“Can I offer you a bottle of water?” Peyton rose and crossed to her mini-fridge on the other side of her desk.
“Thanks.” Darius’s pen raced across his notebook a moment longer.
Peyton circled his chair on her way to the refrigerator. She glanced over his shoulder, curious about the notes he was taking. His handwriting was illegible.
“It’s a good thing you recorded my answers. Can you read that scribble?” Peyton surprised herself. She wasn’t used to teasing people. The residents of Trinity Falls were changing her.
Darius looked at her over his shoulder. “It’s shorthand.”
“If you say so.” She continued toward her mini-fridge. But with her next step, her heel caught on her office’s small, multicolored area rug. She grabbed the back of Darius’s chair to keep her balance.
Darius leaped to his feet, catching her waist to steady her. “Are you OK?”
In reflex, Peyton grabbed hold of his upper arms. She was more disconcerted by Darius’s quick action than her near fall. She stared up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. “You have great reflexes.”
His concerned expression softened. “It comes from playing ball.”
“Oh.” Her grip tightened on his biceps. The hard muscles beneath his navy jacket sleeves fascinated her. He must still work out. A lot.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
She tried to step back, but Darius held her fast. “Yes, I’m just embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.” He released her.
Peyton’s palms itched to feel his arms again. She turned from the reporter to cross to her refrigerator, and again her heel caught on the area rug. Her lips parted on a gasp as she felt herself falling. Once more, Darius grabbed her waist, stopping her from landing on her face. But this time, he hauled her flush against him.
Her breasts were crushed against his chest. Her hands gripped his broad shoulders. His warmth seeped into her skin. His scent—soap and cedar—clouded her mind.
Peyton tipped her head back. The heat of his gaze scalded her. Her fingers dug into his taut muscles as Darius lowered his head to hers.
CHAPTER 7
Peyton’s body trembled as Darius’s lips moved over hers. A bolt of electricity shot from her core to her heart. Or was it from her heart to her core? This must be what other women meant when they said someone “turned them on.” She’d read about such reactions in romance novels. She’d heard about them in love songs and seen them in romantic movies. But she’d never experienced them herself, not once in her thirty years.
Peyton slid her arms up and over Darius’s chest. She grew warm and wet as she absorbed his body’s heat and strength. Darius shook under her touch. Peyton stilled.
Did I cause that?
Feminine power swelled inside her. Bruce had found her lacking. He didn’t think she knew he found his pleasure elsewhere. But to have a man like Darius respond to her was her secret fantasy. Peyton gave in to the pull of Darius’s hard, hot body. Lost herself in his intoxicating scent, his seductive touch, and his thrilling taste.
His tongue traced the seam of her mouth. He was asking her to let him in, requesting rather than demanding, giving her a choice. That consideration was far more erotic than the intimacy he sought. Peyton parted for him. Darius swept inside, caressing, stroking, planting in her mind an image of what their bodies could do. Peyton shive
red. Her muscles went weak.
Darius’s arms banded around her waist. He straightened, lifting her with him. Only her toes touched the floor. Peyton was losing control. Her head spun. Her body floated. She ached to wrap her trembling legs around Darius’s hips and press her thighs to his sides. But even the thought was too scandalous.
I’m still engaged to Bruce.
She tore her mouth free. His name was all she could manage. “Darius.”
Slowly he released her, letting her feet return to solid ground. But her legs were too shaky to stand on her own.
Darius caught her forearm to steady her. “Isn’t this how we started?” His voice, husky and low, did wicked things to her still-throbbing muscles.
A blush heated Peyton’s face as she realized Darius was referring to her tripping into his arms—twice. But her clumsiness had answered one question for her. Any doubts she had about ending her engagement to Bruce had gone up in flames beneath Darius’s kiss.
Sex with Bruce had never been interesting. In contrast, the possibilities with Darius aroused so much more than her curiosity. But even as her body swayed toward him, her brain sent out warning alarms. Darius Knight was the Derek Jeter of Trinity Falls. The Yankees shortstop was a confirmed bachelor with an inexhaustible supply of women willing to have their hearts broken. Did she want to be one of his casualties?