But he came right back and shoved a helmet onto her head, jerking her forward with the force, and sending her hair straight down over her eyes. Her ears bent painfully in half.

"Caleb!" She parted her bangs to either side of her eyes so she could see, and lifted the helmet to adjust it.

"Keep it on," he ordered. "If we wreck, I'll probably land on you. At least this way I won't squash your head. And the key goes in there." He pointed to the ignition.

No wonder she hadn't been able to find it-it was in a stupid spot, nowhere near the handlebars. "Of course it does." She started the bike with a loud roar. "And I'm not going to wreck," she yelled over her shoulder indignantly, but she kept the helmet on.

Caleb's hands went around her waist.

Then lower, to her thighs.

Controlling the rumbling bike meant her skirt had inched up.

So that his rough hands were on her bare skin.

And by the time they crossed West 117thand turned onto her side street, his hands had somehow traveled under her bunched skirt, a healthy distance above her knee.

She concentrated on driving. Not on the way her legs were vibrating wildly from the engine of the bike. Not on that delightful little jolt of awareness that was rolling through her body. Or that things had suddenly gotten warm, and maybe even a little damp, not so very far from where he was touching.

Then his hands slid higher. Resting on the outside of her thighs, thumbs dangerously close to her black seamless panties.

Trish nearly took out the telephone pole turning into her drive. That would have been ironic. But did he know what he was doing? Or was he so immune to her s.e.x appeal he could pat her crotch like he might the head of a nice, friendly Lab?

Maybe he was falling asleep.

Because men always fondle women's thighs when they're dozing off.

c.r.a.p.

This whole idea of having him over to her place obviously fell under the heading of extremely bad judgment.

"You know," she said, as she turned the motorcycle off in front of her garage. "You probably don't realize it, but you have your hand up my dress."

"Do I?" he said in a voice that left no doubt he knew exactly what he was doing.

Thank G.o.d.

"Sorry. Your driving scared me, so I just grabbed and held on."

"Uh-huh. Okay. Well, we've stopped, so you can let go now. I need to open the garage."

The retreat of those big hands was gratifyingly slow.

Caleb stayed on the bike while she bent a little, twisted the door handle, and lifted the garage door up. Before she could say anything, he had pulled the bike inside with a roar of the engine and a squeal of the brakes, and was standing up. Way, way up.

Dang, he was gorgeous, in a really cute, big sort of way. And he was walking toward her, sticking his bike keys back into his pocket. Trish still had her hands up in the air, holding on to the garage door, ready to pull it back down once he was out.

But instead of heading toward the house, he walked right up to her and put his hands over hers. "I'll get it."

"It's okay, I've got it," she said, even as he dropped the door with a casual flick of his wrist. "Or not. Thanks." She took a step away from him.

But he stopped her, with a tug on her fingers, his face dark in the shadow of the house, the streetlight's feeble glow not penetrating the backyard where the garage was.

"I need to thank you, Trish. For watching out for me. I was drinking myself under the table when you...introduced yourself."

She laughed. "You mean interrupted you like the bossy b.i.t.c.h that I am."

He grinned, but shook his head. "No, that's not how I see you at all."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she shivered a little as a breeze kicked up. She wanted to get inside, take her heels and her bra off, and relax, far away from him, but Caleb seemed inclined to linger in the driveway. "How do you see me?"

He glanced up into the sky, and Trish followed his gaze. The stars were out, dim but straining to be seen against the lights of the city and the dark backdrop of the sky. Crickets were chirping wildly like they'd never get another chance, and voices from the next street could be heard as a car door slammed. When Caleb touched her lower back, shifting her clingy dress as his finger rubbed back and forth, she turned to him.

"You're beautiful, Trish. That's how I see you. Absolutely gorgeous."

Before her frozen brain could formulate any adequate response, he was bending and brushing his lips across hers, a soft, light touch that almost wasn't even there, and sent a rush of longing through her body. She could have sworn her soul sighed-which was such a ridiculous, girly thought that she was momentarily too stunned to kiss him back.

Then he was gone, standing full height, and she recovered herself. But when she reached to return the gesture, maybe expand on it, she couldn't quite manage more than the bottom of his chin, even on tiptoe.

Gripping his steel biceps, she gave up straining. "s.h.i.t, I can't even reach you. Come here by the side door so I can stand on the step."

Rushing on her heels, she about broke her ankle, but wasn't in the mood to care. Stepping onto the stoop that led through the side door of the house and up to the second floor where her apartment was, she turned back to Caleb. It still wasn't an even match, but he bent his head a little, she reached up, and she was there.

On his mouth, tasting him, dragging her lips across his while her hands clung to his shirt and every part of her exploded in electrifying l.u.s.t. He groaned, she moaned, and the kiss went deeper, harder, rougher, his hands pressing against her back while she opened up for the thrust of his tongue.

Trish molded against that hard body, wrapped her leg around his, ignored the fact that her dress had bunched up a h.e.l.l of a lot more than was appropriate for her driveway. Then his tongue touched hers, and she sank into ecstasy for a split second before jerking herself back out.

He tasted like beer.

What the h.e.l.l was she doing? He was drunk, which generally didn't make for rational behavior.

Trish fell back against the screen door, scratching her bare shoulder on the metal frame, breathing hard. Caleb was also sporting an incredible erection in his jeans. But that didn't matter.

She eyed that burgeoning denim and flattened herself further against the door. Okay, it did matter, but it shouldn't.

What mattered was that she not take advantage of him. The last thing in the world she wanted was to sleep with him, then have him wake up with a throbbing head and regret, mortification, or horror at what he had done.

