He took my hand.
Cripes, this man liked to touch.
He escorted me out of the suite and then the hotel. A valet brought his car around. Not what I expected. No flashy sports car, but a BMW. He opened the door for me and I sank into the blissful leather.
"Buckle up." His hand was already pulling the strap across my chest and sliding it effortlessly into the clasp next to my hip.
I gulped and prayed the sound was silent. Killian MacGregor was taking me home to my semi-rundown apartment, a mile from the state college. I took another breath.
Him-the car smelled just like him. They could bottle this and make a fortune.
Would leather show stains? I so needed a towel under my ass.
"Where to?" One confident hand held the steering wheel.
"The university."
Even though I couldn't see them in the dark interior, I felt his eyes on me. His head dipped slightly. "Dancer?"
My thighs slammed together.
"Runner."
He didn't comment, just pulled around the long circular drive and headed out to the main road. The campus was twenty minutes away without traffic, and for once I wished there was a mile-long pileup. I wanted to breathe in his scent for the rest of the night; hell-the rest of my life. Sable-haired babies; tall, coordinated athletes. We'd make the perfect children if they looked like their father. A laugh escaped my lips. Crazy. I was absolutely certifiable.
"Do you want to share the joke?" In the close confines of the car, his thick, molasses voice made me fidget.
My good-girl sense of honor got the best of me and I spilled part of the beans. "This is unreal. I'm sorry, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but really. You-Killian MacGregor, driving me home."
He gave a low, sexy chuckle. "My mother would be proud."
"Oh gosh-you even have a mother."
This time he laughed and every nerve ending I possessed went on high alert. My nipples tightened, my breathing grew shallow, and I clenched my thighs tighter.
"Yes, and I was even created the old-fashioned way."
He. Did. Not. Just. Say. That.
His next words drew me out of my fantasy.
"How old are you?"
I turned and looked at his profilethe line of his jaw, the curve of his nose-still perfect even in shadow.
I took a long a breath. "Twenty-one and old enough to know better than to let my sister drag me to a party like the one we just left. Sorry, no disrespect, but that's not my scene."
I had completely blown it now. Given away the fact that "slutty college girl" wasn't my thing even if, for the first time in my life, I wanted to qualify for the slut Olympics. I couldn't help thinking about what he saw-my favorite skirt, a tad too short, but it accented my legs, which were my best feature. Unfortunately, when it came to my chest, there was nothing much to show. I'd worn a peach-colored, button-up blouse with just a touch of lace on the shoulders for sleeves; more clothes than any two girls at the party wore, including my sister. My nothing-special brown hair had been curled, but was now in complete disarray. I was tall and gangly looking, though he had no idea I was usually quite coordinated and lithe. Well, maybe he did. He asked if I was a dancer.
He glanced at me and the headlights from an oncoming car showed that sexy tilt to his lips.
"Do you run for the college team?" He turned his head back to the road.
"Yes. Scholarship." I wasn't ashamed.
"So you're good?"
Well, maybe I was ashamed. "Middle of the pack."
He didn't say anything after that. I gave directions when we got closer. He pulled in front of the dilapidated college-like dorm apartments and my hand went to the door handle.
"Do not touch that." There it was again, his "don't mess with me" voice.
Funny, because I didn't even consider going against his order.
"I'm sorry as fuck about tonight." He turned his head my way, remaining completely in shadow, but I could picture every gorgeous line on his face.
My heart thumped so loud I knew he could hear it. "I'm okay. No harm, no foul."
His deep, throaty chuckle was back. "You a baseball fan?"
"Not really." I ran track, but wasn't much for any sport, and didn't they have fouls in football?
"Football?"
"No."
"But you came to a football party?"
I would dream of his voice tonight. "My mistake, but thank you for your help."
"You made the party-interesting. I watched you all night. I don't suppose you'll be at any others?"
He watched me!
"You suppose right." I would give anything to stop the chit-chat and let him fuck me silly. Why was I pushing him away?
"You attached?"
"Attached?" Did I really need to repeat everything he said?
"Significant other?" I heard the laughter in his voice and knew his dimples flashed. "Boyfriend?"
"Uh, no."
"I'll walk you inside." He stepped out before I could protest.
My door opened and his hand took ahold of my forearm and then slid down to my hand. I couldn't remember the last time I held hands with a guy; grade school maybe. I entered the security code at the lobby entrance and turned to say goodnight.
"To your door." Again, no room for argument, and I scurried along like a trained puppy straight to my apartment door.
"Key." The hand not holding mine came out.
I dutifully placed the key in his palm and watched his large, deft fingers unlock my door.
He looked up.
I failed to breathe.
His incredibly full, sensuous lips leaned in and he kissed my forehead. I mean really-my forehead.
"Goodnight, Webecca."
I couldn't get any words out and just turned to walk inside.
"And, Legs-"
I peered over my shoulder.
"If you do come to any more parties, say hello."
I nodded then shut and locked the door behind me.
Holy fucking shit. The dream father of my future children just walked away and I knew I'd never see him again. But I would fantasize and my vibrator would get more use than it had this past year.
Killian MacGregor's warm lips had touched my forehead and I was a goner.