Dances with Monsters(60)

"How predictable," she teased. He smirked and opened her door for her, making a mock bow as she moved past him to drop into the seat. "Thanks."

As he drove, he felt her eyes on him. He glanced over briefly and caught her smoky brown eyes locked on him and traveling slowly down his body.

"What's up?" he asked lightly.

"Nothing," she replied, her voice suddenly low and velvety. The tone made his ears prick with curiosity. He kept his eyes front the rest of the trip but knew she was still watching him.

He pulled up to her building and got out to go around and open her door, but he was halfway around the hood of his car when her door opened and she got out, dragging her bag behind her.

"Walk me to my door?" she asked in that same low tone. Heath was confused; of course he would walk her to her door. Didn't he always?

"Of course," he replied. Her hand slipped around his elbow again and they took to the stairs toward her floor. He cleared his throat to speak and then suddenly grabbed her arm when she slipped a little.

"You okay?" he asked, and she laughed.

"Yes," she replied. "Just a little tipsy I guess."

She was slurring slightly, and he tightened his hold on her to make sure she cleared the rest of the stairs. They moved down the hallway toward her door, and when they reached it, she turned around and leaned her back on it, grinning at him.

He cleared his throat again and hesitantly returned her smile, nearly jumping when he felt her hands slide up his chest suddenly.

"What - what are you doing?" he asked quietly, one of his hands closing around hers and stopping its movement.

"Nothing," she whispered back, her other hand sliding higher to wrap around his neck. He felt her tug slightly and found himself leaning toward her as she brought her face to his, her full pink lips parted slightly.

He almost did it, but at the very last second, with every ounce of willpower he had, he turned his head and her moist lips landed on his cheek. He realized he was gripping the doorframe and at her little growl of frustration and want, he tightened his hold.

"Heath," she whined in a whisper, her hand coming to rest on his cheek and trying to turn his face toward hers. He felt the whisper of her breath against his lips as she tried again. And again, it took all of his strength to pull gently away. This time he reached up and took her wrist in his other hand.

"Drew," he said quietly. "Come on. You're wasted."

"Maybe so," she replied. "But I'm not too drunk to know that I want you." She pulled her wrist from his grasp, his hand too willing and eager to let it go, and this time she wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled her face closer. Her lips brushed his before he took a step back, breaking her hold.

"Don't," he said gently. "Not like this."

"Don't you want to kiss me?" she asked, leaning her head back against the door.

"Not if it means taking advantage of the fact that you're drunk," he replied. "Let's go inside."

Wordlessly she turned her back and dug through her purse until she came up with her keys. Heath squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and wondered if he was crazy. A gorgeous, sexy girl he was getting to be quite fond of had thrown herself at him, told him she wanted him, and he was saying no? He almost reconsidered, almost grabbed her then and pressed her against the door, but then the image of her cut ankle passed through his mind, the image of her tears, and he shook his head. She didn't need someone to sleep with; she needed a friend. And he would be that friend, even if it killed him.

She finally got the door unlocked and almost fell through it when it opened. He grabbed the back of her sweater to keep her from falling and then hauled her in to grasp her waist.

"All right," he murmured. "Time for bed." He was used to putting drunk people to bed - his father, some Marine buddies; he'd had more than enough experience but he felt protective over Drew rather than the annoyance he usually felt in situations like these.

"Hey, Rocky," he said, spotting the cat curled up on the blanket draped over the back of the couch. As if in answer, Rocky gave a wide yawn, showing off his long, sharp canines, and then made a tiny squeaking, chirping noise that Heath took as a form of greeting.

"Just puttin' your mom to bed," he added to the cat, before steering Drew into her bedroom.

"You talkin' to my cat?" she mumbled over her shoulder.

"I did," he affirmed, then leaned her against the wall of her room. He turned toward her bed to remove the pile of small, decorative pillows and drop them on the floor. Then he pulled her comforter back. He turned back around to face her and his jaw dropped.