Page 7 of Tempting

She looks down instead of meeting my eyes. “Still calling me Mac, Nix?”

“Pretty sure I’ve never called you anything else.” I haven’t.

Not since the first time my sisters brought her home.

“Whatever,” she mumbles, then shoves me back. “I wasn’t thinking about walking home when I picked out my shoes earlier.”

I stop and turn around, giving her my back, and squat down. “Hop on.”

“What?” she laughs.

“Hop on. I’ll carry you.” I look over my shoulder and catch her chewing that bottom lip again. “Come on, Mac. You can’t walk home barefoot, and you’ve almost kissed the ground twice since you left the bar. It’s not like it’s your first piggyback ride.” Jesus. She brings out the inner thirteen-year-old in me.

“I’m wearing a dress, Nix.” Her protest is weak at best, and I can tell she’s thinking about it.

“Come on, Mac. Hitch up your damn dress and hop on. I bench press four times your weight. We’ll be home in five minutes, and you won’t break your ankle between now and then.”

She looks up at the twinkly-light-lined trees before huffing and placing the skinny strap of her purse across her chest. “Fine. But if you tell anyone I did this, I’ll kill you. I’m a doctor, Nixon. Don’t think I can’t do it. I can, and I can make it look like an accident.”

That threat should probably scare me, but instead, I laugh. This woman used to capture spiders and set them free in the backyard when my sisters screamed. “Consider me warned, doc.”

She climbs on and locks her knees in at my waist, and yeah... I need to get my mind out of the gutter.

I adjust her and try to ignore the feel of her soft skin and the way I wonder if it would taste like sugar on my tongue.

Doctor or not, this woman might be more dangerous than I thought.

Kenzie

Our doorman tries to hide the sideways look he gives Nix and me but fails as Nixon walks right past him with his hands anchored through my knees, absolutely refusing to put me down. The ankle strap of my hot-pink patent-leather stilettos dangle from my fingertips, and I wonder what we must look like. “Oh my goodness, Nixon. Put me down before someone else sees.”

But does he listen?

No.

He hoists me further up his back and chuckles instead. “Wouldn’t want a scandal, now would we, Mac?”

We pass the dark coffee shop which closed hours ago before stopping at the elevator. He swings me around so I can press the up button, keeping his grip tight the entire time.

The shiny doors open with their dramatic chime, and Nixon walks through like he’s done this a thousand times. And I guess as far as I know, maybe he has. He’s a professional hockey player. I know what the puck bunnies are like, and I’m just going to ignore the fact I just compared myself to a one. Damn it... I am so over this night.

It only takes a few moments before the doors open onto our floor, and we step out because—as if this night hasn’t been humiliating enough—Nixon is basically forced to walk me to my front door since we’re the only two condos on this floor.

“Here you go.” He slides me down and off his back, and I ignore the way his muscles bunch under my touch. That is a whole lot of muscle. “You’re home and in one piece.” Nixon’s eyes trail down over my face to my dangling pink shoes. “Might want to retire those though. Pretty sure I saved you twice tonight.” Then that damn smirk comes back out to play again. “Three times, if you count Dr. Dick.”

“Oh. My. God,” I gasp, forgetting that I was about to yell at him for insinuating I should chuck my favorite heels... even if he’s right. “You can’t call him that to his face, Nix.” I don’t mention that I, along with half the staff, call him that behind his back. “You know you don’t really have to come to the gala with me. If he asks, I’ll tell him we’re just friends. I’m not sure why you did that.”

Nix shrugs. “I didn’t like the way he was talking to you. The guy set my Spidey senses off. Besides, it will make my momma happy if I go to the gala, and now I have a reason to go. What time am I picking you up?”

“You’re Spidey senses? You really should get that looked at, Nixon.” I put my key in the lock and smile back at him.

Almost flirting . . . almost.

Because I don’t flirt.

I’m not really sure I’d even know how. And I certainly wouldn’t know how to do it, or anything else, with this man. “They can probably prescribe you something for that.”

His hand covers mine on the knob, stopping me. “What time, Mac?”

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