Page 15 of Average Joe

“Couldn’t sleep.” The man-beast invaded my personal space, leaving me nowhere to go but backward until my butt, then shoulders, smashed against my car.

Joe towered over me. He seemed to enjoy making me stretch my neck to make eye contact. His size, proximity, and the way he smelled was the opposite of offensive. What offended me, what I could not accept, was the way my body buzzed and hummed in his presence and that my wits ping-ponged out of control.

“Where you off to?” he asked, voice deep and rumbly like he’d just rolled out of bed and hadn’t warmed up his vocal cords.

“Work,” came my weak reply.

“Yeah?” His hands landed on the top of my car, his feet caged mine, our hips coming too damn close together. “Never did ask what my gorgeous neighbor does for a living.”

Oh, Lord. The man was aroused and unashamed of his blatant desire, his erection thickening between us.

What an erotic sight.I was in the danger zone, ridiculously attracted to a man who would inevitably disappoint. I craved his touch, itched for his attention. But, Joe was a criminal, and too young, I’d learned that men who skirted the law never stayed in one place for long, not even to guard the hearts they were supposed to love.

“Coffee.” Forcing my gaze upward, I mumbled, “I own a chain of coffee stands.”

“That’s perfect,” he drawled. “I just so happen to have a thing for coffee.”

Yes. Coffee served by scantily clad women. I was privy to that fact but refrained from telling him so. The less I said, the better. Conversation with Joe led to sexy time with Joe because that’s how I rolled apparently. I focused on the breadcrumbs caught in his stubble so as not to fall victim to the allure of those thick, butter-soft lips.

“Have a drink with me after work,” he commanded.

A lesser woman would’ve crumpled under that heady gaze.

“No.” I shook my head, throwing more vigor into the act than necessary. “I can’t.”

Joe stiffened, one hand coming to my hip, fingers curling, gripping tight—for support or control, I couldn’t tell. And what did his intention matter anyway when Joe was water and I, Marley, was oil squeezed from the dirty souls of all the men before him?

“Why? Got a date?”

On an average day, would a man touch me uninvited, I’d have harsh words, and if chastisement failed to deliver my point, I’d target his baby-makers. I hadn’t invited Joe’s touch, but his voice soothed, his fingers steadied, and his heated gaze made me swell with need. Sweet mocha latte, he was too close, too handsy, too everything. Instead of kneeing his balls, I whispered, “Just working late, that’s all.”

The man smirked. “I stay up late, so we’re good.”

“I don’t,” came my swift reply. I needed to leave. Flee from the criminal I wanted to ravish in the dirtiest ways.

“Beauty sleep, huh?”

“Yeah.” I shimmied free of his grip. “Got a business to run. Need my shut-eye.”

Joe leaned in. Closer. Closer still, and he licked those sinful lips and stared at my mouth. Heaven help me, if that man kissed me again, I would die, struck down by the gods of sound judgment. He didn’t kiss me. Instead, Joe pulled my car door open, and with a sensual rasp, whispered, “See ya ’round, gorgeous,” then waited until I settled in my seat before shutting me in.

Hands trembling, I pushed the start button and fired up the engine. “Have a good day,” I said, though he couldn’t hear me through the glass barrier. I offered a pathetic wave before reversing out of the driveway.

Joe stepped back, settled in a wide stance, arms crossed over his chest, and waited like a father sending his daughter off to school.

Free from his hypnotic gaze, I drew a deep breath and then released the air nice and slow, hoping to clear the lustful thoughts from my mind. He’d made a bold move, approaching me like we were long-time lovers. Did he think because we’d fucked in a drunken stupor that I would fall onto his dick every time he dialed up the charm?

Men were idiots.

Case in point: halfway to work, my phone buzzed.

I clicked the Bluetooth button on my stereo. “Hello?”

“Hey, gorgeous,” came the voice that never failed to wound me.

Bile rose, my skin prickling. “Don’t call me that.”

Warren responded with a chuckle that made my gut ache, then said, “I’m gonna be in your neighborhood next week. Wanna see you.”

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