He hadn’t been able to get a word out of his sawdust-dry mouth. But that’d been okay. She’d chatted nonstop about inane things—teachers, grades, the unfairness of the dress code.

  Personally, Dylan had blessed the dress code. Because if her skirts had been any shorter, he’d have been unable to function at all in school.

  Once the beefy crowd had left, she’d stood, saying, “Stay away from the fatheads, kid. Just remember, you’ll be buying and selling them a hundred times over in ten years.” Then, with a wink, she’d snagged his apple off his lunch tray and sauntered away. Leaving him sitting there, gaping, staring after her.

  He’d loved her from that moment on, even knowing he’d probably never see her again after he graduated from high school. And he hadn’t.

  Until tonight.

  “So are you going back in there to make something happen?”

  “Why the hell are you so interested in my love life?” Dylan asked with a frown. “Weren’t there a half-dozen women slipping you their phone numbers tonight?”

  Banks shrugged. “A dozen, at least.” Then his eyes narrowed. “Which was nothing compared to the ones trying to slip you their phone numbers. By the way, thanks for the spillover.”

  Dylan just shrugged, saved from replying when Josh and Jeremy returned from inside. They quickly finished loading the gear, then closed up the van.

  “See ya tomorrow night,” Josh said as he got into the driver’s seat.

  Dylan nodded, then glanced at Jeremy, who was climbing onto the enormous motorcycle he’d bought a few months back. Since Dylan cringed every time he saw Jeremy on the thing, he could only imagine what his parents thought. “Don’t kill yourself, kid,” he called as the younger man rode away.

  “Now, go back in there and make your move,” Banks said as he unlocked his car.”

  Dylan shook his head. He wasn’t ready yet. Wasn’t ready to deal with the repercussions of what would happen when Cat found out the truth. “It’s late. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

  Face it, you want to enjoy it a little longer.

  He did. He wanted just this weekend—tomorrow and Sunday night—of being the dark, dangerous stranger Cat Sheehan had been so attracted to. Then he’d tell her the truth. And go back to being the invisible guy.

  But not now. Now it was time to go home and process everything.

  Unfortunately, Banks, the bastard, had something else in mind. “By the way, Spence, are you missing something?”

  Dylan raised a wary brow.

  Banks’s expression screamed mischief. Dylan had seen the look enough in college to know his friend was up to something. Something he wasn’t going to like. Like the time he’d taken Dylan’s clothes out of the bathroom while he was showering in their coed dorm, stranding him there.

  Of course, Banks’s plan had backfired. Wrapped in a towel and dripping with righteous anger—not to mention water—Dylan had gotten the attention of a lot of girls as he’d stalked down the hall toward his room. Including one Banks had been after throughout their junior year. Whenever his friend got too obnoxious, Dylan mentioned the name Karen Dennison and it shut him right up.

  “What did you do?” he asked, not sure he wanted to know.

  “You forgetting you need something to get in your car?”

  Patting the pocket of his ratty jean jacket, which was slung over his arm, he winced when he did not hear a familiar jingle. No keys. “You sack of…”

  “She’ll be happy to let you in to look for them, I bet. She’s just all alone in the dark,” Banks said with a wave of his hand. Then he got into his own car, revved up the engine so he couldn’t hear the names Dylan was calling him, and took off.

  Leaving Dylan stranded, with no way home and no keys. Not unless he entered into Temptation and found them.

  3

  EXHAUSTED AND CONFUSED about the amazing man who’d walked into her life tonight, Cat was about to flip the lock on the front door when she saw a large form appear right outside. The unexpectedness of it brought a startled gasp to her lips—until she recognized the face.

  “Spence?” she said, opening the door.

  “I forgot something,” he explained, looking uncomfortable.

  Hmm…had he really forgotten something? Or was this a ruse to get her alone. More important—did she care?

  Cat stepped back and ushered him in. “You just made it. Ten more minutes and I’d have been upstairs, sound asleep.”

  Looking curious, Spence stepped inside. “Upstairs?”

