Look what people are saying
about Leslie Kelly

“Kelly is a top writer, and this is another

excellent book.”

—RT Book Reviews on Play with Me

“A hip contemporary romance packed with

great one-liners!”

—RT Book Reviews on Terms of Surrender

“One Wild Wedding Night features sexy and fun stories with likable characters, only to end with a sexy story that floors me with how well it resonates with me. Oh, this one is definitely wild, but even better, it also aims for the heart.” —Mrs. Giggles

“Whoa baby, Overexposed is hot stuff! Ms Kelly employs a great deal of heart and humor to achieve balance with the incendiary romance. Great characters, many of whom fans will recognize, and a vibrant narrative kept this reader glued to each and every word. Overexposed is without a doubt one of the better Blaze® books I have read to date.” —The Romance Reader’s Connection

“Filled with humor and heart, Slow Hands by Leslie Kelly, is a complete delight … The cross-purpose conversations and situations that result are laugh-out-loud funny. The romantic entanglements are highly emotional, and the large cast is expertly handled. 4½ stars!” —RT Book Reviews

Dear Reader,

Believe it or not, although I’m a big fan of many of Shakespeare’s plays, I had never, until very recently, read A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Nor had I ever seen one of the movie adaptations. But when I started talking about ideas for a Blazing-hot summer read with my fabulous editor, that story just leaped into my mind. Once I’d read it, I knew I had to tackle the basic premise in Blaze. Add in a few twisted, sexy fortunes in a fortune cookie, and I had a perfect setup for lots of spicy dreams.

I love writing my books with little “Easter Eggs” for readers to find and grin over. So there are some Midsummer references in this book, beyond the overall storyline and characters. I hope you have fun finding them—and that you enjoy reading about Mimi and Xander’s sexy midsummer-night adventures!

Happy reading!

Leslie Kelly

About the Author

LESLIE KELLY has written dozens of books and novellas for Blaze, Temptation and HQN.Known for her sparkling dialogue, fun characters and depth of emotion, her books have been honored with numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award, an RT Book Reviews Award and three nominations for the highest award in romance, the RWA RITA® Award. Leslie lives in Maryland with her own romantic hero, Bruce, and their three daughters. Visit her online at www.lesliekelly.com.

Blazing
Midsummer
Nights
Leslie Kelly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Brit Lit teachers everywhere…

you make Shakespeare fun!

1

SOMEONE ONCE SAID that the course of true love never did run smooth. As Mimi Burdette watched two of her good friends sway together in a romantic dance, however, she had to disagree. Because the true love between this couple had been obvious to everyone who knew them, almost from the moment they’d met.

“They look like a prince and princess,” murmured Anna, her neighbor, friend, landlady and tonight’s hostess.

“Considering the setting, maybe a fairy king and queen.”

She wasn’t kidding. The woods surrounding the backyard of the old plantation house just outside of Athens had been turned into a mythical forest. As dusk fell and a thousand twinkle lights began to gleam in the night, everyone at the engagement party slowed to appreciate the beauty all around them.

A trio of musicians softly strummed their instruments, the lyrical notes riding a warm, summer breeze. The Spanish moss hanging from the live oaks gleamed silver under the evening dew and the firefly-soft lighting. Magnolias the size of dinner plates dotted the trees, looking like a thousand full moons, filling the air with their evocative scent. Lanterns hung from the lowest branches of the graceful pines, and the arches of a dozen arbors were draped with writhing, sweet-smelling jasmine and heavily laden grapevines.

Okay, the vines and fruit were fake. But what an effect!

“You really outdid yourself,” Mimi said to Anna, who stood watching the proceedings, wearing a smile.

The older woman, dressed as always in colorful, flowing robes, merely shrugged. “Setting the stage for romance is easy when the people involved are meant for each other like Duke and Lyssa.” She chuckled. “Of course, it didn’t hurt that I’m helping with the costumes and props for the downtown theater group’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

With her filmy, billowing clothes, and her long ash-gray hair, loose and wavy and entwined with flowers, Anna looked more like a hippie than a retiree. So maybe it wasn’t so surprising that she could take a normal backyard, ringed by normal Georgia woods, and turn it into something out of a storybook.

“Anyway, it was just a few lights, some fabric—easy.”

“Maybe for you, but other than advertising, the creative wiring was left out of my genetic code. To me, this looks like pure sorcery and magic.”

The soon-to-be bride and groom deserved a magical wedding. They were wonderful people, and she already missed having them as neighbors. They’d already moved into their new house, but until a week ago, had lived right across the hall from her own first-floor apartment in this grand old estate home.

Anna and her husband, Ralph—dubbed Obi-Wan because of his love for all things Star Wars and his sage, all-knowing demeanor—had bought the place decades ago and raised their family here. Once the kids were gone, they’d divided the three-story mansion into six small apartments, figuring the rental income would keep them nicely provided for in their retirement.

With the unit across from Mimi’s vacant, and another unrented one on the second floor, the big house was feeling empty. Plus, Anna and Obi-Wan’s volatile marriage was on the rocks again. Obi-Wan’s one fault was his jealous streak. He was always accusing other men of being after his wife. His latest accusation had angered Anna enough that she had moved into one of the vacant units to teach him a lesson.

In this economy, three rentals not bringing in any money was not a good thing. She had to wonder where Anna had come up with the funds to throw this engagement party for her former tenants. Mimi had offered to help pay—she could certainly afford it and would have loved to help—but Anna’s pride wouldn’t allow her to accept. The most she would allow was the use of Mimi’s nice discount on much of the food.

Sometimes it really paid to be the daughter of the owner of a chain of grocery stores. Not to mention being the head of marketing for said grocery store chain, with an express ticket to the executive offices of her family’s business.

Some people wondered why she lived here, in a small apartment in an old house, when she could afford to buy her own home, or sponge off her parents at their estate. But Mimi loved this place, loved the history of it. More importantly, she loved the sense of community she found here, where she was free to be herself and didn’t have to wear the socialite hat, or the business executive one. She could just be Mimi.

“Oh,” Anna said, snapping her fingers as she remembered something. “You’re going to have new neighbors. My daughter, Helen, and her little boy are moving from Atlanta next weekend, taking the vacant unit on two. And I rented the apartment across from yours today.”

“Really? That’s wonderful,” Mimi said, surprised.

“I invited the new tenant to come tonight, but he didn’t want to intrude—he moved in this afternoon.”

“You must be so glad,” she said, relieved to know one financial burden had been lifted from her landlords’ shoulders. She doubted they’d take rent money from their daughter, who had gone through a bad divorce last year.

“One B is a real hottie,” Anna said, her eyebrows waggling.

“There are more important things than hotness.”

Definitely more important. She’d been involved with superhot guys in the past and had the psychological burn scars to prove it. The last supersexy, relied-only-on-his-looks guy she’d dated had ended up “borrowing” her credit card and buying a matching pair of his-and-her motorcycles.

That had been bad. Worse? Mimi hadn’t been the her.

No way was she stepping close to the flames again. Now when she looked at a man, she was more interested in steadiness, self-confidence and brains. If those things came in nice-looking packages, okay, but looks alone just didn’t cut it.

Fortunately, it was possible to have all of the above. She only had to look across the crowded party at her own golden-haired escort to see that.

Dimitri was perfect. He was everything she’d been telling herself she needed, and was nothing like the men who’d hurt her in the past. He’d also been hand-picked for her by her own father, who was notoriously hard to please. Normally, that would be a bad thing; she didn’t like doing what was expected of her, and knew her father to be a bully. But considering her bad luck with romance, and her efforts to improve her relationship with her dad—who stood firmly in the path of her going where she wanted to go professionally, i.e., right into his office once he retired—it seemed like a smart move.

