Page 29 of Avery's Hero

For a second, I sputter, “You’re absurd.”

He growls and presses that big hot body of his against me. “And you’re sexy as fuck.”

“Is this a date? Because I’m not sure exactly what’s happening right now.”

“I’m planning all the ways I want to take you after our next real date.”

“Brock. This is ridiculous. We’re going to lose our jobs.”

He drops his head and lays an open mouth kiss on my neck. “I probably should have warned you. I’ve always been a rule breaker.”

“Chief. Remember. You’re the chief. The responsible one here,” I grumble.

He slides a warm, rough hand down my arm. It’scompletely sexual without touching any of my girl parts. “Sometimes, you have to say fuck it.” He inhales against my neck and I almost shout. “Besides, I inherited this job. It wasn’t even on my radar.”

I’m breathless. Consumed by heat that’s building in my low belly. “But I guess, I am on your radar…”

“You most certainly are, Avery Ellis.”

Voice shaky, I warn him, “Don’t kiss me.”

He lets loose that wicked, deep, sexy chuckle again. “I won’t. Not on the mouth, at least.”

The door to the locker room swings open with a bang. “Signs are up, Chief.”

Eeeeeeep!

“Thanks, Frank,” Brock says loudly. The door closes again with a thud and we’re alone.

I’m panting, holding onto the wall, about to faint. Brock reaches up and flips off the water.

“Take it easy there, little one.” He towels me off, then wraps me up. “I’ll go first to make sure no one’s around. If I don’t come back, you know the coast is clear.”

All I can do is nod like a stupid bobble head, my neck barely holding my head up.

He tips my chin up with his knuckle. My lips are trembling. I don’t want him to kiss me, but I’m dying to feel that possessive, hungry mouth of his on me again.

Voice low, he says, “I’ll pick you up at seven tonight at the corner of Beach Boulevard and First. Look for a black pickup. Don’t stress out. We’ll take this slow.”

He doesn’t give me time to say no. He pulls on a pair of running shorts and disappears out the door.

He doesn’t come back.

I manage to teeter on weak legs back to the women’slocker room where I finish shampooing my hair and try not to think about Brock.

Or obsessively look at my watch to count the minutes until seven.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Brock is right on time. I should know a man like him would be. Just like I should have known that his truck would be giant. Fit for a man like him.

Shiny and new. It’s as black as a gleaming onyx. The seats are plush black leather and nicer than those of any vehicle I’ve ever owned. Or probably will own.

If the man could eat me with his gaze, I’d be done.

Blushing like a teenager under his heated looks, I heft myself inside the beast truck.

When I slide into the seat, I’m hit with a wave of his soap, woodsy cedar and mint. The smell is so good itmakes my heart stutter and spin. Brock Mitchell smells like my next addiction.

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