  She shouldn’t have given him that information. Shouldn’t have let this gorgeous stranger—to whom she was altogether too attracted—know she lived right upstairs. Slept right upstairs. Had a big, comfortable bed, right upstairs.

  She told herself all that, then nodded and spilled her guts, anyway. “Yes, I have an apartment right above Temptation. Live there all by my lonesome.”

  God, she might as well have invited him up, it probably would have sounded more honest and less pathetic.

  “Convenient,” was all he said as he stepped aside so she could push the door shut behind him.

  The click of the door shut out the rest of the world, leaving them entirely alone. Completely, intoxicatingly alone.

  The lights were all off in the main seating area of Temptation. One fixture, covered with smoked red glass, remained lit over the bar. It cast interesting pools of crimson throughout the room, its color whispering of sin and wickedness.

  One additional dim light, which she usually left lit for security, provided a bit more illumination from the back hallway. Enough to reveal the skeletal legs of the chairs rising from the tables where Cat had put them up to sweep. But it wasn’t strong enough to banish the shadows in the corners, on the stage or beside the jukebox. Nor to illuminate Spence’s face well enough for her to gauge his mood. His intentions.

  The pub at night was moody, secretive, sensuous…which matched her mood. The wood paneling caught bits of light, even as it creaked in late-night restlessness. Overhead, a fan spun lazily, its whir rustling the front blinds a bit. Their click was the only sound in an otherwise silent room.

  That silence was thick, palpable, and Cat would bet Spence could hear the pounding of her heart if he listened for it.

  All her internal alarms were ringing at the danger. Not that she feared physical danger from Spence. No, she simply feared she could very easily make a mistake she’d regret in the morning.

  “Did you really forget something?” she finally asked, wondering if he heard the huskiness in her tone, the thickness caused by her suddenly dry mouth.

  “Yeah.”

  She crossed her arms and tilted her head back in challenge. Leaning her hip against an empty table, she peered at him in the darkness, more convinced than ever that he hadn’t forgotten a damn thing. Except, maybe, to make a move. “What’d you forget?”

  He stepped closer. Close enough so his jeans brushed against hers. Their arms met, too, the contact unexpected because she hadn’t seen it coming in the dim light. Cat flinched, caught off guard by the heart-stopping sensuality of such a simple touch. She’d been touched much more intimately by men before. But even the most evocative ones hadn’t been able to inspire the heat she was feeling now.

  “You think I intentionally left my keys so I’d have to come back and get them?”

  “Keys, huh?”

  “Why else would I have come back?” His tone dared her to tell the truth—to admit the heated images filling her mind.

  Cat shifted, brushing her bare arm against his again. This time he was the one who hissed—softly, almost inaudibly—but she heard it. So, he, too, was feeling the energy snapping between them, so potent and heady.

  The tension built. She was barely touching his forearm, the hard angle of his wrist, but she reacted as if she were caressing the most sensitive parts of his body. The hairs on her arm stood on end and the nerve endings there tingled. She couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to touch him all over.

  “Maybe you came back for a good-night kiss,” she said, dying for it to be true.

  A kiss. Surely one little kiss wasn’t going to stop the world and ruin all her good intentions.

  And you really think a kiss is going to be enough?

  No. Probably not. But she wanted it, anyway. Right at this moment, she wanted it more than she wanted to save the bar.

  He laughed softly. “What makes you think I’m the kind of guy who kisses on the first day?”

  Because I want you to be? Instead, she replied, “There’s something between us.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re attracted to me.”

  “Yes.”

  Cat licked her lips. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

  He said nothing for a long, heady moment. Then he leaned even closer, close enough so she felt his warm breaths against her cheek. Smelled the aroma of warm cologne and warmer man.

  “Kissing’s very personal,” he whispered.

  She wobbled. Because his whisper had been right by her temple, so close she felt the brush of his lips. She tingled there. Everywhere.

  “Very intimate.”