He was lonely, embarra.s.sed that his ex was marrying an old guy, and Trish could not be selfish about this and give in to the l.u.s.ty urge to just rip her dress off and hop on him right now.

He reached for her. She turned around, hugging the door, digging in her purse for her key. "Sorry. Sorry, Caleb. G.o.d, I didn't mean for that to happen. Not to worry, though. I won't lay another finger on you for the rest of the night-you have my word."

Oh, yippee.Caleb stared at Trish's cute little backside wiggling as she fiddled around in her purse, and wondered why she was apologizing for kissing him exactly like he'd wanted her to.

And wanted her to again.

He enjoyed her company, liked the way she was so confident and direct, and he was rapidly developing intense interest in her body. She was compact, firm, with a little curve to the hips and a luscious swell of b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He was afraid to touch, yet at the same time itched to slide his hands everywhere.

It was the last lingering effects of the alcohol that had emboldened him to rest his hands on her thighs, and when he'd felt that toned and satin-smooth flesh, he had about fallen off his bike. Two years was too d.a.m.n long to go without touching a woman.

Now as Trish climbed the stairs in front of him, he swallowed hard. "It's okay, Trish. I enjoyed it."

She paused, but didn't turn around. "Caleb. I lost my head for a second there, but let's be up-front here."

He followed her into a small living room with hardwood floors and a vibrant red couch. "Up-front about what?"

Trish kicked her shoes off under the coffee table. "Look, I'm not embarra.s.sed to admit that I'm attracted to you. But you're sleeping on the couch tonight. That's all there is to it."

"Okay." No matter how hard he was, he didn't want her to have any doubts at all. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to ask her out for tomorrow night. He had every intention of seeing Trish again.

"Okay then. Great." She put her hands on her hips. "Let me get you a sheet and a pillow. And I can get you something to eat if you're hungry. Or coffee-do you need coffee?"

"I'm fine." Caleb sat on the couch and fought a grimace. It was like a pine board. Stiff and smelling chemical, like she'd had it sprayed with stain repellent. It was a look-good-but-s.h.i.t-for-comfort couch.

He lay down as she came back into the room with a bright red pillow. "You like red, huh?"

It seemed to be jumping at him from every direction, including by his feet. He nearly clipped six red candles on metal sticks on the end table when he lay down. Shifting, he tried to bring his feet back onto the couch. His head, shoulders, and chest shot off the other end and almost collided with a lamp. Red, of course.

"It's my signature color. I've gone with a monochromatic decorating scheme."

Okay. He took the pillow but there was nowhere to put it since his head was dangling three feet above the couch arm. He tried to adjust his feet so part of his lower half and part of his upper half were both off the couch, and he wound up feeling uncomfortable everywhere, muscles tense and bunched.

Trish laughed. "You look like a foot-long hot dog in a regular-size bun."

He searched for a compliment in there, but couldn't find one. "This is a small-a.s.s couch."

She rested her finger above her lip. "Well, I'm not cruel, so you can sleep in my bed and I'll sleep out here."

"You don't want to sleep on this couch. It's like laying on a brick."

"I guess we could share the bed."

Oh, yeah, baby. She didn't need to ask him twice. "I guess we could."

Four.

Trish was left with one burning question.

What the h.e.l.l had she been thinking?

She was lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling, inches from Caleb, and she couldn't do anything about it.

d.a.m.n her parents for teaching her ethics. If she hadn't felt sorry for him, she would have left him tortured on the too-short couch. Or for that matter, she would just do what she really wanted and have hot and sweaty s.e.x with him. Or if she hadn't been a total softie, taken in by the big lug's pathetic solo drinking, she never would have talked to him in the first place.

Being nice and responsible was a b.i.t.c.h.

Because she was wearing shorty pajamas that clung to her body, no bra, within smelling distance from the sweetest, most interesting guy she had met in aboutever , and she was just going to fall asleep.

After having told him that she didn't mind in the least if he took his T-shirt and jeans off.

It had taken incredible discipline not to look when he'd climbed on the bed with her.

"Trish?" he asked as he turned toward her.

She grabbed the edge of the mattress so she wouldn't roll toward him. Every time he shifted, the bed sank on his side and she started to skid downhill, right toward him.

"Yes?"

"How long does my adoption last?"

He was using that voice again, the one that had traipsed past her ear while his hands had managed to fall up her skirt.

She clung tighter to the mattress. "Until I've decided you're grown up and don't need me anymore."

"That's nice of you."

Oh, yeah. She was nice all right.

Nice and h.o.r.n.y.

And wide awake. Inches from him.

It all came back to that.

Caleb watched Trish staring at the ceiling, covers up to her chin. He was under those covers with her, in nothing but his underwear. She was wearing tight little black shorts and a clinging red top that had revealed her nipples to him before she'd gotten into bed while he was stripping off his jeans.

If he shifted, he would be on her side and could pull her into his arms.

And she would probably knee him in the nuts.

"I'm not usually as pathetic as I was tonight, Trish. I'm not sure what that was all about."

She finally turned and looked at him, eyes softening. "Hey, you spent a lot of years with your ex. We all have some baggage."

"Thanks." It made him feel less like a loser, knowing she understood.

"When I walked in there tonight, I was sure that all men are selfish b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who wouldn't know love if it bit them on the a.s.s. You reminded me there really are good guys out there. I enjoyed talking to you."

"There are probably more of us than you think." He followed his urge to brush her bangs off her forehead.

She didn't even seem to notice. Her expression was wistful. "Maybe someday I'll actually find the one that's right for me."