LITMIR.BIZ

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wrong?”

      “What’s going on here, Justin?”

      “What do you mean?”

      She tilted her head, gesturing to the café. “This.”

      “Shockingly, people are eating.” He leaned forward. “And we’re going to join them.”

      Huffing, she shook her head. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

      Justin didn’t let go of her hands. Instead, he waited to speak until she looked at him. “We’re finally sitting in a restaurant holding hands and sharing a meal, no ethics clauses clouding the view. We’re exploring what might happen when everything else is peeled away and it’s just us.”

      Her breath caught and her fingers tightened around his. “And what might happen?”

      “Whatever we both consent to. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

      “I’m not going to be in Seattle much longer, Justin. I don’t want serious. All I want is to...play.”

      Grinning at her, he shook his head. “You have a thing for board games?”

      “Not until about thirty minutes ago.”

      Ignoring the disapproving glances, he leaned over the table and kissed her gently before settling back in his chair. “Which piece do you want to be?”

      “All of them, and more than once.”

      Her husky answer wound him up. Lust and longing and sexual hunger created a volatile cocktail of need that swam through him. “I promise you’ll pass ‘Go’ more than once.”

      She grinned and shook her head. “I can’t believe we’re sitting here sexing up an eighty-year-old board game.”

      “And I find it strangely attractive that you know how old the game is.”

      “One of my useless pieces of trivia gleaned from years of...” She trailed off.

      “Years of what?” he pressed.

      She took a moment to meet his gaze. “Just a lot of lonely years.”

      The waitress slid his sandwich on the table and refilled their drinks before leaving.

      “Want a bite?” Justin asked, taking his hand away from hers to pick up the sandwich.

      She shook her head as if to clear it. “No, thanks.”

      “Ah. Holding out for dessert. I knew you were my kind of woman.”

      “We’ll see about that.” She reached over and took a fry. “They’re hot.”

      “Consider me forewarned,” he said softly.

      Her eyes darkened. “How in the hell did you just make a single french fry sexy?”

      “Sweetheart, I didn’t. You did.” He took a bite of the sandwich and chewed slowly, watching her.

      “You’re killing me, Smalls.”

      He paused, sandwich halfway to his mouth. “You’re a fan of The Sandlot?”

      “You just earned major points for actually recognizing where that quote comes from.”

      “What about you?”

      She shrugged, pushing her hair over her shoulder. “My mom wasn’t the most involved mother. I grew up believing Scooby-Doo was the evening news, and if I could find a book to lose myself in? Well, that was the best of all. You’ll be stunned to learn I’ve been a pirate, a mercenary, a vampire, a steampunk inventor and, on more than one occasion, a damsel in distress.”

      He licked salt off his finger. “You don’t strike me as distressed.”

      “No, I’m not.” She shrugged. “I’ve never been that woman.”

      “Want to know my other favorite quote from that movie? ‘Anyone who wants to be a can’t-hack-it pantywaist who wears their mama’s bra, raise your hand.’”

      She laughed. “I forgot about that one!”

      The sound of her laughter slid through him like some kind of chemical reaction, pulverizing common sense until he was nothing but a mass of desire. “Grace,” he said, choked.

      Watching him, she reached over and slid the plate away and flagged the waitress. “Can we get our dessert?”

      “Was there something wrong with your sandwich?” the young girl asked.

      “No,” Grace answered. “We’re just anxious to share dessert.”

      “Very anxious,” Justin quietly added.

      The waitress rolled her eyes but took the half-eaten sandwich away.

      Lacing their fingers together, he was surprised at how small her hand seemed in his.

      “Justin?”

      He met her stare, letting everything he felt show in his eyes. “Every time you came into class, every time you stopped by my office with research notes or questions on theory or treatment options, every time we ran into each other on campus—I knew you were smarter and more driven than any of the other students. You were special. There were obstacles, boundaries I wasn’t willing to push. Those are gone. I want you.”

      The waitress set the crème brûlée between them. “Enjoy.”

      Justin didn’t let go of Grace’s hand. Instead, he picked up the spoon with his free hand and scooped up a small bit of the creamy dessert and held it out. “Bite.” A statement, not a question.

      She complied without any hesitation, her lips closing over the spoon, her eyes fluttering shut in absolute bliss.

      A rush of heat flooded his groin, and his cock kicked against his jeans.

      “That’s delicious,” she murmured, licking her lips.

      He leaned over and tasted the sweetness from her mouth.

      Her eyes flared before closing again.

      She tasted decadent, rich and smooth with a hint of crisp, caramelized sugar.

      It was the best taste he’d ever had on his tongue.

      Taking the spoon from him, she set it down and retrieved a strawberry. She presented the meatiest part of the fruit, tracing his lips with it, teasing, before she let him take a bite.

      Justin realized he was going to cause a scene when he stood up and the world caught sight of the undeniable erection pounding against the waistband of his jeans.

      “Jeez. Get a room,” someone nearby muttered.

      Annoyed someone would disrespect Grace, he started to whip around and address the speaker.

      Grace squeezed his fingers, stopping him.

      “That’s a fabulous idea,” she said, so softly he thought he must have misunderstood.

      “Sorry?”

      She met his gaze without flinching. “I said, that’s a fabulous idea.”

      “Getting a room?” he asked stupidly.

      “Yes, Justin.” She leaned over and nipped his bottom lip before whispering, “And make it somewhere nearby.”

      He let go of her hand to flip the check over as he dug out his wallet. He dropped enough to cover the bill and tip, grabbed Grace’s hand and hauled her out of the restaurant.

      She laughed as she followed. “It doesn’t have to be a fifty-yard dash.”

      Opening the car door for her, he muttered, “The first time, it probably will be. After that? Monopoly is all about strategy and longevity, baby.” He met her wide-eyed gaze. “This is what you’re getting into with me—all

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