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  bars, anyway. I'd rather have a real sundae."

  He folowed me into the elevator and watched me push the

  button for his floor. The elevator could hold and had held

  ten people at a time. We had plenty of room but he stood

  next to and slightly behind me, so I was aware of his body

  heat and the soft sound of his breath.

  We barely had time to talk on the short ride to his floor

  and down the hal to his apartment, and I didn't bother

  with smal talk. Eric, to my relief, didn't try to force the

  chatter, either. In five minutes he was unlocking his door

  and ushering me inside by stepping back to alow me to go

  through first.

  "Such a gentleman," I said.

  He paused after he shut the door. "I try."

  Again, we stared at each other. I was used to men who

  made the first move. Eric didn't move, so we stayed stil,

  both of us looking.

  "Ice cream?" I prompted over my urge to taste his mouth.

  "In the kitchen."

  He puled out a chair for me and settled me in it like a

  queen before bustling around to pul out a couple cartons

  of ice cream from the freezer. He set them on the counter,

  then grabbed a jar of fudge from the cupboard and put it in

  the microwave. From another cupboard he puled real ice-

  cream-sundae glasses, and from the drawer two long-

  handled spoons.

  "I had no idea," I said as he turned. I waved at his

  preparations, searching for the words that would keep me

  on top, but found none.

  He grinned. "I like ice cream. What can I get for you?

  Chocolate, vanila or mint chip?"

  "A scoop of each?" It had been ages since I'd eaten ice

  cream. "Extra hot fudge."

  "Whatever you want." Eric's simple words felt anything but simple.

  He brought two sundaes, heaped high with ice cream and

  oozing with hot fudge, to the table. True to what I'd come

  to expect from him, he served me first before taking the

  to expect from him, he served me first before taking the

  chair across from mine. He waited until I'd tasted my ice

  cream before he even lifted his spoon.

  "Good?" he asked.

  I could only make a murmuring happy noise as my taste

  buds, so long denied, practicaly sang. When I scooped a

  mouthful of hot fudge, my low, throaty moan was louder

  than I'd intended. Eric stopped with his spoon halfway to

  his mouth.

  I swalowed sweetness. "It's good."

  He finished his bite, and I watched his lips close over the

  spoon. I watched, too, as his tongue came out to lick

  away the drops of ice cream that had dripped onto his

  hand. Caught up in my lustful fantasy of what he could do

  to me with that tongue, I dropped my spoon.

  Both of us looked to where it had clattered to the floor. I

  didn't move. Eric looked at the spoon on the floor, then up

  at me. And then slowly, carefuly, he slid from his chair to

  his knees in front of me. The spoon clicked on the tile

  when he reached for it, and I saw his hand was shaking,

  just barely.

  just barely.

  He looked up at me. "Let me get that for you."

  This was the second time since we'd met he'd been at my

  feet. This time he was there because I'd put him there,

  though he didn't know it was me. My heart leaped, the

  thudding almost painful under my ribs. My breath lodged in

  my throat, and though a thousand words swirled around in

  my brain, not one of them would come out of my mouth.

  When the heat of his hands cuffed my ankles, I drew in

  another breath on top of the one I hadn't yet released. I'd

  changed into a summer-weight black skirt, the cut loose

  and fabric soft on my bare legs. It hung just past my knees,

  but sitting had puled the cloth tighter and higher on my

  thighs. The pressure of Eric's breath shouldn't have been

  strong enough to move the fabric of my skirt, but I felt it

  move on my shins as he exhaled.

  He didn't look at me as he slid his long fingers slowly up

  my calves. They reached the soft skin behind my knees

  and I let out another slow sigh. When he reached the hem

  of my skirt I thought he'd stop, but Eric, head stil bent, his

  eyes on only he knew what, pushed the material up and

  over my knees. He leaned forward to press his cheek to

  the inside of my knee. I froze. Our breathing sounded very

  the inside of my knee. I froze. Our breathing sounded very

  loud in the silence.

  When I didn't move or protest, Eric gave his head a half

  turn. His breath blew hot on my skin. I tensed, my hands

  clutching the arms of the chair, but my knees opened for

  him and my head tipped back just a little.

  He kissed the inside of my knee with parted lips, and the

  brief wet press of his tongue teased my flesh. I looked

  down at his thick dark hair and wanted to sink my fingers

  into it. Instead, I clutched the chair arms tighter as Eric

  nuzzled higher onto my thigh.

  He would be able to smel my arousal, I knew it, could feel

  my panties getting damp. His mouth moved higher as his

  hands moved up over my knees and rested there. My next

  breath turned to syrup in my lungs and gave me no air.

  I could see his eyes, closed, the dark lashes so long they

  cast shadows on his cheeks. Each feathery kiss folowed

  the next, a micron's distance apart. He would never reach

  my pussy at that pace.

  The only sounds had been our breathing and the squeak of

  the chair as his movements rocked me gently in it. Now I

  the chair as his movements rocked me gently in it. Now I

  heard the low but unmistakable sound of Eric's groan. I felt

  it, too, in a puff of hotter air and the wetness of his kiss

  higher stil but not high enough.

  I looked down at his hunched shoulders and the big hands

  pushing up my skirt. At his dark hair, the fringes tickling

  my thighs. At the sweep of his lashes and slope of his

  forehead, al I could glimpse of his face.

  What the fuck was I doing?

  One hand found its way to his hair and I lost my fingers in

  it, relishing the springy coarseness for only a moment

  before I tightened my grasp and puled his head up. His

  eyes opened, blurred with lust. His lips, moist, parted as

  he focused on my face.

  I could not do this. Not like this. Not because I didn't love

  him, or because he wasn't my boyfriend, not even because

  we hadn't even had an official date. I'd done more with

  men I'd never even seen again. And not because I didn't

  want his face between my thighs, making me come on his

  tongue, because I wanted it so much desire left me light-

  headed.

  "No," I said in a grinding voice, because this wasn't fair.

  Not to him, and not to me.

  Eric pushed away from me at once and I released my grip

  on his hair. He didn't get to his feet but rocked back on his

  heels, his expression stricken. "I'm sorry. Paige. I don't

  know what made me think that was okay. I'm sorry."

  With shaking hands,