The icing on the cake? Dimitri was also very handsome.

But handsome doesn’t always equal hot. And enjoying being with someone definitely doesn’t always lead to physical heat.

She sighed deeply, wishing that little voice in her head would shut up, even while acknowledging the words were true.

But it didn’t matter—handsome was enough. Handsome was movie-star good looks, good manners, holding the door. Handsome was every hair in place, jaw smoothly shaven and a nice suit. Handsome was self-confidence borne of being admired by everyone who knew him, and inspiring fantasies of Prince Charming in just about every woman who saw him. Handsome was a good-night kiss with enough tongue to be provocative but not enough to be impolite.

Handsome was Dimitri.

Hot was … something else.

Hot was sexy, rugged and edgy. Hot was unpredictable. Hot smelled sweaty and male, not doused with expensive cologne. Hot had thick muscles that gave proof of utter strength and could make any woman feel feminine by contrast. Hot had an edge of danger, wasn’t always courteous, didn’t treat a lover like a fragile object. Hot had a deep voice, knowing eyes and a stubbled jaw that every woman wanted roughing up her inner thighs. Hot would ensnare a woman … mind, body and soul.

She fanned herself, acknowledging the truth. Handsome she had. Hot she hadn’t seen in a very long time.

More importantly: handsome she should have. Hot she should stay away from.

She shook off the mental images. Enough with the hot fantasies. Handsome reality was bringing her a glass of wine, drawing the appreciative stares of every person with a uterus.

He was hers if she wanted him. And you want him. Damn it, you’d be crazy not to want him!

But she was beginning to wonder. Heck, she hadn’t even been the one to invite him here tonight. Anna had bumped into him at the store and extended the invitation. Mimi had no idea why he’d accepted, considering he didn’t know anybody here except her. Since he’d said yes, he’d naturally expected Mimi to be his date, which should make any woman extremely happy.

“Okay, Miss Smarty-Pants, if you’re not about looks, care to explain your date over there?”

“You invited him,” she pointed out.

“Only because you’ve gone out with him a few times.”

“I know, my family swears he’s perfect for me. And he is very good-looking,” she admitted. Then, speaking more to herself, she voiced the concern that had been niggling at her. “But there’s also something called chemistry.”

“Hate to break it to ya, but you two ain’t got it.”

She sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to an expert like me.”

And to Mimi. She’d already figured out that good looks didn’t always inspire sparks, and dating someone wasn’t the same as wanting to go to bed with him. If it were, she and Dimitri would probably be sleeping together, or perhaps even engaged, which was what her father was pushing for. Pushing hard.

Dimitri was a new executive with Burdette Quality Foods, the family business. He was also her Dad’s right-hand man. Cultured, handsome, well-educated. The perfect guy in every way.

But perfect for her?

Anna shook her head and tsked. “Honey, it’s obvious you’re experiencing a small sexual dry spell.”

“Small? Try Sahara-sized,” she admitted, wondering, not for the first time, if there was something wrong with her.

“So, sex camel, what are you looking for, a Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp oasis?”

Dimitri would probably be considered every bit as handsome as those men. Still, there was no fire. When he kissed her, she always thought, well, that’s nice. But she never had the urge to rip off his pressed shirt, shove him against a wall and thrust her tongue down his throat. And they’d never done anything more than kiss. He hadn’t pushed, and she hadn’t wanted him to. Because, for a sex camel, nice sex wasn’t an oasis, it was just the last few drops of water from a nearly empty canteen.

If she really wanted an oasis, she needed hot.

Forget it. Heat burns. A lukewarm canteen is good enough.

“I honestly don’t know,” she finally admitted. “He’s everything I should want.”

“But not what you need? Not what you crave?”

Needing and craving didn’t begin to describe what she felt for Dimitri. Respecting and appreciating did. “Like I said, there’s more to life.”

“You tell yourself that the next time a gorgeous, hot, half-naked man lands at your feet.”

“I think I’ll go for a walk during the next thunderstorm. I’d have a better chance of getting struck by lightning.”

“Thunderstorm?” Dimitri asked. “It doesn’t look like rain.”

Glad he hadn’t overheard their entire conversation, Mimi took the glass of wine he offered, murmuring, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. How about a dance when you’re finished?”

Dancing under the stars with a handsome man. It should sound heavenly. But instead it sounded … just okay. As okay as everything else in her life lately.

Okay is fine. Okay is better than wounded and lonely. Okay is better than wondering what the hell is wrong with you since the last few rounds of ring-around-the-relationship ended with you in the used-and-heartbroken seat.

She’d been following her libido instead of her brain and had lived to regret it. So her brain needed to be in charge from now on. And her brain said okay was good enough.

“Sure, thanks,” she said, lowering the glass.

She let Dimitri lead her to the flagstone patio, which was being used for dancing. Mimi held her breath, looking up at his handsome face—all slashing, GQ-magazine-cover cheekbones, haughty brows, dark green eyes that watched her closely. She was waiting for a frisson of sensation, a spark at the brush of his tall, lean body against her own, but it just didn’t happen.

Maybe it never will. Maybe acknowledging that he’s handsome and smart, and liking him will do.

She did like him, and respected him. She doubted he’d hurt her—the fact that she wasn’t desperate for him should be enough to insulate her from too much pain if things went south. And it would certainly make things nice in terms of the business, not to mention her rocky relationship with her dad.

In this day and age, no self-respecting woman would marry a man just to please her father, and Mimi wouldn’t, either. But considering her old man swore she’d said every word in the dictionary except “Dada” as an infant, just to spite him, she didn’t think extending an olive branch was such a bad thing. It wasn’t just wanting to keep things smooth at work. She also didn’t want to fight with him because she knew it upset her mother, who’d been playing the role of peacekeeper since Mimi took her first steps. So would it really be such a hardship to let herself drift into a relationship with a man most women would consider a Greek god, who was also rich, smart and nice?

No. It wouldn’t.

It was time to rid herself of the I-want-it-hot fantasies and move into the next phase of her life. The settle-down-and-marry-a-nice-handsome-man-and-have-a-family phase. Which meant maybe it was time to move her relationship with Dimitri up a notch … and closer to her bedroom.

She thought about it. The party would wind down in an hour or two. Afterward, she could invite him into her apartment for a drink. They’d kiss. She’d move close, let her breasts brush against his chest. Tangle her legs between his. She wouldn’t resist when he slid his hand up her thigh, edging her dress ever higher. Until he reached her. “Oh, hell,” she mumbled.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she insisted, feeling heat stain her cheeks.

Nothing except she was in no way dressed for seduction. Oh, sure, she was on the outside. But underneath her slinky, sexy dress, she wore what every other self-respecting American woman who didn’t want a single bulge showing wore: Spanx.

She’d loved this dress the minute she saw it, though it had been a size smaller than she usually wore. A pair of superstrong control-top panties had seemed a small price to pay … but they weren’t going to lend themselves to a romantic atmosphere. He’d probably have to get power tools to drag them off her.

Only one thing to do. Ditch the drawers.

The evening was getting late, it was dark, people were drinking. Who’d notice if she switched into something sexy and her dress suddenly fit a little too tightly? Nobody, that’s who. And maybe doing it—getting ready for seduction, feeling the silky glide of lingerie against her most intimate parts—would get her in the mood to act on her plan to seduce him.

“Would you excuse me? I need to run inside for a minute.”

To pry off my underwear.

“Of course,” he said, releasing her. No argument, no suggestion that he go, too, so they could continue their dance in private. How—boring—refreshing.

