Quarter Mile Hearts(5)

The arm around floozy number one drops from her waist and he takes a step forward, moving in front of her and closer to me. It’s his turn to run an appraising eye over a body. Mine. Slowly, his gaze travels over every inch of my five-foot-eight frame, noting the changes that have naturally occurred. My hips that have filled out, my waist that I work hard to keep slim, and up to my breasts that, no matter what I do, still remain the same size—a good handful. Who once said that to me? Oh yeah, that would be Max. I’m certainly not the same skinny girl covered in engine oil that he remembers. Even my wavy, dark hair is different—longer with a better cut. Gone is the fringe that Beth used to trim with blunt kitchen scissors every now and then.

As he stares, it gives me the chance to mentally catalog the changes to his body. His face is unchanged, maybe slightly older looking but just as gorgeous. His body has more muscle, leaner, not as skinny as he once was, and holy fuck, the tattoos that decorate his arm. The sight of them is more than enough for my panties to grow damper still. Where else has he got them?

“Still like a bit of American muscle?” His eyes flare with hunger as he moves closer. Floozy one, two, and three all look at each other. They don’t have a fucking clue what is going on here and move away as the crackle of sexual tension becomes too much for them to bear. It has always been like that with Max and me.

“I’ve had plenty American muscle.” It comes out in an incredibly sexy and husky voice that I can’t believe belongs to me. I really need to clear my throat but resist doing it just now.

Supposedly, we’re still talking about cars, but we’re on shaky ground. I know we’re entering into dangerous territory when I see the wicked glint in his dark eyes.

“Long time, no see.” He moves closer and invades my personal space, arms folded across his obviously well-muscled chest. Despite the urge I have to back up, I stand my ground and try not to stare too hard at him in all his muscled glory. He must spend some serious time in the gym to look like that. I force my gaze to remain at his shoulders and stop it from dipping south to check out how well he fills out those jeans. But I’m a weak woman, and when I glance down, he catches me. An infuriatingly sexy smile curves the edges of his full lips. Heat flares deep within me, heating up long forgotten, frozen parts of my anatomy. The memory of those lips kissing and sucking on the most intimate parts of my body causes a violent shudder to travel through me. I’ve forgotten what the hell he was saying to me and just continue to stare.

“You’ve had plenty American muscle, have you?” His voice low and throaty as he advances further, and I gulp, stepping back this time. But I have nowhere to go when my ass hits the metal of his car. I’m trapped, with him advancing on me. Now I totally get the feeling of being a rabbit caught in the headlights.

One hand rests on the hood as he stands off to the side of me, but then he moves in front of me, so close that I have to lean back slightly as he looms over. Dark eyes burn deep into me as he places a hand on the other side of me; I’m not going anywhere. Strong thighs rest on the outside of mine, squeezing them together, which is just as well because the pulse between them pounds furiously, almost becoming uncomfortable as my unexpected need for him grows.

Pushing me backward with his large frame, I press my hand against a wall of hard abs as I try to resist any further advance. His abs contract under my palm and the material of his t-shirt disintegrates with the heat that flows between us. His eyes cloud and he looks down at me mystified. Instead of pushing him away, my hands stroke down his abs to hook in the belt buckle of his jean and I tug him a fraction closer.

With a lazy smile on those kissable lips, oh please do, his head dips and his eyes flick to my lips and back up to my eyes again. My tongue darts out to moisten my suddenly dry lips and his eyes flare. Holy fuck, he’s going to kiss me. And my stomach clenches. How many nights have I lain awake, remembering his lips on mine, my body aching for a touch that never comes? His touch is the only one I crave. No other man can erase his touch from my body. He ruined me for any one else and left me wanting more.

“None of them will compare with mine,” he murmurs as his lips brush against my earlobe. I don’t know whether it’s the brief contact or his husky voice, but a violent jolt of electricity makes its way through me, and I’m surprised my feet don’t start smoking.

Yeah, there’s only one American muscle of his that he’s referring to and it’s not his old GTO. The blush that colors my face gives away that my thoughts are anything but pure, and I catch the glint of triumph in his eyes.