Night Moves. Eden Bradley
grabbed her big bag, was backing up to the door.
“I’m going to go. You…you don’t need to tell anyone I was here, all right?”
God, what if this guy was some sort of pervert? But what was she, then?
The light flicked on; just a small amber glow lighting up the sleeping bunk. She blinked.
He was sitting on the edge of the bunk, all classic California surfer guy, his tousled, dirty blond hair sweeping the top of his shoulders, his neatly trimmed goatee a few shades darker. He was wearing a pair of wrinkled cargo pants and nothing else. And he was beautiful.
She couldn’t move.
“Wow,” he said.
“What?”
He smiled at her, blinking his eyes. They were pale, but there wasn’t enough light for her to make out the shade. Gray? Green?
“What?” she repeated, her hand tightening on the strap of her heavy bag.
Why didn’t she just get the hell out of there?
“You’re pretty.”
She laughed. “You sound surprised. But I’m not pretty.”
“You are. And I guess I didn’t expect you to be when it was dark and I was…watching you. Except that I could see the silhouette of your hair.”
She reached a self-conscious hand to her long, unruly blond curls. “What about my hair?”
“It’s beautiful.” His voice was deep and husky with sleep. Sexy. Or maybe it was just her body still simmering with the last threads of her orgasm. Or his beautiful face, his hard body…
“You must be blind.”
“No, I saw everything.”
“Shit. Look, I’m going to go.”
She reached for the doorknob, pulled on it.
“I liked it.”
Why did that stop her cold?
He pushed off from the bunk, the tiny train cabin too small for him to do anything but stand right behind her. She swore she could feel the heat emanating from his body, carrying his scent. Patchouli. Classic surfer scent. It made her shiver.
“Don’t go,” he said again. “My name’s Ian.”
She turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him, and he was right there. Too close. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. It was all about her and the train. And he’d ruined it.
Hadn’t he?
But her body was still loose and warm from her climax, and Ian was making her heat up all over again.
“Tell me your name,” he said quietly. Gently.
“You’re not going to report me?”
“I’d be an idiot if I did.”
He was grinning at her now, but even though his eyes glittering in the half dark were all heat, there was nothing leering in his gaze.
She smiled back at him. “So, have you always been a voyeur?”
“Not until tonight. Have you always been an exhibitionist?”
“Yes. Always.”
“I think I’ve just discovered that I like that in a girl.”
They stood for a moment, silent, smiling, while desire hummed in the air between them like piano wire strung tight, sending out one long, lovely note.
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