Thrusting aside those thoughts, she turned away from him toward the house. But she hadn’t taken one step when she heard a woman nearby whisper in a loud, tipsy voice, “Whoa, mama, who’s that?”

Curious about the comment, which sounded as though it should have been accompanied by a purr, she glanced toward the gate, and her breath caught in her throat.

Anna stood there, and beside her was a stranger. A tall, dark-haired stranger, wearing low-slung jeans and nothing else.

The jeans looked good. The nothing, fantastic.

He was shirtless, shoeless, sweaty. His slick, tanned body gleamed under the twinkle lights, lines of oh-so-interesting skin striped with equally interesting shadow. His broad shoulders looked Atlas-size, and his thickly muscled arms flexed as he swiped a hand through his jet-black hair.

She couldn’t make out whether he was as handsome of face as he was of body. But she definitely noted that his six-pack abs were so perfect they ought to be sold in a liquor store and come with a warning label.

Whoa, mama, indeed.

“Mimi? Are you all right?”

She tore her attention off the stranger and glanced at Dimitri, who was watching her curiously.

“I’m fine,” she told Mr. Handsome.

But, heaven help her, she could not stop wondering about the identity of the new arrival.

Aka: Mr. Hot.

TALK ABOUT MAKING a bad first impression on his new neighbors. Not only was Xander McKinley so not the garden party type, but he was also bare-chested, sweaty and probably stunk from having lugged boxes all evening.

He had fully intended to stay inside tonight, to ignore the party going on in his new backyard. He was a stranger to these people, and while it had been nice of his landlady to extend the invitation, he hadn’t even considered intruding. He still hadn’t gotten his head wrapped around the whole Southern-gentility thing, since Georgia was like a different world from Chicago. But he knew it wasn’t mannerly to barge in on a party when the invite had only been extended out of politeness. So he’d planned to just finish hauling in the last of his stuff, which he’d picked up from the storage unit this afternoon, then unpack a few boxes and settle into his new home.

Unfortunately, settling in hadn’t included hooking his new key to his key ring. So when he’d run outside to grab one last thing out of the truck—sans shirt and shoes—he’d also found himself sans key. And locked out.

“I’m so sorry about this,” he repeated to his new landlady.

Anna waved away his apology. “I should think you’d know how to get in without a key, being a dashing firefighter and all.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me ramming the door down.”

“Best not. Anyway, it’s just as well, since it forced you to come out and meet everyone,” she said.

He gestured toward his sweaty, bare chest. “I’m not exactly dressed for a party.”

“Well, I won’t let you back into your place until you promise to come back after you’ve gotten cleaned up.”

“I don’t know….”

“I do. No more arguments.” The woman led him to a row of chairs in a gazebo, grabbing an oversized purse that was covered with peace signs and jingled with every movement. “I don’t have a key to your front door with me, but I have a master that fits all the secret doors.”

“Secret doors?”

“You probably didn’t notice it—every unit has one. The one in your unit is inside what’s now your bedroom closet. It leads into the screened porch.” She grabbed a jangling ring of keys and removed a small, antique-looking one. “Here it is. Go through the porch and head for the door in the far right corner.”

She gestured toward the porch, and he glanced over. There were about fifty people at the party, many of them milling around outside the back door, and he was going to have to go through all of them. Great. Wonderful. Note to self—don’t go out shirtless and shoeless unless you know you can get back in.

He reached for the key, but before he could take it, something caught his attention. Or, rather, someone.

He whistled. “Who is she?” he mumbled, not even realizing he’d said it out loud.

There were a lot of women here. Attractive women. The South definitely had its share of them. But this one actually made him forget where he was and what he was saying. He could only stand there, staring, as she walked toward the screened-in porch.

With her back to the decorated lawn and woods, she was almost haloed by the thousands of tiny lights. She looked like some kind of magical creature stepping out of a storybook, and he had to blink a few times to rid his mind of the imagery.

He could shake off the magic, but no amount of blinking could change the fact that she was stunning. Or that she looked like she belonged to the night—to nature and the woods and everything mystical.

The woman was tall. Her silky dress was long and shimmery, the color of soft, springy moss, and it clung to a curvy body that would make a man drop to his knees and howl. Her thick hair fell down her back in a tumble of waves and was a mixture of earthy colors—mostly red, but with some gold and brown strewn in there as well. He couldn’t make out her features in this lighting and from this distance, but he saw a mouth curved up into a smile.

He’d thought earlier how hot it was for a summer night. But he hadn’t even understood the meaning of the word until he’d spied her across the party. Because a blast of heat had hit him square in the chest just watching her cross the lawn.

“That’s Mimi Burdette.” His landlady smiled, her gaze shifting back and forth between him and the redhead, who’d disappeared into the screened porch. “Would you like me to introduce you when you come back?”

Oh, hell to the yeah. But something made him ask, “Is she here alone?”

“She’s single,” the woman replied without hesitation. “Totally available.”

Hard to believe, but everybody had a down spell now and then. “Interesting,” he said, more to himself than to Anna.

He hadn’t even been thinking about meeting a woman; the idea of romance was so far down on his list it wasn’t on the first page. New job, new home, new state, fresh start—yeah, that was his focus. Having nothing left in Chicago, he’d moved south, determined to make sure he did what he’d promised his parents he’d do before they’d both died last year—go out and start over somewhere new. Find a life for himself. One that didn’t include sadness and loss and family responsibilities that had kept him close to home for nearly all of his thirty years.

Hell, maybe a woman could be part of that new life. Just because he hadn’t been looking didn’t mean he should walk the other way if an interesting one crossed his path. And an interesting one had most definitely just crossed his path.

“Mimi, huh?” The name was too cute for such a sensual-looking woman and he had to wonder if it was a nickname.

“She’s fabulous,” Anna gushed. “Daughter to a grocery store magnate. Very wealthy and successful.”

Oh, great. Just the type of woman he did not need. He stiffened, unable to help it.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like rich people. He made it a point to never judge anyone based on their checkbook balance, be it written in red ink or in black. It was just that, working as a Chicago firefighter, he had met more than a few wealthy women who wanted to walk on the wild side with somebody who had a dangerous job. He’d once participated in a bachelor auction to benefit a kids’ charity. The Junior League set had treated all the men like meat in a butcher shop. The sixtyish cougar who’d bought a date with him hadn’t quite reached the level of sexual assault, but she’d come close, and he’d sworn he’d never date a woman with money. Rich, spoiled and young probably wasn’t too much different from rich, spoiled and old. So forget her.

“Thanks, but I don’t think so,” he said, disappointment flooding him. Anna’s brow shot up, and confusion creased her brow. Not wanting to explain, Xander added, “And thanks for the key. I’ll return it soon.”

“Okay, see you in a little while.” Then, clearing her throat, Anna added, “Remember, through the screen porch, to the small, old-fashioned door in the far left corner.”

Left? Yeesh. Good thing she’d repeated herself— he’d been thinking right. Or, more accurately, he hadn’t been thinking right … not since he’d spied that stunning figure in green.

Xander nodded, then headed for the porch. There were at least a dozen people inside. He didn’t see a reddish head, but he probably would once he stepped into the shadowy alcove. Despite having decided that some rich Southern belle whose looks clawed at his guts wasn’t on his shortlist of people to meet, he couldn’t deny he wanted to see her close up. Mainly he wanted to see her eyes. Were they green, the same mossy shade as her dress? Or a rich amber-brown?

Or maybe they’re pinched, cold, bloodshot.

That would probably be a good thing. Because then he would see she wasn’t as attractive as he imagined, but just a normal, rich, bored, jaded young woman. Not some magical fantasy creature spun out of summer moonlight.

