As they started to walk toward the inn’s front door, he realized he’d never gotten her name.
“I’m Andy, by the way.”
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs as she climbed to the porch. When she turned to face him, her eyes were almost on level with his.
In the warm, dim glow of the porch light, he saw just how beautiful they were. Golden brown, almost amber.
“Jenna.” She held out her hand and he wanted to grab it and lay it on his chest. Preferably while he was naked.
Then he’d move it lower. Slide it down his stomach. Wrap those slim fingers around his dick and show her how he wanted her to touch him.
She must have seen something of what he was thinking on his face, because those beautiful eyes widened again and, when he took her hand, her fingers tightened around his convulsively before releasing him. He didn’t want to let her go and had to force himself to do it.
And he definitely wasn’t ready to say good night before she took herself off to her bed and he trudged, brokenhearted, to his own. Alone.
“Hey, you wanna get a drink? I know Matt and Birdie have a bar in the lounge for the guests to use. We could,” make out, get naked, have sex, “talk for a little while.”
She blinked. “You know the owners?”
Well, yeah, he did. He’d been renting a cabin from them for years. The mated mountain lion shifters had inherited the property from Matt’s parents several years ago.
Frankly, Andy was shocked that they’d rented a room to a Normal, given that their clientele was almost exclusively Fringe.
Now he really wanted to know what this woman was doing here.
He shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Yeah, I’ve been coming here for years. I like…” roaming the forest and scaring the bejesus out of the occasional hiker “hiking around here.”
Her head cocked to the side and he got the impression she was trying to get a read on him. That sharp gaze made him want to fidget like a kid caught passing notes in school.
Of course, if she’d been his teacher…
Then again, he wondered if she had a little plaid skirt and maybe a tight button-down top—
Her lips curved into that smile again, the one he wanted to feel against his mouth. “Sure, I’d love to have a drink.”
Yes! He restrained himself from pumping his fist and doing a little victory dance. Since he’d been told he danced like a palsied chicken in its death throes, she’d probably bolt to her room. Alone.
Opening the door, she slipped into the front room of the inn, turning her head to send him a quick, sweetly hot glance over her shoulder. That look would’ve had any red-blooded man panting after her.
Now it wasn’t like women didn’t throw themselves at him. They did. Occasionally.
Well, maybe throw was a bad word. Fringe women, at least those who knew him or knew of him…
Some of them actually knew too much about him. They knew he was a nerd who never missed a Comic-Con or an opportunity to dress up as a Klingon. Or Thor.
He even had his own chainmail costume and detailed hammer that been created for him by an Appalachian dwarf long before Marvel had cast an Australian as a Norse god.
Which had actually turned out better than Andy could have hoped. Same with Iron Man, though that last movie…
Well, Stan Lee wasn’t infallible. Damn near but not totally.
Marvel had had more than a few flops on their hands. The unfortunate Incredible Hulk debacle was one. On paper, having Ang Lee direct a superhero movie must’ve seemed inspired.
But some visions just didn’t mix. Some relationships just weren’t meant to be.
Daredevil and Karen Page. Nurse Chappel and Spock.
Fringe dwellers and Normals.
Yeah, but look at Tim and Carrie. They’re making their relationship work.
Not that Andy was thinking relationship. That was a huge leap from having a drink with Jenna.
Just because they shared a love of Star Trek and he wanted to get his hands on the sweet curves covered by those tight jeans and that geeky t-shirt—
Which he loved, by the way.
A woman unafraid to let her geek flag fly. Now that was a woman worth getting to know.
Chapter Three
As she led the way through the charmingly decorated front sitting room to the even more charming den, where the bar was located, Jenna was pretty sure Andy was eyeing her ass.
Which made her self-conscious.
And made her want to let her hips sway just the slightest bit more.
She was a girl, after all, and Andy… Well, Andy made her feel as if she’d swallowed a gallon of Pop Rocks. All tingly and fizzy low in her belly.
He was one big, gorgeous hunk of man flesh. And damn, but he was tall. And perfectly proportioned, not lanky and lean like some guys his height. No, he had broad shoulders and thick biceps and strong thighs. Oh my.
And that hair… A perfectly natural mix of platinum and gold and wheat and honey. She could tell, now that she’d been close to him, that the color didn’t come out of a bottle. No one could get that shading that perfectly abstract so that it blended that well.
Jenna had always had perfectly tame dark-brown hair. She’d never really wanted to be a blonde, except for that unfortunate period in middle school. Teenagers could be so cruel. She’d had to live with the nickname Jenna-Ghoul for a year, even after she’d dyed it black for her morose punk phase.
Not that her friends ever teased her. Sure, it’d been tough being one of the only girls in the school who played Warcraft and The Legend of Zelda. Or even knew that they were computer games.
Most of her friends had been guys with the same love of comic books and role-playing games. Her few girlfriends had explained away her love of Star Trek and her crush on an obscure makeup artist named Tom Savini, who created the makeup for George Romero’s zombie movies, as a fluke.
Of course, they’d loved her for introducing them to Harry Potter nearly six months before anyone in her school had even heard of it. Her mom had bought a book called Harry Potter and Philosopher’s Stone for Jenna as a gift when she’d gone to a conference in England. She’d forced the book on a few friends, who’d declared her brilliant. For a month anyway. Then she went back to being just Jenna.
She wondered what Andy saw when he looked at her.
An average-looking woman of average height wearing a ridiculous shirt that she loved that her brother had bought for her in Japan on a trip to make contact with the ghosts of Hiroshima.
The bar suddenly loomed ahead of her and she stopped short and turned. Right into Andy’s chest. She brought her hands up to brace herself and they landed flat against Andy’s abs.
My god, the man was solid as a rock. Her fingers flexed convulsively but his muscles held steady.
And damn, but he smelled good. Like the forest on a crisp, cool fall day. She wanted to rub her face against his chest like a cat. Preferably without the t-shirt in her way. Only her cheek against his warm flesh—
Oh wow. She needed to stop before she had to change her panties. Which might already be too late.
She told herself to take a step back but her feet refused. Or the message got hijacked somewhere between her brain and her feet.
She thought she might have to fight with herself to get her hands to release his chest.
Of course, he wasn’t moving away. No, he’d gone statue-still before her. Was he waiting for her to do something?
What would he do if she took another step forward until their toes touched? Would he wrap his arms around her and pick her up until their lips were aligned and her feet couldn’t touch the floor?