a hint of soap. His body was hot—she could feel the heat radiating off of him and pulsating through her.

Or maybe that was just her, so crazily aroused for this man she didn’t really even know that she reacted like a woman with out of control hormones. He definitely sent everything within her zinging with just a look, just by sitting next to her.

“It’s a beautiful view,” she said when she couldn’t seem to take him staring at her anymore. She turned to look out at the city lights once more, the breeze blowing through her hair, lifting it from her shoulders and her warm neck.

“I agree,” he said, his voice closer than she realized, and she glanced over her shoulder, his face directly in hers, his gaze locked on her. “Gorgeous.”

She had the distinct feeling he wasn’t talking about the view of Las Vegas. More like he was talking about…her?

No way.

Licking her lips, she let her gaze drop to his mouth and that full, delicious-looking lower lip. She wanted to kiss that mouth. What did he taste like? Was he a good kisser or bad? Neat or sloppy? Lots of tongue or little tongue? “Sorry I made you wait,” she said, pushing the distracting kissing thoughts out of her mind.

“Your friend okay?” he asked, sounding concerned.

“She’s fine. Worried about me.” Oops, she probably shouldn’t have said that.

“My reputation precedes me,” he drawled, not sounding bothered by it at the least. But he could be. He was an actor, after all. They were skilled at hiding their real feelings. It was what they were paid to do.

“Unfortunately, yes,” she said with a little wince. Reaching out, she settled her hand on his arm that rested closest to her, wanting to offer reassurance. “I told her you’ve changed.”

“You don’t know me. How could you know I’ve changed?” His expression remained neutral despite the questions he just asked. And he didn’t remove his arm from beneath her hand either. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that, but it was too late now.

Reagan didn’t want this evening over before it even started.

“There’s an innate calmness that radiates from you. A confidence,” she said, pausing to gauge his reaction. He tilted his head to the side, removing his arm from beneath her hand so he could slip it along the back of the couch, resting it right above her shoulders. “I sensed it from the second we were introduced. You’re very sure of yourself but not overly cocky. You seem comfortable in your own skin.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You sensed all that, huh?”

She shrugged, her shoulders brushing against his arm, the contact sending a scattering of tingles across her skin. “Maybe I’m wrong, but that’s the impression you left on me.”

“That’s quite the impression.” He smiled, looking pleased with himself. “I had no idea I was that easy to read. I’d always prided myself on the mysterious air that surrounds me.”

“Oh, you’re very mysterious. And it’s not about being easy,” she reassured him. “It’s more about my need to figure people out the second I meet them. I’m always doing that in the ER.”

“Interesting. So you’re a detective nurse. I like that.” He smiled, his eyes sparkling. “What else can you tell me about your job at the ER?”

She swallowed hard when he reached out and tested a wayward strand of her hair, twirling the curl around his finger and giving it the slightest tug. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

Her hair was soft, like silk. The wind kept blowing it in his face when she first sat down, the sweet floral scent of her shampoo filling his senses, and he wanted to bury his face in it. But he restrained himself.

Just barely.

“Well, I work the graveyard shift, so I see plenty,” she started, a hint of nervousness underlying her words. He had a feeling he was the reason for that. Not that he minded. No, more like he scooted closer to her, their thighs pressed tight together, his fingers still in her hair.

“I’m sure,” he murmured, letting his gaze drop to her chest. The dress dipped low, offering him a teasing glimpse of her cleavage, and he had the overwhelming urge to trace the neckline of her dress, let his finger drift across her skin.

Would she be okay with that or would she slap his hand away?

“Like the man who came in with the jelly jar up his…” She waved a hand, her cheeks red as she started to giggle. “Butt.”

“No shit?” Ouch. He’d done some kinky stuff in his time, but he’d never had the urge to shove something up his ass to get his jollies off.

She burst out laughing at his reply, and he started to chuckle too once he realized the correlation. “The poor man,” she said between laughter. “He was mortified. I believe he waited almost twenty-four hours before he finally gave up and came in.”

“Damn. How the hell did they get it out?” He held up his hand and shook his head. “Wait a minute, don’t tell me. I don’t need to know.”

“You don’t want to know,” she agreed, her laughter dying, though her eyes still sparkled. She had beautiful eyes, dark and expressive. “I could go on and on about the things people put in strange places. Because we only have so many orifices to put things in, if you catch my drift.”

“I don’t think I want to catch it, but yeah, I get what you’re saying.”

She grimaced. “I took that conversation into a weird turn.”

“An interesting turn,” he corrected.

“That’s a kinder way to put it.” She glanced down, kept her gaze locked on her knees as she gripped them with her hands. Her skirt fluttered in the breeze and around her hands, and he had the sudden urge to slip his hand beneath her dress, skim his fingers up her thighs…

“Do you like your job?” he asked.

“I love it. I like helping people. I’ve always wanted to be a nurse, ever since I was a kid.” She lifted her gaze and smiled.

“Is it hard sometimes, though? It has to be. I’m sure you’ve seen some pretty ugly stuff.”

“Well, yeah, of course. The ugly stuff comes along with the wonderful stuff, you know? I’ve seen violence and death and horrific car accidents involving small children. Gunshot wounds, knife wounds, crime victims. But I’ve also seen kids with bonks on their head and scratches on their arm because their cat got mad at them.” She smiled and slowly shook her head, lost in her thoughts. “A frantic grandma came in once with her granddaughter who stuffed a bead up her nose. She didn’t know what to do, how to get the bead out. She was panicking, which only made her granddaughter cry. I grabbed a pair of tweezers and plucked the bead out within seconds and that poor grandma was beside herself with how easily I took care of it. Said she felt like a big idiot.”

“What did you tell her?” he asked, knowing it was going to be something kind. Whereas Reagan might have noticed his innate confidence, he definitely noticed her innate sweetness. Because she was sweet, she had to be, what with what she did for a living.

“I reassured her she wasn’t an idiot. I gave her a hug. The poor woman was just beating herself up while the three-year-old was running around acting like it was no big deal.” She laughed. “It was kind of funny.”

“Sounds like the craziest stories are the ones where they stuff something where it doesn’t belong.”

“So true.” She turned to study him, her gaze meeting his. “I’m rambling about stuff you probably don’t care about, huh?”

“Not true. I wanted to talk to you about working in the ER, remember? I’m going to use it for my character,” he said.

“Yeah? When do you start filming?”

“Next week.” Unable to help himself, he touched her. Drifted his finger along her hairline, down her temple. She remained completely still—he didn’t think she was even breathing—and he let his hand drop. The shuddering breath that left her was full of disappointment. “A six-week shoot.”