As it turned out, though, he didn’t get the chance to see her up close. Because, as he made his way across the screened porch, he realized she wasn’t inside. She must have slipped back out when he wasn’t looking.

Smiling and nodding at the several people who said hello, he headed for the back left corner. The door was tiny, as Anna had warned, and was nearly hidden by a large, potted plant. Sliding the key into the old-fashioned lock, he entered, seeing a small, dark passage before him.

Inside, clothes hung in front of his face—more felt than seen, since it was so dark. He must have hung up more things than he’d remembered, because the closet was more full than he’d expected. Of course, it could just seem that way because he was coming in from this side angle.

He pushed past his things, noting the soft, delicate scent in the air. Whoever had rented this place before him must have left behind some sachet or air freshener—his clothes sure didn’t smell like the flowery stuff that filled his every breath.

Reaching the doors that led to his new bedroom, he saw one was slightly ajar, and that the room beyond was well-lit. Strange. He didn’t remember putting a bulb in the new lamp he’d picked up for his bedside table.

He had just put up his hand to push the door the rest of the way open, when he heard a voice.

“Soft and pretty, sultry and sexy or hot and raunchy?”

He froze. That voice had come from his bedroom, and he knew damn well he hadn’t even hooked up a TV or radio, much less left it turned on.

“What’s it going to take to turn you on?”

Sexy voices of strange women standing in my bedroom would be his first answer. Though, why said strange woman would be in his bedroom, he had no idea. Had a pair of guests crept inside, thinking to slip into what had been an empty unit until earlier today, to grab a midparty quickie?

“Do you like what you see?” she purred.

He waited for a male voice to answer, but heard nothing. Miss Purrs-A-Lot was either talking to herself, or the guy she was with had been struck mute while he tried to decide between pretty, sexy or raunchy.

Frankly, so had Xander. All he could wonder was if there was an option D, for “all of the above.”

Well, he’d also been struck mute by the realization that he was playing the role of voyeur in this sexy drama.

“I somehow suspect you’ll like pretty and soft, not sexy,” she said, her voice a little less throaty, a little less wicked. In fact, she sounded almost … disappointed. Which lent credence to his theory that she was entirely alone.

He rubbed his forehead, racking his brain to figure this out. A voice was coming from his bedroom. A female voice. A throaty, attractive female voice. A throaty, attractive female voice talking about something very sexy. To herself.

Wondering if he’d taken a wrong turn and ended up in a male fantasyland, or was being set up for some kind of X-rated Punk’d episode, he pushed the door open another inch and looked into the room. He couldn’t see far, because his line of sight was blocked by the woman staring at her reflection in the mirror on the other—closed—closet door. Yep. She had definitely been talking to herself; to her reflection, anyway.

Then he realized … it was her. The redhead whose eyes, he now saw, were so blue they looked violet. The one in the green dress. Only, now, she wasn’t wearing that green dress. She was—holy shit—nearly naked.

The long strands of her red hair had fallen forward over her soft, bare shoulders, covering much of a lacy black bra. And covering the curves that bra was covering.

Too bad.

No, it’s not, jackass. Because he didn’t know if his heart could have taken seeing what he suspected was an utterly perfect pair of breasts. Just spying the rest of her body was enough to rob him of breath. And coherent thought.

The hair played peek-a-boo with the bra. But below that was nothing but smooth, soft-looking, pale, feminine skin. Miles and miles of it.

Her bare midriff drew his eyes downward, to the indentation of her small waist, then the flare of her hips. Those hips were covered by two thin straps of silky fabric—dark green, lacy—that descended into a V of shimmery material that covered her groin. Long, supple legs went on forever, or to the floor, ending in a pair of sexy, spike-heeled black shoes.

“So I guess a thong might be overdoing it,” she said.

A thong could never overdo it in his book.

“Too bad. This thing doesn’t look too shabby,” she said with a sigh. She turned, glancing at her reflection, checking out the rear view.

Oh, man, what a view. The strip-of-fabric-pretending-to-be-underwear slid between two delectable cheeks, and Xander nearly choked, sure he’d never seen a more perfect ass.

Suddenly realizing what he was doing—playing Peeping Tom—he slammed his eyes shut. Sure, the woman had decided to come into his bedroom to do her lingerie assessment, for some weird reason, but that didn’t mean he should stand here in the dark like some perv, squirming to catch a peek.

He tried to figure out what to do. How did one handle this type of situation? Should he go back the way he’d come, hoping she wouldn’t hear him, then go tell his landlady that some chick with a great ass and a Godiva complex was trespassing in his place? Or maybe he ought to get out there and confront her before her boyfriend showed up to decide whether he liked her thong? He hadn’t even slept in his brand-new bed himself yet; he sure didn’t want another couple christening it.

Especially not if the other couple was that woman and any other man on the planet than himself.

He could have answered one question for her—yes, oh, hell, yes on her current underwear. If the guy was straight and breathing, he’d like the damn thong. In fact, as for himself, well, he couldn’t think about much except how much he wanted to tug that shiny green fabric out from between those luscious curves. With his teeth.

You gotta get out of here.

Yeah. Pronto.

Even though the lighting was low in the closet, and he couldn’t see well, he knew he’d have to at least open his eyes to make sure he didn’t poke himself in the face with a hanger. So he risked a peek, opening just the left one. He hadn’t turned away from the crack in the door, so he got a full-on image of what she was up to.

She was up to dropping her panties.

“Whoa, stop right there!” he barked, not even having made the decision to reveal himself. Instinct just propelled him out into the bedroom.

She let out a little scream, and he opened his mouth to tell her he wasn’t some kind of attacker. But before he could speak, and before she could dive for her clothes or dart for the door, his foot caught the edge of the dresser, and he fell flat on the floor, landing right at her sexy feet.

And looking up at a most interesting view.

2

LOOKING DOWN AT the incredibly gorgeous, hot, sexy, shirtless man lying at her feet, Mimi at first thought she’d had one too many glasses of wine and was seeing things. But considering she’d only had one, she doubted she was intoxicated.

Her second thought was that she was about to be attacked.

She grabbed a vase off her dresser. It was a heavy, leaded crystal thing, that would probably crack the pervert’s skull open. She came close—so incredibly close—to dropping it on his head, when a voice whispered in her mind, He’s Mr. Hot. He was at the party. Anna knows him.

It seemed crazy to suppose that before attacking, a sexual predator ditched his clothes and socialized at parties in his victims’ backyards. So who was he?

“Who are you and what were you doing in my closet?” she asked, still not letting go of the vase.

“Your closet …?” he mumbled, rising to his hands and knees. On all fours, he turned his head from side to side, looking around the room, and added, “I’m in the wrong apartment.”

“No shit, Sherlock. Now who are you?”

He lifted his head to look up at her. And his big brown eyes—gorgeous, beautiful, velvety-brown eyes that were ringed by the longest lashes she’d ever seen on a man—got even wider.

That was when she remembered she was naked but for her bra. And that he was kneeling at her feet. About eye level with.

“Oh, my God,” she groaned, lunging for her dresser. She plopped the vase on it, grabbed her robe and thrust her arms inside, quickly wrapping it around her body.

She couldn’t stop shaking. Adrenaline had put her on high alert. Now humiliation and embarrassment were doing their darnedest to make her quiver into a ball of mush.

Had she really just flashed her goodies to a complete stranger? And, for the briefest, most wicked second, had she not been tantalized by the image of that incredibly hot, sexy stranger moving a few inches closer for a more intimate look?

