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Mackenzie Draper moved alright—he moved closer to her instead of toward his vehicle. He was so close that his scent drifted over her. In her. He was all kinds of sexy musk, clean soap, and something that was entirely unique to him. Some intangible secret ingredient that her body picked up on.
It was annoying as hell.
What the heck was he playing at? Flush with anger now, Lily slowly got to her feet, though she was careful not to turn toward him.
“Where are you from?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.
“Does it matter?”
“Not really.”
“Then why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
“Then why are you still here?” She managed to say through gritted teeth. Her Boston accent was more pronounced when she was pissed, so Lily was willing to bet he’d have no problem figuring it out on his own.
“I’ll go when you turn around so that I can see if the front of you is as hot as the back end. ’Cause the back end is smokin’.”
“That’s incredibly sexist.”
“I know,” he said softly.
For a heartbeat there was nothing but the warm breeze in her hair.
And then he spoke. “Boston.”
She froze and blinked away an image of Mackenzie behind her, inside her, his hands on her hips, his breath at her neck. His strangled whisper, “Boston” as he came. That’s what he had called her that night.
Boston.
Shit.
Slowly, Lily turned around and sucked in a breath at their close proximity. If ever a man was made in the image of a God, it was Mackenzie Draper.
He was dressed casually in a pair of worn jeans, bare feet shoved into Birkenstocks, and a plain white T-shirt stretched tight across his chest. His blond hair was brushed back off his face, waving almost to his shoulders, while his electric-green eyes bored into her with an intensity that made Lily a tad uncomfortable. There was something wholly alpha in that look.
He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and the dark stubble on his jaw only made him look sexier. His mouth curved into a slow grin, and Jesus, her nipples went hard.
Lily crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. She glared at him and didn’t budge when he moved so close that she could count his eyelashes, when he moved so close that that damn secret ingredient of his—the one that made her weak—was all up in her business. Christ, if he could bottle it, he’d be a billionaire.
The pulse at the base of his neck moved rapidly and she knew he was as affected by their close proximity as she was.
“So,” he said slowly, rolling out the word as if it was a secret. “That phone number you gave me was bogus.”
She considered not answering him, but something about his attitude pissed her off.
“Oops.” She thrust her chin forward. “Didn’t think you’d actually call.”
He bent forward and Lily held her breath as his mouth settled just below her ear, a whisper away from her skin.
“I called as soon as I woke up. I wasn’t happy that you were gone.”
She swallowed thickly, aware that the air was supercharged with something and it was that something that had her worried. She’d never been so physically affected by a man, and it scared her because it told her that she was close to losing control again. Just like she’d done New Year’s Eve.
With him.
Over and over again.
