SEAL the Deal(4)

“I’m very sorry if I had something to do with your fall, then. How can I make it up to you? Dinner?”

“No, thank you. It really wasn’t your fault.” She averted her eyes to avoid getting sucked into the vortex of his sexual magnetism. It was a losing battle.

“Well, I’d love to take you to dinner anyway. It would make me feel better to check up later on that bump on your head.” He gently brushed his fingers along the side of her head. A jolt of electricity raced up her spine.

This man was dangerous. Given the choice between a night with him and a multimillion-dollar real estate listing, Lacey was strangely tempted by her carnal side.

He continued tracing the side of her cheek. “But if you have someone in your life who will check on that—” he paused, “—bump, I’d understand.”

Her breathing quickened. Her knees weakened. Feeling lightheaded, she steadied herself against her car. “No one checks on my bumps.” Ugh. Did I really just say that?

Smiling slightly, his hand stilled against the side of her face. Gently, he brushed her hair behind her ear, then more forcefully plunged his fingers into her long locks. First one hand, then his other. As he toyed with her hair, his head lowered so close to her own that the feel of his warm breath against her forehead fully awakened her once flat-lined libido.

Instinctively tilting her head upward, she locked her gaze on his tempting mouth, the subtle curve of his lips, his clean shave that still smelled a bit soapy, the perfect cleft in his chin that she longed to touch. She leaned into him, aching to be sandwiched in between his steel-hard body and her car.

His mouth only inches from hers, her lips opened slightly and her eyes began to close—just as she spotted her hair clip in his hand and heard him click it shut.

She pulled back from him, mortified.

He was grinning. “Your hair clip. Remember?”

“Of course,” she barely whispered, raising her hand against the makeshift ponytail that now stood out from the back of her head. She hoped he hadn’t noticed how close she had come to plastering her lips against his. But from the smug look on his face, he apparently had.

“So. Dinner at eight then?”

Her lips yearned to say “yes.” Yes to dinner and anything else he might suggest. But a sudden breeze blew in from the water drawing Lacey’s eyes away from him and out to the Chesapeake Bay. She rallied her defenses, narrowing her gaze on the waterfront homes in her view and picturing “For Sale” signs in front of every one of them.

“No, thank you,” she said, quickly hopping into her car.

As she pulled away, she glanced out her window to see his stunned face as he stood in the parking lot alone.

***

Air. Air. I need cold air.

Her body still smoldering, Lacey frantically pressed the buttons of her car’s AC as if pushing them multiple times might get the air to cool faster.

She glanced again in the rear view mirror as the image of the man became nothing more than a speck in the distance. She could still see him though—as clear in her memory as if his face was hovering above her dashboard.

His supremely sexy face.

She felt hot. Too hot to drive. Too hot to do anything but jump into the Severn River as she crossed the Naval Academy Bridge heading into West Annapolis.

What had just happened? Had she really been that close to planting her lips on that man? On his lips…or any other body part he had readily available? No woman would kiss a man she had just met at a funeral. Especially when she’s there on business.

Of course, few women went to funerals for business. But that was beside the point.

“There’s no one to check on my bumps?” she repeated to herself with self-loathing. Just once, she’d love to come up with a clever reply the way her friend Maeve always did around men.

Glancing at the clock on her dashboard, she noted that she could make her next funeral. Then she replayed the last few minutes of the previous funeral in her head, wondering if she should go at all. Clearly she was off her game.

Lacey changed lanes, narrowly missing a car in her blind spot. Letting out a breath, she pulled into the parking lot of the Navy Stadium, deciding to cool down before driving further. Maybe it was the effects of that fall. Maybe she really should go to the doctor.

Maybe she should just go home and have a drink.

Resting her head on her steering wheel, she started to laugh and then surprised herself when tears started to fall. Could it be PMS? She quickly visualized a calendar in her head. No. She couldn’t even use that as an excuse.

What a wreck she was. Swept off her feet—literally—by a man with a bod like the statue of David, and she completely loses it.