She’d been in here planning to seduce a nice man she’d been dating and was about as aroused as a stick of wood. But playing a Sharon Stone-type game of peek-a-crotch with a gorgeous mystery man got her all warm and melty down there?

She clenched her thighs together. Yeah. Warm and melty. Like chocolate left in the sun.

Just waiting to be tasted.

She winced and clenched harder. What on earth was wrong with her? “This can’t be happening,” she said with a moan.

“Tell me about it.”

The stranger, all slick-skinned, broad-chested and rippling muscles, slowly rose to his feet. He continued to look around the room, shaking his head slowly, as if in a daze.

Up close, he was more attractive—not to mention at least twenty degrees hotter—than he had been from across the party. His jaw was so square, his face so lean and masculine. Such masculinity shouldn’t have looked right with the accompanying long lashes and the downright full lips, but managed to come across as perfect.

“This really isn’t my bedroom.” He still sounded thoroughly confused.

“I think we’ve established that. It’s my bedroom. Did you not happen to notice the pink sheets and lingerie?”

Of course he noticed the lingerie, idiot.

Feeling her face flame, and the rest of her get a little warmer, too, she tightened her arms around her waist, conscious of how silky and thin the robe was. Could he see the pucker of her nipples against the cloth? Was there any way he could tell that her thighs were quivering and she badly wanted to lean against the edge of the bed for support?

“I noticed,” he admitted, his eyes darkening.

She licked her lips, reminded herself to breathe. “How did you get in here?” It made no sense. Hadn’t he been outside at the party when she’d entered the screen porch? And while she’d left the door unlocked on the way out earlier, she’d flipped the lock when coming back in.

He lifted his hand, showing her a small key.

She gaped. “Where did you get that?”

“From Anna. I locked myself out of my apartment.”

All the breath left her lungs as she suddenly realized who he was. Not some random, lost party guest. Not a drunk who might forget this night ever happened. Not a handsome stranger she would never have to see again. No. She’d just come face-to-coochie with her new next-door neighbor.

“You’re 1B,” she whispered.

“Excuse me?”

“The new tenant across the hall in 1B.”

He slowly nodded. “Yeah. I moved in today. And, uh, am I to understand that you’re 1A?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated a long moment.

“Well, uh … nice to meet you?”

The guy had just been kneeling face-level with her—fortunately neatly trimmed—va-jay-jay and all he could manage was nice to meet you? Where the hell was the sorry I was creeping in your closet and spying on you naked?

“Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?”

A slow, lazy grin tugged at his lips and he glanced down at her robe-covered body. “Uh, really nice to meet you?”

She reached for the vase again.

He held a hand up, palm out. “Sorry. But, I mean, you gotta admit, that first meeting is going to be hard to top.” He glanced at her thong, still lying on the floor between them. His stare grew a little more heated. “Not to mention bottom.”

She growled. Literally. “Just how long were you watching?”

“Long enough to wonder if you’re dating a eunuch.”

“What?”

“Hey, only a guy with no balls wouldn’t like the way you looked in that thong.”

Her face reddened and she was torn between thanking him or kicking him. Not only had he seen her—lots of her—but he’d obviously heard her talking to herself. Hopefully he hadn’t arrived in time to hear her ask the pretend Dimitri in the mirror if he was into anything naughty and kinky.

Hmm. Wonder if 1B is?

She swallowed the lump in her throat, wishing her brain would stop tossing out these sexy curveballs. She was on the straight-and-narrow, nice-guy-and-a-future path, please-her-father-and-show-him-she-could-do-his-job path. She didn’t need any distractions, physically or mentally.

“What were you doing, anyway? Going through your underwear wardrobe, trying to figure out what to wear to entice him?”

“That’s none of your business.”

He ignored her. “Because, honey, just saying yes would be enough enticement for any heterosexual guy on the planet.”

Pleasure curled in her when she noted his sincerity. But she crushed it out, remembering she didn’t like this man who’d spied on her and gotten two eyes full of her private parts. Not to mention she’d sworn off hot men and this one was so on fire he should have a smoke detector strapped around his chest.

Offering her a sheepish grin, he added, “Look, I’m really sorry I spied on you. I wasn’t there for more than a minute. To be honest, I was caught off guard. I just didn’t know what to do.”

“Going back out the way you came in would have been good.”

“I thought this was my apartment. But I was going to leave anyway. Then I, uh, opened my eyes and saw you drop your pants.”

He’d closed his eyes? Cute.

Well, cute until she thought about what he’d opened them to see. She glanced down at her thong, lying there between them, a small green circle that looked like a Go sign. Grabbing at the flimsy material with her toes, she yanked back the thong, hiding it beneath the folds of her robe.

His lips twitched.

“And instead of leaving, you decided to introduce yourself?” she snapped, more flustered than before.

“Instinct. I just wanted to stop you.”

“From doing what? Changing my underwear?”

“I thought you were in my bedroom, remember?”

“Okay, still, what was the big emergency? Were you afraid I was going to leap on your bed and roll around naked, and you wanted to make sure I didn’t dirty your sheets?”

That image hit both of them, her words hanging there in the empty air. She suddenly pictured rolling around in the sheets with this man, getting hot, sweaty, dirty. Doing all kinds of wild things that had never even crossed her mind when she’d begun planning a seduction for tonight. Because, deep down, when she’d voiced that pretty/sexy/kinky question to the invisible Dimitri, she’d already known the answer—pretty. Soft, sweet and romantic, that was Dimitri’s style. He was a missionary guy all the way, she’d bet her last dollar on it.

One B? Well, he looked like he’d be up for about anything.

It all came back to that camel-in-the-desert question—was she looking for a canteen or an oasis?

She breathed deeper, willing her heart to slow down. It wasn’t as if she could lie down and drink from the delicious waters of this particular oasis—she didn’t even know this guy!

He, meanwhile, lifted a hand and rubbed his lightly grizzled jaw. She heard the faint rasp of it and suddenly had the image of those unshaven cheeks brushing against her skin. His eyes gleamed as he glanced at her bed—prettily rumpled, the comforter turned down, the pink sheets soft and inviting. She trembled, remembering that ten minutes ago she’d been imagining asking Dimitri to share that bed. Right now, though, she was practically thinking, Dimitri? Who’s Dimitri?

“I wasn’t really thinking,” he finally admitted. “I guess I just didn’t want to be the kind of guy who’d watch something like that and then skulk away like some kind of pervert.”

“So you lunge out and terrify me instead?”

“You didn’t look that terrified, and I didn’t lunge.”

“I was scared to death, and that was some serious lunging.”

“I had my hands up to try to block the view.”

“You should have watched where you were going, then maybe you wouldn’t have tripped and landed at my feet.”

Those lips quirked into a grin. “My intentions were good.”

“The results weren’t.”

“Says you.” He shrugged. “Hey, there are only so many things I can apologize for, and landing at the feet of a beautiful, nearly naked woman ain’t one of them.”

He was staring again. Not at the bed this time, but at her. His dark eyes traveled from her bare throat, down to the V in her robe, then farther. As if he liked what he’d seen, and wanted to see a whole lot more.

She reached out and grabbed the edge of her dresser, willing her legs to stop shaking.

“Did I really terrify you?” he asked, his voice lowering to a thick whisper. “I am sorry about that.”

“My heart’s still racing,” she admitted.

He didn’t ask her to evaluate whether that thumping in her chest was caused by fear … or something else. She didn’t ask herself to, either.

“Well, you came across as anything but frightened,” he told her, eyeing the vase. “I thought you were going to brain me.”

“It was a close call.”

“What stopped you?”

“Your bare chest.”

