LITMIR.BIZ

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she could walk. She didn’t need to listen to him. “Would you let me out, please, Cassie?”

      “And have Ice Man give me the stink eye? No way. A smart woman knows when to listen to her man.”

      Her man? Cassie must be delusional. “Barclay is most definitely not my man. He’s not even my type.”

      “Type? If he was any more your type, he’d have you sitting on his lap. I sense a definite attraction. You’ve never been around a group of men like the ones at Fire Station Thirty-two.” Cassie snorted. “If you try to go off on your own, he’ll just catch up with you, toss you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and—if you’re lucky—smack your behind.” The woman actually winked at her.

      He smacks my behind and I’ll pop him in the eye. Although the more she thought about it, the more appealing the idea seemed—having a man take control. She could use a break from all the problems and pressures.

      Barclay sauntered back into the diner and Cassie obediently slid out of the seat. He reached in, slipped his hands under Molly and lifted her as if she weighed no more than the role of Ace bandage he’d wrapped around her foot earlier.

      Quinn stood and extended his hand for Cassie. “I’ll be at the cabins to help paint tomorrow, Ice Man. You’ll be back on the job the day after, right?”

      “Yeah, can’t say I’ve missed those forty-eight hour shifts. By the time you get rested during your days off and do a few things, it’s time to start another round.”

      Quinn wrapped his arm around Cassie’s waist, drawing her close. “See you in the morning. Just not real early. I do believe my wife promised me a pole dance tonight.” He leaned in and planted a kiss on her neck.

      Oh, yeah, I’ve dropped into some strange kinky lifestyle hole. Women handcuffed to beds and dancing on poles—seemingly on command. With a gentle strength, Barclay pressed Molly to the firmness of his pecs and carried her from the diner. She clutched her wet hoodie to her side.

      “You seem upset. You okay, Sugar?”

      “Didn’t I tell you not to call me Sugar?”

      He tilted his head to the side and, for a few seconds, she could have sworn his jaw clenched. Would he hit her too? Choke her? Knock her around?

      Oh, he’d call her Sugar, all right. And before he was through with her, she’d damn well know how a man should treat a woman, because he bet she’d never been shown tenderness and protectiveness before. He gave a mental shrug. Okay, maybe from her father, but certainly not from any guy she’d dated. She had no clue she was about to start school—Seduction 101 and maybe, if she was into it, light BDSM 102.

      He’d left the passenger door open on his reconditioned antique truck when he returned to the diner to get her. With great care, he placed her on the wide bench seat, pushing his bags of shopping products over. Slipping his hand beneath the silky fall of her long hair, he cupped the back of her neck to hold her head in place. With slow, deliberate movements, he leaned in and, using the barest of touches, dragged his lips across her cheek until they scarcely made contact with the corner of her mouth. Good God, he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t resist that beauty spot of hers and, against his better judgment, he swept the tip of his tongue over it—ever so lightly.

      Her breathing hitched and his all but seized in his lungs for the want of her, the taste of her, the feel of her under his hands. His lips whispered against the curve of hers, where her cheek ended and her very sexy mouth began. “Then what shall I call you?”

      She swallowed and the sound echoing in his old Chevrolet was something he’d never forget. He couldn’t recall anything so damn enticing. “My…my name is Molly. You know that.”

      He tilted his head toward her a fraction as he reached for the seatbelt and stretched it across her stomach that quivered at his brief touch. “No nicknames?” His eyes focused on hers in the dim interior lighting. Beautiful, magnetizing were the only terms he could think of to describe them. He’d been resisting their pull from the first time he’d seen her.

      She cleared her throat. “N…no.” She jutted her chin. “Well, one, but I refuse to divulge it.” Her gaze centered on the windshield and she wiped her palms on her capris. Was she nervous over his closeness or turned on?

      Either way, she obviously had his attention. Fuckin’A. Both his and his cock’s.

      “Then, with you being so sweet, I’d say Sugar fits. At least between you and me. And I can tell you I have never abused a woman. Argued with, yes. Hit or called names, no. Never. A real man provides and protects.” His lips lightly brushed hers as their breaths mingled and his words stroked her mouth. “Do you know you have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen? It makes your indigo eyes go almost violet. A man could virtually fall into them and never want to climb back out.”

      She jerked back as if he’d struck her. “Your normal seduction techniques won’t work with me. I’m not that easy.” Her eyes narrowed. “How long has it been since you’ve been with a woman?”

      His fingers slipped into her midnight silky tresses, rubbing their rich softness. “That’s one of those trick questions you women like to ask, isn’t it? If I tell you I had a date last night, then you’ll classify me as a player. If I say I haven’t gone out in two or three months, then you’ll just call me a horny bastard. Either answer puts me in a bad light when all I’m trying to do is be honest.”

       There, let her stew on that.

      He closed the door and rounded the front of the brown pick-up, a picture of an aqua-colored cabin by the sea and Gray’s Cottages painted in an arch over the dwelling. A website address was below it. He settled behind the steering wheel, clicked his seatbelt and aimed a smile her way. “Now that we’ve got that settled, where to, Sugar?”

       CHAPTER FOUR

      Molly crossed her arms and gave him the directions, although the way her jaw clenched it was a wonder she could force out one syllable much less a complete sentence. She was so damn pissed she could spit fireballs. This man, this stranger, this hunk of muscle with his sexy-as-hell smile had practically kissed her.

      They’d met mere hours ago and this rascal was coming on to her. He must have mistakenly thought she was desperate for a man, any man. Still, he had saved her from Wade and taken care of her injuries. But even those kindnesses didn’t warrant his frisky nature.

      Ice Man, his friends had called him. She’d give him a different nickname, like Sex on a Stick or Horny Toad.

      What ticked her off, if she were honest, was her body’s reaction to his very male appearance and his gentle, yet almost assertive touch. Thank goodness her mind still contained some wits. For although her body had all but melted into a pile of feminine goo over his toying, her brain and all the common sense it contained resented his subtle flirting, if she could classify it as subtle.

      The blond man with more muscles than those hunks in movies was mounting an offensive as if he were a war general. She shifted her shoulders in annoyance. Okay, so maybe mounting was the wrong terminology here. Her gaze drifted over his t-shirt stretched taut across hardened pecs and the clichéd washboard abs. Just what would it feel like to have him mount…oh hell, I must have a concussion to even think about him like this.

      What kind of woman did he think she was? Just because she carried more than a few extra pounds than other girls, did he think she was desperate for a man’s attention, especially when society only saw beauty in being thin? No doubt, he was playing her because he thought she’d be someone who’d spread her legs for a compliment and a smile. She rolled her eyes. Sugar, he wanted to call her. Huh, I’d like to sugar his balls and plant his manly parts in an anthill.

      When he eased his ancient pickup in front of the old motel converted

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