  This time, his words were accompanied by the soft, slight brush of his hand sliding up her arm. His palm just barely connected with her skin as he slid it from wrist to elbow, then higher, until his fingertips rested as light as a butterfly on her bare shoulder.

  And suddenly she realized that he was seducing her. Not with anything as blatant as a kiss, but with these incredibly sensuous whispers, the almost-there touches that had her silently screaming for more. “Spence…”

  “Shh,” he said, coming closer, so his leg was almost between hers. Their thighs converged, sending a spiral of warm longing straight between hers. His long, smooth hair brushed against her cheek, his fingers still rested on her shoulders. His dark eyes glittered in the half light and she sensed the beating of his heart across the scant inch that separated her chest from his.

  Every one of her senses roared to life, clamoring for more. Much more. She’d never been so aroused in her life. Never.

  She was too weak to lift her arms around his neck. Too besotted to tilt her head back for his kiss. Too overwhelmed by the sensations battering her from every side to do much more than stand there and experience the intense awareness, the sound of his breath, the anticipation of his touch in the darkness.

  “Please…”

  Before she could say another word, he lowered his head and pressed one hot, erotic, open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of her throat. Cat’s legs buckled. She grabbed for the nearest table, not sure she was going to be able to remain upright. “Oh, my God,” she choked out.

  Spence continued to delicately sample her skin as if tasting something delicious. “You know,” he said softly, pulling only a breath away, “sometimes when you know something is going to be incredible, waiting for it makes it that much better.”

  He touched his lips to that hollow again, sliding them up the column of her throat in one smooth, delicate caress. And oh, Lord, he was right. Knowing how incredible—how explosive—their kiss would be when their mouths met, Cat practically groaned.

  But just as he reached her chin—just as he built the anticipation of his lips on hers until she was as tense as a taut wire—he straightened and pulled away. And then he did the unthinkable. He stepped back, offered her one small, intimate smile, then turned around.

  Cat could only watch, jaw hanging open, while he jumped up onto the stage and grabbed for something sitting on one of the chairs there. A clink told her it was his keys. It was a miracle she could hear them, considering her breathing was louder than a freight train.

  “Good night, Cat,” he said as he stepped off the stage.

  Watching in shock, she couldn’t manage a single word. Not until after he walked by her, right out the door. He pulled it shut behind him and disappeared into the night.

  For several long moments, she remained silent. When her vocal cords did start working again, the only word she could manage was one she was supposed to have stricken from her vocabulary. And it sure wasn’t ladylike.

  “I NEED THE SLUTTIEST PAIR of shoes you’ve got.”

  Cat’s jaw dropped open and she gaped at Gracie, who stood at her door Saturday morning. Way too early Saturday morning.

  “What time is it?”

  “Ten.”

  Cat groaned and staggered back, clearing the way for her usually quiet friend to barrel in. Gracie owned Between The Covers, the book shop next door, and had apparently forgotten the cardinal rule: no banging on Cat’s door at 10 a.m. on a Saturday when she’d been closing down the bar until three that morning.

  It was a wonder she’d even heard Gracie’s pounding, because she still felt half asleep. Not only because of the short duration of her night, but also because of the rather, uh, interesting dreams she’d had about a certain hot guitar player who’d aroused her nearly to the point of orgasm before walking out the night before.

  He’d been naked in most of them. Naked and holding a jar of peanut butter.

  “Cat, did you hear what I said? I need to borrow some shoes. The sluttiest ones in your closet.”

  Cat raised a hand to her chest. “Slut shoes? Moi?”

  Gracie lifted one brow, just watching, until Cat grudgingly said, “Okay, slut shoes, vous?”

  “Yes, me.” Her tone said she wasn’t kidding. Without another word, Gracie marched down the short hallway between Cat’s living room and kitchen, heading toward the back of the small apartment. Once inside Cat’s bedroom, she practically dove into the closet.

  Cat followed. “You’re serious?” she asked, leaning against the doorjamb, watching her friend dig frantically through her stockpile of footwear.