Oh, crap, had she really said that?

Laughter burst from him. “So you can notice I’m not wearing a shirt, but I’m not allowed to notice your lack of underpants?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I think you have to agree that pantsless woman trumps shirtless man in terms of intimate exposure.”

“I’ll give you that.”

How magnanimous. “And I meant,” she clarified, “I saw you outside with Anna. You were hard to miss, with no shirt and no shoes. You two looked friendly, so I figured you must know her.”

“Gotcha,” he said. Then he turned to face the closet. “I obviously misheard our landlady’s directions. I could have sworn she told me to come through the screen porch and take the door on the left.” He frowned. “Actually, at first, I thought I heard her say the right one, then she definitely said left. So maybe she was the confused one.”

Or maybe not. Mimi considered the prophetic statement Anna had made a little while ago about a half-naked man tripping at her feet. It was as if she’d known this jeans-wearing three-alarm fire in human form would emerge into her bedroom, trip and land on the floor before her. It couldn’t have worked out better if Anna had been there to stick her foot in his path to make him fall.

Aside from being a landlady, Anna also sometimes did some fortune-telling. She read tarot cards and tea leaves, operating out of a local mystic’s shop, doing readings under the name Madame Titania. Mimi had always considered it just good fun, nothing really “woo-woo” about it. Now, though. Well, it was interesting, to say the least.

Whether she’d seen something in Mimi’s future or not, Anna was probably doing some matchmaking, and had intentionally given 1B the wrong directions. She just hadn’t realized that her new tenant wouldn’t be the only one half-naked. Though, to be honest, Mimi had been more than half. She’d been three quarters of the way there.

Maybe seven eighths.

She took some small comfort in the fact that she’d still been wearing a bra when he’d seen her. She just wished that if she’d only been allowed to have on one piece of clothing when he’d stumbled in on her, it would have been the damn robe.

“Anna might have gotten a little turned around,” she said, not wanting to speculate to this stranger about their landlady’s motives. That would open up other questions—like why Anna felt the need to matchmake for her when Mimi had a date standing out in the backyard, probably wondering what on earth had happened to her. A date she was planning to have sex with tonight.

Wasn’t she?

“Hey, I just remembered, we haven’t been introduced,” he said, sticking out his hand. “I’m Xander McKinley.”

Not introduced. Right. He’d seen her bare, uh, everything, and she’d almost crushed his skull with a vase. But they hadn’t exchanged names.

She stared at his hand for a moment, struck by its strength, which matched the strong, bare arm. And the strong, bare shoulders. And the strong, bare chest. Below which was a rippled, bare stomach, covered with a light sprinkling of dark hair that wound down into the waistband of his low-slung jeans.

The man must have lived a previous life and known Webster, because he’d surely provided the definition of sexy. Hottie, Anna had called him? What a ridiculous word. He was a flaming inferno.

And wrong. Wrong guy. Wrong time. Wrong situation. Good grief, he’d practically face-planted himself into her naked crotch and wasn’t the least bit repentant about it.

He’s flirtatious. He’s charming. He’s a bad boy. He’s your next-door neighbor. He’s freaking off-limits.

Keeping that in mind, she thrust her hand out, stiff and businesslike. “Mimi Burdette.”

She took his hand in hers, noting its calloused, masculine strength. Dimitri was well-built, but his body was the working-rich-man-goes-to-the-gym-four-times-a-week variety. He worked in an office and lifted nothing more than a pen most of the time. He had staff to cut his lawn and a shop to fix his car and hands that proved it.

She shivered. Literally shivered at the thought of this stranger brushing that rough palm and those fingers over all the parts of her he’d already touched with his eyes.

She yanked her hand away. Somebody else was supposed to be touching her tonight. Somebody right. Somebody well-suited for her life and her job and her family. And her.

This guy wasn’t him.

“I really need to get back to the party,” she said.

He eyed her for a moment, saying nothing, as if he, too, had experienced something strange the moment their fingers had touched. Heck, what hadn’t been strange about them so far? This whole encounter was already beginning to feel surreal and she wondered if, someday in the future, she’d believe it had been some weird dream.

Not if he’s living right under your nose from now on. She was going to be reminded of his hotness and her nakedness every time she bumped into him while getting the mail or carrying in the groceries. Fun times ahead. Only, not.

“The dude … the one who’s brainless enough not to like your thong. Is he outside right now?”

She bit her bottom lip, then slowly nodded.

“You’re not sleeping with him, though.”

“Do we have to repeat that it’s-none-of-your-business part of this conversation?”

One corner of his mouth lifted and a twinkle appeared in those deep, dark eyes. “Hey, I feel like I know you intimately already.”

True. He knew her almost as intimately as her gynecologist.

“It’s not very gentlemanly of you to remind me of that.”

He ignored her. “So you and this guy … it’s not serious, right? Anna told me you weren’t involved with anyone.”

Her jaw fell. “You discussed my love life with Anna?”

His turn to flush a little. He looked away, as if wishing he hadn’t revealed that much. “Just in passing.”

Interesting. Had he asked about her, noticed her outside, the way she’d noticed him?

It doesn’t matter.

Still, something made her admit, “It’s not serious. Yet.”

“But tonight’s his lucky night, huh?”

She swallowed, suddenly unsure of that. Unsure of everything.

One B—Xander, his name is Xander, and how sexy is that?—stepped closer. “Can I just say, if you’ve got to work so hard at it, maybe it’s just not supposed to happen?”

Her mouth went dry as the warmth of his body washed over her. She could smell his skin—a mix of soap and sweat and male—and breathed a little deeper. “Work at it?” she whispered.

He lifted a hand, tracing his fingertip down her cheek, until it rested on the corner of her mouth. “If he wants you badly enough, you could be wearing a nun’s habit and he’d still have refused to let you walk into the house without coming after you to try to get you alone.”

Ooh. That was so much like what she’d thought earlier, she wondered if he’d read her mind.

“If it were me, I wouldn’t have let you out of my sight.”

She swallowed hard, heat slamming into her, both at his words and the serious, almost dangerous way he’d said them.

“I would have had to stay right beside you throughout the party, just to reassure myself you weren’t going to disappear. To make sure no other man even dared to look at you, and to remind myself that I could wait, because, by the time the night was over, you’d be mine.”

“Good Lord,” she whispered, her eyes falling closed. Her feet shifted; she edged a tiny bit closer, feeling almost mesmerized by his throaty voice. Not to mention by the faint brush of his hand on her mouth. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. That hand moved, until he was cupping her head, his fingers tangling in her loose hair. She arched her face into his palm, unable to resist, turning to him the way a flower turned to the morning sun. “If I had been crazy enough to let you go inside without me, I would have been watching your door, counting down the seconds until you got back. And you can bet your last dollar I would have done something about it if some strange, shirtless dude walked through it after you.”

His words held an accusation, but she was too stunned by the feelings rolling through her to launch any kind of defense of Dimitri. Right now, she was finding it hard to concentrate on anything except his scent and his warmth and oh, heavens, the way he was stroking her cheekbone with the side of his thumb.

She opened her eyes, staring at him, realizing she’d already memorized his face, his eyes, his mouth. This stranger was already imprinted on her brain.

“What would you have done?” she whispered. She leaned closer, her body swaying almost against her own will.

“I would have made sure you knew who you were ending the night with.” He moved closer, inching toward her. “I would have made you forget any other man existed.”

Another inch, then he did it. He covered her mouth with his and made her forget every other man existed.

