Under The Millionaire's Influence. Catherine Mann

woman who wouldn’t put up with my crap.”

      David smoothed his hand over her head again, his fingers tangling in her curls as he slid farther this time, down her neck, her back, free of her hair to palm her waist. He flattened her body to his in one of those masterful shows of gentle force that sent her senses tingling even as she longed to stomp on his foot.

      He tucked his size-fourteen wingtip shoes gently over the toes of her feet in a preemptive move as if reading her thoughts. “You may be the only woman who doesn’t put up with my crap, but you’re also the only woman I can’t seem to forget.”

      Darn him. He always did know what to say to melt her like the glue sticks in her arts-and-crafts gun. His foot slipped off her feet so she could arch on her toes to receive the kiss she could already sense coming.

      No. She would hold strong against temptation.

      She flattened her hands to his shoulders to stop his kiss, if not the embrace. Their chests pumped for air against each other in time with the gushing waves below the dock.

      “I have to go,” Starr gasped. “We’re having a surprise graduation party for Ashley.”

      His arms stayed banded around her, his chin resting on top of her head. He stood a full foot taller than her, yet their bodies always seemed to fit. “No way can she be that old already.”

      “A lot of time has passed since you and I were together.” Years that had filled his body with muscles and her heart with resolve of what she needed from life.

      But oh, how she couldn’t push away from this man just yet. She’d resisted the kiss. She could indulge in at least this much.

      “A year.”

      She’d meant since their teenage time together, since they’d had a relationship. “Does that really count? That was just—” incredible, heart-searing “—sex.”

      That she could narrow down the experience to one word was truly an injustice to a weekend that had left her seeing stars for days.

      “And your point is?”

      “We don’t have anything else in common.” Her heart pinched tight at the minor lie. They’d had plans in common, once upon a dream ago. Of course, now they’d plotted their lives and their paths diverged. Still, pushing him away again was tougher than she’d expected. Damn it, why did this have to ache all over again? “I can’t see past your eyes anymore but I’ll be honest and lay it all out there and say you hurt me. And quite frankly, between you and the gypsy circus act parked on my lawn, I’ve reached my hurt quota for one lifetime.”

      If only he would step back and give her space, she could breathe. And yet that traitorous part of her craved his touch. All the more reason she needed to make this break fast.

      “Well, babe, while I’m not sure I like being lumped in with a bunch of crooks, I get your point.” His hands fell to rest on her shoulders, a warm and too-tempting weight that spurred her to press harder.

      She inhaled a bracing breath full of his tantalizing scent. “So while I understand that you have to settle your mother’s health issues, you will stay clear of me while you’re here.” She tipped her chin toward each of his hands still cupping her shoulders. “I don’t want us to repeat past mistakes.”

      This was tough enough—having him touch her, here where they’d once made love under an eiderdown comforter he’d dragged down to the beach behind a dune, back when the place had been less populated.

      He raised his hands and backed away. “No past mistakes.”

      Starr wrapped her arms around her waist to ward off a chill that shouldn’t have stood a chance on such a warm spring night. As she watched him lumber away, she let herself take one final moment to enjoy the view before she shook herself back into reality, a reality that would not include him.

      Except wait. A dangerous realization tickled up her spine.

      He may have said no past mistakes, but Special Agent Word Craftsman had never once agreed to stay away from her.

      

      He was ticked off.

      David stood on the outer edge of Ashley’s farewell party held in the Beachcombers Bar and watched as everyone celebrated the youngest sister’s summa cum laude success. His hand clutched around the gift he’d bought, his mind locked on his earlier conversation with Starr. He’d been pushed for time to find Ashley a gift but being here was important for more than one reason.

      How could Starr just call it sex? He might be arrogant…

      Might be? He could almost hear Starr’s throaty laughter in his ear.

      Fine. He had his fair share of ego. He had to be confident in his job, believe in his decisions and forge ahead without hesitation because a moment’s flinch could get him killed. Or worse yet, cost someone else’s life.

      But back to the original source of his frustration. It had never been “just sex” with him and Starr, otherwise they could have figured out how to be “just friends” a long time ago. Otherwise, he wouldn’t make a point of avoiding her during times he spent at his condo in downtown Charleston.

      Sure, he was gone on assignment often, around the U.S. and overseas, but he spent more time in the city than she knew. Because he knew the more they saw each other, the more he risked hurting her again.