Then Luke was sliding onto the seat beside her and plunking the shopping bag down on the carpeted floor between his cowboy boots.

“Why the rush?” Miranda asked.

“Because it’s my day off.” Luke’s eyes lit up. “And I’m damned well going to take advantage of every single minute.”

Chapter 11

Luke shrugged out of his jacket and reached into the shopping bag, allowing Miranda to survey the beautiful musculature of his arms. His skin was dusted with golden blond hair that glinted in the passing lights, and the muscles and tendons flexed and shifted as he pulled out a bottle of the same Krug they’d been drinking. He twisted off the cork with a subdued pop, not spilling a drop. “Flip open that compartment and there should be some champagne glasses,” he said to Miranda, nodding to a padded console on her side of the big car.

She found them, neatly packed into the compartment, along with various other barware. “You keep a well-stocked limo.”

“My teammates sometimes join me,” he said, filling the glasses she held. Reaching into the bag, he pulled out a plastic container of chocolate-covered strawberries and flicked open the top. Instead of offering the box to Miranda, he picked one up by its leaves and held it in front of her mouth. “For you.”

She started to put down a flute to take it, but he shook his head. “From me.”

Miranda looked from the strawberry to his face and found his eyes blazing with an intention that was not anywhere near friendship. Heat spiraled through her, and she shifted her gaze back to the proffered treat.

“Take it, sugar.” His drawl went rich and slow.

His voice vibrated straight into her bones. She leaned forward and bit into the juicy sweetness. A piece of chocolate broke off and started to fall, but he raised his other hand to catch it in a lightning reflex. He popped the stray piece into his own mouth, bringing her gaze to his lips and their clean, sculpted lines.

She leaned back abruptly, splashing a few drops of champagne on her trousers.

“Champagne doesn’t stain,” he said with a slantwise smile as he dropped the top of the strawberry onto the plastic lid. “I’ve had enough of it sprayed on me to know.”

Her laugh came out with a nervous edge. He was so close that she could feel the heat of his body and smell the citrus of his cologne clinging to his T-shirt. It made her want to rub her face against his chest to feel the soft cotton on her cheek, to inhale the insanely male scent of him, and to hear his heart beating through the wall of skin and muscle. She lifted her glass and drank half the champagne in one gulp.

But the champagne couldn’t douse the skyrocketing heat in her body. She put down her glass and started to shrug out of her jacket. The backs of Luke’s fingers brushed against her neck as he helped her slide it off her arms. It was a surprisingly sensual touch for such a simple gesture. Tiny shivers arrowed along her spine as she pivoted forward again.

He tossed her jacket on the seat across from them before he refilled her half-empty flute. “Another strawberry?” His tone was soft, but his gaze was a challenge.

“S-sure,” Miranda said.

He chose the largest berry and shifted on the seat, bringing him even closer to her. He brushed her lips with the chocolate-covered tip before she could open them, watching with his eyelids half-lowered. She took a bite and closed her eyes to shut out the intensity of his gaze while she chewed and swallowed.

When she opened them, he smiled as he brought the juicy berry to her mouth again. “You don’t need lipstick when you’re wearing strawberry juice,” he said, touching it to her lips. “I’ll bet it tastes as good as it looks on you.”

She had enough time to stop it, but not enough willpower. He moved closer, and she let her head fall back to meet him. When his lips brushed hers, she forgot about who he was and just let the sensation of his mouth on hers take over. He leaned in, so she flattened her palm against his chest, feeling the fabric, the muscle, and the heat, as she’d wanted. Then he flicked at her lips with the tip of his tongue and made a low humming sound in his throat, as though he liked the taste.

The warmth and slight roughness of his tongue sent flickers of delight dancing through her veins. One of his hands slid up the back of her head, his fingers twining into her hair and angling her head so he could bring his mouth down at a more demanding angle. She was caught between the solid barrier of his chest in front and the iron bar of his arm behind her, and she reveled in it. Her hand holding the flute was curled against his chest, the cool glass chilling her palm while the heat of his body warmed the back of her fingers. The contrast added to the sensations ricocheting through her.

But it was his mouth that was the focal point, slanting against hers, his lips hard one moment, softer the next, his breath with the fizz of champagne on it. He didn’t force, he persuaded, and she tilted in to him to taste and feel more when she allowed his tongue between her lips.

He slid his other arm around to pull her in closer, and suddenly a sluice of cold wetness ran down her back.

Luke swore and released her, righting the glass of champagne he’d just tipped down her blouse. “Smooth move, Archer.” He dug around in another compartment of the limo to produce a white linen napkin. “Turn around and I’ll dry you off. My apologies.”

“It doesn’t stain,” she parroted. As she pivoted on the smooth leather seat, Miranda didn’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated by the interruption. With her back to Luke, she raised a hand to her mouth, touching her swollen lips in wonder, while her body fizzed and sparked with longing. Luke Archer had kissed her. Like he meant it. She could feel the outline of his big hand against her back as he carefully blotted the champagne from her blouse.