Shocked at first, Mimi froze for a second, then melted under an onslaught of pure fire. He licked her lips, demanding she part them, and she did, not questioning it. Their tongues met, exploring, hot and wet and hungry. There was nothing polite about this kiss, nothing rehearsed or restrained. He didn’t delicately taste her; he devoured her, as if he hadn’t eaten in a week and she was his ultimate dessert.

Time, space and reality were lost. Mimi was riding a wave of pure, sultry instinct, every one of her senses humming, all of her nerve endings jangling against his big, rock-hard body. The air she breathed, he provided. She stayed upright only because she had him to lean against. Every delicious flavor she’d ever tasted seemed concentrated in his mouth and she started to shake as they all flooded into her.

Even as a tiny voice inside her tried to remind her he was a stranger, and that she should stop this, she lifted her arms, twining them around his neck. Tangling her fingers in his dark hair, she held on tight, instinctively wanting to make sure he didn’t go anywhere. Not before he satisfied this deep, carnal urge she had to be kissed the way every woman ought to be kissed every so often—like she was the sustenance for a man’s very soul.

Nobody had kissed her like this. Not ever. Not even men who’d been buried inside her at the time.

“Xander,” she groaned against his mouth when he started to pull away.

Hearing his name on her lips seemed to inflame him, because he dove back in again, his tongue plunging deep. He dropped his hands to her hips, claiming her, tugging her even harder against him. When he cupped her bottom, she sighed into his mouth, arching against the delicious, unmistakable ridge of heat pressing against her groin.

He wanted her, there was no denying it, and he wasn’t making any effort to keep her from realizing that.

Quivering, almost crying, Mimi pressed harder against him, needing that strength, that pressure. She barely knew him, but she knew she wanted that power, that thickness. All the long pep talks she’d given to herself about being sensible and not needing this kind of heat, this much passion, evaporated and she knew she would do just about anything to have him.

And then it ended, just as abruptly as it had begun. He drew his mouth away from hers, dropped his hands and took a step back. Mimi swallowed hard, trying to regain control of her heart and her lungs, which seemed to be grasping for air.

After a long moment, he nodded. “Yeah, I definitely would have followed you,” he said, sounding a little breathless, which told her he, too, was affected by the kiss. “But that’s me.”

Reality finally started to sink back in. “What … how … you kissed me.”

“Glad you noticed.”

Noticed? Good grief, he’d made the earth rattle beneath her feet.

He turned away from her. “Now, I should go so you can get back to your party.”

The floor seemed to lurch, her mind spinning with it. It took a few seconds for her to process the quick change in mood and tone. From flirtatious, to tender to hot-and-kissing? Now to something like … disinterest. What the ever-loving hell?

He, on the other hand, seemed just fine. His smile was cheery, that twinkle had reappeared in his eyes. As if he was completely unfazed by their closeness and that amazing kiss, which had affected her clear down to her toenails. No, to the polish on her toenails!

“I guess I’ll go try this key on the other door,” he said, turning back toward the closet. “Maybe I’ll see you later at the party. I told Anna I’d come out.”

Still stunned, it took her a few seconds to grasp his words. Once her heart started to beat normally and her brain cells were firing again, she realized she did not want him coming out to that party. She didn’t like how easily he’d shown her how receptive she was to him. Especially since she hadn’t yet determined whether or not she was receptive to her date, who was waiting for her outside.

But it wasn’t exactly polite to order him to stay home until he forgot he’d seen her curl-covered hoo-ha. Or until she’d gotten over that kiss.

“By the way, what’d you decide?” he asked as he ducked into the closet.

“About what?”

He waggled his brows. “The thong? A nice bustier’s always a good choice.”

Glaring, she reached for the vase.

“Kidding,” he said, raising a defensive hand. With a smile that was positively wicked, he added, “Because you’re not gonna go through with it.”

“Says who?”

“Says the guy who just kissed you … the one you kissed back.”

He definitely had her there; she didn’t really have a response for that.

He dropped his attention to her lips, then looked down at her body, her thin robe, her nipples puckering beneath the fabric. He raked his way down the rest of her, to the tips of her toes, before going back up. Then, his voice dropped to a low growl. “Says the guy who loved how you looked in that thong and who really hopes to see it again sometime … caught between something other than your toes.”

She gulped, swallowing down a tiny, helpless moan. Because while she had never been the kind of woman who wanted a man to take her for granted, his self-confidence, his certainty of her—what she wanted, how far she’d go—was an incredible turn-on.

With one more smile, he disappeared into her closet. She heard a thump or two as he worked his way back toward the door. Right before he exited, she heard one more thing—his laughing voice.

“By the way, in case you want to know my preference, I vote for commando!”

3

WHILE XANDER HADN’T been looking forward to attending the party with a bunch of strangers before meeting his new next-door neighbor, now he could hardly wait. After all his determination to steer clear of Mimi Burdette, the wealthy heiress, now he could think of her only as the girl who dropped her panties—the girl whose mouth tasted like sin and satisfaction—and wanted to see her again.

He must have a masochistic streak. Because, as cocky as his taunting final words to her had been, for all he knew, she was already handing her date a condom and telling him where he could touch her that would make her howl like a she-wolf.

Hmm. Xander didn’t want to be told that. He wanted to explore until he found that spot himself.

He wanted her. Badly. He’d wanted her before he’d kissed her, and that kiss had been the X-factor that rocketed want into the stratosphere of bone-shaking desire.

He was going to have a tough time hiding that fact, which meant the wise thing to do would be to stay home. Stay away from the party, and especially stay away from Mimi. She had a date—for tonight at least. And she wasn’t his type. He’d figured that out before they even met. She was rich and spoiled and used to getting her own way. He was down-to-earth, and nearly broke after laying out money for first and last months’ rent, plus a security deposit. All around a bad combination.

Unfortunately, all those reasonable excuses weren’t working. He couldn’t get her out of his head.

Nor, he realized, did he want to. He’d already figured out that there was a lot more to her than the pretty, rich-girl package—and he didn’t mean just the grade-A ass, lickable thighs and oh-so-delectable everything else. She was funny, sharp, smart. Wrong for him in some ways—her being on the verge of going to bed with another dude being one of them. But right in others. So right he was going to have a hard time sleeping tonight without thinking about the softness of her skin and the sweet scent of her hair, and oh, the taste of that mouth, that soft tongue, those succulent lips. Heaven.

And belonging to someone else? Hell.

Was all the rest of her going to be someone else’s, too? He had to know. “So you’re going to that party,” he told himself. Because the one thing that would guarantee he got no sleep was if he tortured himself all night long wondering if his prediction that she wouldn’t go through with seducing her date had been right or wrong.

He needed to know if she was going home alone.

After cleaning up, taking a quick shower and changing into one of the few pair of dress pants and dress shirts he owned, he headed outside. The party had thinned out a little, but even if it hadn’t, he would have easily spotted his new neighbor. She had changed back into her green dress. Her hair was smoothed into place … as if he hadn’t had it tangled around his fingers forty minutes ago.

She sat at a table with Anna and Anna’s husband, who’d insisted on being called Obi-Wan. Obviously the guy was a Star Wars fan. A man and woman Anna had pointed out as the engaged couple sat there, too. And standing at the end of the table, behind Mimi, was a tall guy in a suit.

The boyfriend. No doubt about it.

He wished he didn’t immediately recognize that the guy was good-looking. Like, totally hetero male-model good-looking. He was well-built, broad-shouldered, masculine. He wore expensive-looking clothes and a half smile that said he owned the attention of every female in the crowd, and knew it.

