Excerpt

Something that had lain happily dormant inside Allie stretched and yawned at the sight of that male arm. Oh no. No, no. She’d crossed men off her menu long ago, and this was one spicy dish she’d be a fool to sample. He’d give her heartburn—or heartbreak, and she’d had her fill of that.

She ought to turn around and get back to work. She stood, staring at deft fingers turning the cloth of his plaid shirtsleeve. Just a hand, right? Not a poem.

A long red mark marred the perfection of his arm. A cut.

He glanced up at her.

Even the diner’s florescent lighting couldn’t diminish the nice line of his jaw and golden skin. But the eyes meeting hers provided the final nudge that woke parts of her body that had been just fine asleep, thank you.

Blue-green eyes flecked with gold held her in a gaze that reached right in and stirred her. It brought on that heavy, ticklish ache deep inside. The nearly painful warming of frostbitten hands doused by warm water.Damn. Even the tips of her breasts woke up and saluted the man who’d played reveille to her body. She crossed her arms over her breasts. As if she didn’t look foolish enough already for gawking, her pencil had to clatter to the floor.

She hardly cared about how she looked now because she was too busy inwardly cursing.

Her snoozing libido had awakened. Just friggin’ wonderful.

Bryan caught the waitress staring at him. He shouldn’t have come into the place, but it had looked crowded enough with men—he’d hoped the curse would have been hidden in the fog of testosterone. But no, she’d found him, poor him. Poor girl. He shifted sideways away from her. “Coffee, please,” he said, putting a note of impatience in his voice.

“Uh, yeah. Right.” She turned to leave and he released the breath he’d been holding.

As she strode to the counter, he took an automatic inventory of her from the back. Sensible dull shoes, pretty good legs, curling brown hair pulled into a careless ponytail. Work-reddened hands, nice lines to her rear. . . He breathed in the diner’s air of fried food and coffee, and detected another, more intriguing aroma. The waitress. She wasn’t half bad. Or maybe he was finally noticing that he hadn’t had sex in months.

Not interested. He was only looking for the one woman. Most men wanted Ms. Perfect, but Bryan needed her.

Ms. Perfect was the only thing could turn off his weirdass creation of the pheromones that Metcher Corporation loved and that he called “the curse”.

Dr. Nathan had let loose with that little secret just a week ago—bedding the perfect woman would cut off Bryan’s “come and take me” chemical. The next day, Bryan had slipped out of town and hit the road.

“Where’d you get that cut?” The waitress was back, sliding a thick mug of coffee onto the table.

Funny, she almost sounded like she was making conversation.

“Accident,” he grunted. An accident named Jill. Or maybe Lill. He hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out. He’d thought someone over seventy might be safe and had struck up friendly chat as he stretched in the parking lot at a rest stop. Who knew an old lady would have such a grip? Or that fake fingernails could be so strong?

Allie reached out to his arm, and the back of his neck prickled. When her fingertips brushed his skin, she gasped and her pupils dilated.

Here we go again.