  “Very. I want something high, strappy. Shoes that say I’m wicked and willing and sexy as can be.”

  Wow. This was so not Gracie. Not just the shoes, but the whole nervous, energetic frenzy. Gracie was the calm one of their foursome. The quiet, graceful one with her soft brown hair and lovely blue eyes. Not the one she’d expect to be on all fours in Cat’s closet, flinging shoes over her shoulder one after another.

  “Hate to remind you, but my feet are bigger than yours.”

  “Half a size. I’ll stuff the toe.”

  With a chuckle, Cat knelt down to help look. There was a lot to look through. Cat had sort of a little thing for shoes. Actually, sort of a big thing for them. Imelda Marcos-size. Which anyone could tell with one look at the mountain of footwear in varying shades covering the entire floor of her closet.

  “What color?” she asked, trying to narrow down the search.

  “Black.” Gracie brushed a strand of hair off her face, and squared her shoulders, looking resolute. “I’m going to my ten-year reunion tonight and I want the kind of shoes that make men drool and women think catty, mean things about other women.”

  Gracie didn’t have a catty, mean bone in her body, so Cat immediately took her request more seriously. “Okay, forget this stuff, we need to go up a level. And oh, sister, are you in luck, because I have got just what you need!”

  Cat rose to her feet—staggered, really, since her bones hadn’t yet achieved her brain’s level of wakefulness. Standing on tiptoe, she reached up to the top shelf of her closet, where another dozen or so shoe boxes were stacked in neat rows. This was where she stashed the good stuff. The ones on the floor were the throwaways. Up here were the jewels in her collection.

  She zoned in on the third stack, where the black shoes began, organized by heel height. It didn’t take long to find the box she was looking for. “I fell in love with these on the Jimmy Choo Web site and ordered them last year.”

  Gracie’s eyes widened. “Jimmy Choo?”

  Cat nodded. “Yep. I think I owe someone a kidney, but it was so worth it because they’re to die for. And they’re a teensy bit small on me, so they might fit you just perfectly.”

  Of course, they could have been three sizes too small and Cat would have done a Cinderella’s stepsister thing and worn them, anyway. If it came down to a choice between toes and Jimmy Choos, the shoes would win every time.

  She wondered if Spence liked women in spiked heels.

  And nothing else.

  No. No more fantasies about the guy. After he’d walked out on her last night, she wasn’t sure she’d ever let him back into her real life or her fantasy one.

  Shrugging off the image, Cat watched Gracie nibble her lip in anticipation. Before taking off the lid, she cautioned, “You can’t tell Laine about these, okay? She wouldn’t understand that I considered it totally worthwhile to live on peanut butter sandwiches for a month so I could afford these.”

  Mmm. Peanut butter. That brought Spence right back to the forefront of her mind. Again. Dammit, he had no business being so desirable, not after the way he’d aroused her to insanity, then left her hanging there. She might never speak to him again, much less get personal with a jar of peanut butter.

  Unless he kissed her throat again. Then she was a goner.

  Gracie nodded. “Deal.”

  Cat removed the top and peeled back the paper, watching for Gracie’s reaction.

  Silent awe. They shared it for a few moments, gazing at the glory of the shoes, as would any other red-blooded American female. The other half of the population didn’t get and never would get the shoe thing, but women of all ages, shapes and sizes would pause to pay homage to these things of beauty.

  Then Gracie whispered, “Those are perfect!”

  “Haute couture slut shoes,” Cat said with pride.

  “I owe you.”

  Cat shrugged. “Just don’t knock on my door at 10 a.m. tomorrow to tell me how it went.”

  Gracie’s pretty blue eyes suddenly shifted away, and Cat wondered exactly what the woman was up to. But she didn’t pry. Everybody had secrets—including Cat. Besides, considering Gracie’s bookstore was going to be every bit as out of business as Temptation, she figured the woman was entitled to her own private let-it-all-out party.

  “I hear the place was packed last night,” Gracie said. “Must have been some band you booked.”