Damn. He’d been picturing some sexually ambivalent, boring, pasty-faced, middle-aged guy who wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like Mimi and therefore didn’t grasp the appeal of a thong. Unfortunately, judging by the way this one was resting his hand with casual possessiveness on her shoulder, he knew. He was practically holding a mine sign over her head, and looked like a fourth grader waving around his brand-new Xbox in front of all his less fortunate buddies the day after Christmas.

Xander had no business curling his fingers into fists. None at all. But curl they did.

She’s not yours yet, pal, he silently told the other man.

Spying him, Anna immediately waved him over. “There you are—and looking so handsome!”

He handed her the key. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“I take it you found your way to where you needed to be?” the older woman asked.

The sparkle in her eye made him wonder if he’d gone exactly where she’d wanted him to. Was his landlady playing matchmaker? “Eventually. Getting there was a bit of an adventure.”

“Some people around here could use one,” she admitted.

Across the table, Mimi watched, silent, but definitely focused on their conversation. She looked back and forth between him and Anna, but didn’t appear surprised. So she’d apparently already figured out Anna had intentionally given him the wrong directions. Interesting.

“Everyone, I want you to meet our new resident, Xander McKinley,” Anna said.

They made the rounds saying hello, and he congratulated the bride and groom. Then, when his eyes met Mimi’s, he murmured, “Of course, Mimi and I have already met.” Some spark of wickedness made him want to pierce a tiny bit of air out of the stiff-necked male model still hovering over Mimi’s chair. “Did you ever figure out what to do about that problem you were having?”

She shot him a malevolent glare, but quickly forced a smile to her beautiful lips. “All figured out.” Her chin going up, she added, “Thanks for that last suggestion you called out. I have a feeling that’s definitely going to do the trick.”

His last suggestion. Commando.

Xander swallowed hard, trying not to think about how silky that dress must feel against her bare skin. And especially not to think about who she was wearing all that sexy nothingness for.

“Xander?” said the lucky son of a bitch, his smile tight. “What an … interesting name.”

“Thanks. Yours was Dimitri, right?” he replied evenly, letting his emphasis say what he wanted to say. Let the other guy’s hypocrisy come through all on its own. Who the hell was he, anyway, the name police?

“Okay, everyone,” Anna interjected, cutting through the sudden tension that had erupted between them, “time for our party favors!”

“You shouldn’t have,” said the bride, Lyssa, a tall, attractive woman who looked like an Amazon. She had a good three inches of height on her groom, who’d been introduced as Duke.

“It’s just for fun,” Anna said as she reached under the table and retrieved a large, white-lace-covered box. “Everyone gets one. Before you put your hand inside, I want you to think about what you’d most like to know about your life.”

She passed the box around. The guests reached in one by one and pulled out plastic-wrapped fortune cookies, reading out the fortunes as they were drawn. One was apparently going to come into some money, another was about to experience high highs and low lows and a third was destined to change the world.

Of course, they all played the standard, sexy fortune-cookie game—adding the words between the sheets after the fortune. There was a lot of commentary about the high highs to be had between the sheets, and he found himself laughing along with the group, most of whom were friendly, young professionals. He might be the only blue-collar guy here, and a stranger to them all, but he didn’t feel at all an outsider. Southerners just had a gift for making people feel welcome.

When Mimi drew out her fortune—after one more admonishment from Anna to be sure to think about what she wanted—Xander really started getting interested. What, he wondered, did she most want to know about in her life?

Anna was the first to notice there was more than one tiny slip of paper within Mimi’s cookie. “Ooh, a double fortune, that’s lucky!”

Mimi merely smiled and plucked the paper free, scraping away the crumbs. Drawing them closer, she said, “There are actually three.”

The three tiny slips were stuck together, some kind of factory mistake, but Anna oohed and aahed some more. Her husband, Obi-Wan, who’d been pretty quiet tonight and hadn’t had much to say to anyone, piped in. “Must have been some hard concentrating you were doing there, Mimi. The universe is definitely trying to answer your question.”

“Read them out loud,” someone called.

Mimi smiled and opened her mouth to read the first one. But she just as quickly closed it. Her fist closed around the papers and she reached for her glass of wine.

“What’s wrong?” asked Dimitri.

“Nothing. It’s just silly. Let someone else have a turn.”

“Not until you read,” Xander insisted, something making him want to know what it was she didn’t want to share.

She frowned at him, then quickly looked away. But, as if realizing nobody was going to let her get away with ignoring her fortunes, she finally unclenched her fingers and lifted the slips again. Her voice low, she read the first one.

“‘The man of your dreams is always there to catch you when you fall.’”

“Between the sheets,” called one tipsy female.

Everyone laughed. Everyone except Mimi. And Xander. And Dimitri. Because the guy might be okay-looking, and he might be rich. But Xander wasn’t sure he met the dashing-hero definition. At least, that’s what Xander was telling himself.

“Read the next one,” said the bride-to-be.

Mimi sighed, took a deep breath, then read. “‘The man of your dreams knows what you really want and how you really want it.’”

That one earned some wolf whistles, catcalls and, of course, the obligatory bed reference. Mimi shot a heated glance at her landlady, obviously wondering—as was Xander—if she’d been set up. But he didn’t see how she could have been, considering she’d dug the cookie out of a huge box and all the other fortunes read so far had been normal.

The laughter and whispers died pretty quickly this time. Everyone was curious. Because, not only was Mimi’s cookie filled with more than one fortune, but they also seemed to be related. And to have a very pointed, deliberate theme.

Dimitri’s hand tightened on Mimi’s shoulder, and she turned her head to look up at him. They shared a smile that, to everyone at the party, looked tender and romantic. The sort of smile lovers share.

They weren’t lovers. Not yet. But hell, every one of these fortunes she was reading seemed to hint they were about to take that step. That shared smile seemed to confirm it.

Some emotion hit him hard in the chest. Xander recognized it immediately: regret. This was the wrong time and place. She’d already made her choice. A day ago, before she’d made up her mind to lure the other guy into bed, maybe Xander would have had a chance with her. Now? It was too damn late.

His mouth tight and his jaw tighter, he began to back away, wanting to exit the party unnoticed. He’d taken his shot—as much of one as he could take, anyway—and recognized the truth. Whatever might have happened between him and Mimi Burdette just wasn’t meant to be.

Which meant it was time to go. He would melt out of her night as quietly and stealthily as he’d entered it.

But before he walked through the back door into the house, he heard her announce she was going to read the third fortune. Something made him wait and listen, nearly hidden in the shadows of the house.

Mimi studied the slip in silence. Lifting her eyes, she looked around as if searching for someone. He watched her, unnoticed, unseen, soon to be forgotten. Then, clearing her throat, she read her third and final fortune.

“‘The man of your dreams will slip away unless you have the courage to go after him.’”

THE PARTY WOUND DOWN at around midnight. As the minutes ticked by, the lawn emptied, and Dimitri came up to thank Anna and say good-night, Mimi realized something—she’d completely forgotten she had intended to seduce this man tonight. She hadn’t just put the thought out of her mind because she couldn’t evaluate how she felt about it, but had actually forgotten entirely. Which sure didn’t say much for how excited she was about the prospect of going to bed with him.

So it was a good thing she wouldn’t be.

She just couldn’t. Not after that kiss from another man. Not after the hours she’d spent reliving that kiss, to the point where she’d gotten lost in the middle of more than one party conversation.

“Good night. Thank you again,” Dimitri said, gracious, as always.

“You’re very welcome,” Anna replied with a faint smile.

Mimi walked him to the gate, their arms linked, their steps perfectly matched. She’d noticed before that they always fell into step together, an easy synchronicity that spoke of familiarity and comfort. Heck, maybe that was why she wasn’t brokenhearted about not going to bed with him tonight. Maybe they were too

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