Free Seducing Steve by Maggie Wells

and her smile widened instinctively. She saw the flicker of something more in the fathomless depths of his eyes. A tiny flame flared then burned steady and strong.
    She knew she had to douse that flame with a bucket of water or turn tail and run if necessary. Adam’s face flashed in her mind. She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze to the notebook still clutched to her chest.
    “Can I buy you a coffee?” he asked. “I’m gonna need a new one, and I figure I owe you.”
    “I don’t drink coffee,” she answered without meeting his probing gaze.
    “A Coke, then.” When she hesitated, he plunged ahead. “Tea?”
    She reached for the backpack she’d looped over the back of the chair, shaking her head. “I should go. I have to meet somebody.”
    “Oh?”
    “My husband.” She stood up, meeting his gaze at last.
    “Oh.” He backed up a step and the tips of his ears turned a most appealing shade of pink. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Sara Wright,” he said with a nod, then hurried for the door.
    She had seen him around. It didn’t take long to figure out that Steve Larson was a hopeless caffeine junkie. The coffee shop she liked to frequent turned out to be the closest fix to his office. They passed a casual greeting the next time they ran into each other. Another time, she made a barbed comment about the lid on his cup when he’d walked by her favorite table.
    One day she wheedled some free software tips from him in exchange for a triple shot of espresso. He gave her his card. She e-mailed him in a panic when her work-in-progress fell victim to a devastating virus. He recovered the file, patched the hole in her computer’s security settings, and their friendship took hold.
    Sara sighed. Moonlight shimmered through the slats of her blinds, striping the bed where Steve now lay sprawled, his long, lanky frame eating up most of the space. She reached out and smoothed his rumpled hair over his ear, wondering if he had any clue how much of a hold he had on her.
    Steve hummed softly and rolled over, raising his arm to reclaim her hip and hooking one heavy leg over hers. His voice was deep and gravel-laden. “Stop starin’ at me. Go to sleep.”
    She giggled and pressed her lips to the Adam’s apple that bobbed in his throat.
    “Nuh-uh.” He palmed the top of her head, pushing her down until she lay tucked under his chin. “Sleep.”
    Sara smiled. Snuggling a little closer, she closed her eyes and did as she was told.

Chapter Eight

    “What do you fantasize about?” Sara asked.
    The question hung in the air. Steve knew their quiet Sunday evening in front of the tube was about to take a sharp turn. He sank deeper into the couch cushions. Without peeling his gaze from the television screen, he reached over to grab a handful of popcorn from the bowl cradled in her lap.
    “You,” he answered before dumping the fluffy kernels into his mouth in hopes of avoiding the slippery slope in front of him.
    The weight of Sara’s stare pressed on him. “Seriously,” she prompted.
    He swallowed, and the popcorn scraped his parched throat. “I’m completely serious.”
    “You’re not really helping me out here, you know. You’re supposed to be my muse.”
    He shifted, trying to mask his discomfiture by rearranging the multitude of fussy throw pillows that seemed to multiply each time he came over. “Can’t we just watch the movie?”
    Sara snatched the remote from the crevice of the cushions and paused the DVD. Her eyebrows rose in a clear challenge, and she turned to face him. “You don’t have to tell me about your hard-on for the green chick Kirk bagged. I already know about that,” she added with a smirk.
    “Ha ha.” He shot her a dark glare. “I fantasize about watching an entire movie without your running commentary.”
    “Wow, you dream big.”
    “Go big or go home,” he said with a shrug.
    “Never going to happen.”
    Sara’s silky blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder when she bent