MARISSA VANDERSON
Dane crashed into her. She stumbled back, gasping when his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her close.
Pressed against his muscled chest, she felt a delicious chill skitter up her spine. She grasped his arms, holding on tight since her legs felt wobbly. Her nipples pebbled. The thin T-shirt nightgown didn't provide much of a barrier and she heard Dane's teeth click as his clamped his mouth shut.
"Princess..."
Her breath left her lungs in a whoosh. He looked so dangerous, so kissable. Dane was such a beautiful specimen. She wanted to explore the planes of his face, trace the firm full lips, stroke the strong cords of his neck... "Is-is it warm to you?"
"It's like living in hell."
She swallowed. Dane's gaze had dropped to her mouth and her lips tingled. "I suppose you should let me go—unless you'd like to kiss me."
A door opened and closed. Marissa glanced up and saw two teenaged boys carrying basketballs lean on the railing. "Hey mister, dontcha know it's illegal to have sex in public?"
"We're not having sex." Dane's glower didn't faze the freckled-face kid with shaggy blonde hair. His companion was just as freckled and just as shaggy, except his hair was dark brown. The imp grinned. "What's she doin' outside in her underwear?"
"This is a perfectly reasonable T-shirt go---um, dress," said Marissa.
Dane scooped Marissa into his arms. She made this little "oh" sound that made his cock perk up. Nope. Nope. Nope. He wouldn't allow himself to be attracted to Marissa Vanderson.
"Why don't you go play basketball?" he asked.
"You an' her are blockin' the way."
Dane walked up the stairs and headed toward a door with #71 painted in black above its peephole. "It's all yours, boys."
They pounded down the staircase, then the blonde-haired one stopped and looked up at Dane. "Your purse is really ugly, mister."
His friend laughed and they took off, running like Satan was poking their backsides with a pitchfork.
Marissa pinched her lips together to prevent the laughter bubbling up. Dane put her onto her feet, and she noted that he looked even grumpier as he silently handed her the purse. He extracted his wallet from the shorts.
"You keep your keys in your wallet?"
"Yes. One for the apartment and one for my car." He inserted the key into the lock, opened the door, and ushered her inside. "Always keep spares—you never know what might happen."
"I'll remember that."
Dane opened the door and gestured for Marissa to enter. She stepped into a small living room decorated in dark browns. Scents of vanilla and cinnamon tickled her nose. She expected a more sweat-and-cigar-smoke kind of smell from a bachelor's apartment.
Sports memorabilia cluttered tables and shelves; posters and framed photos of various sporting events covered almost available inch of wall space. She rounded the corner of a leather easy chair and stumbled to a stop. "Oh, my heavens!"
Against the far wall, under a huge picture window, was a tan couch. On it, lay a young woman sleeping.
She was dressed in a lacy red teddy.
"Are you hungry? I make a mean cheese ome—" Dane stopped; his gaze followed Marissa's.
At that moment, the girl awoke. She stretched becomingly, her pert breasts straining against the revealing lingerie. She aimed a sleepy smile at Dane. "Hi lover. Where've you been?"
"Janey!"
Dane's annoyed tone startled Marissa. Emotions swirled through her. A cold, hard knot formed in her stomach as she watched Dane stomp across the living room, grab an afghan, and throw it around the girl's shoulders.
Surely this girl isn't his lover.
"What the hell are you doing here?" asked Dane in a pissed-off voice.
"I'm eighteen today!" The girl's gaze assessed Marissa. Her eyes narrowed. "Who's she? Why is she half-naked?"
"Why is she half-naked? Why are you half-naked?" Dane stood about a foot from the girl, his arms crossed, his expression thunderous. "How did you get in here?"
"Don't pretend, lover," purred the girl. "You can tell her about us."
"There is no us. You're just a kid, for God's sake."
"I am not!" The girl flung off the afghan and stood. "I'm a woman. Look at me!"
"I see a little girl playing dress up."
"I'm legal."
"You're still in high school."
"So what?" She sauntered to him and pressed against his folded arms. Her fingers trailed his biceps. He jumped back like she'd dropped acid on him. "I'm old enough, damn it." Her gaze skittered toward Marissa. "How old is she?"
"I'm twenty-two."
Dane sent her a shut-up look.
"I-I'll be twenty-three next month," she added lamely.
"Get dressed, Janey."
The girl's lips formed a mutinous pout. "I did everything right. Candles. Dinner. Lingerie."
The girl plopped on the couch, pulled up her knees, and put her arms around her legs. It was a position that suggested vulnerability and a need for protection. Janey was a girl wanting badly to be a woman. Marissa felt a tug of sympathy.
She knew well how Janey felt.
On the table next to the couch were several candles of varying heights and colors—all half-melted. They explained the sweet scents filtering through the apartment.
She also noticed two table trays. Dinner for two had been arranged carefully. Each tray had a dinner plate, dessert plate, utensils, and champagne flutes. The girl had attempted to create a romantic atmosphere.
Janey obviously had a huge crush on Dane.
If the frowning, confused expression on Dane's face was any indication, the big galoot was clueless.
Tears formed in the girl's eyes. "I want you to like me."
"I do like you." Dane's harsh features softened. "You're the best softball pitcher at the Center."
"That's all you ever see. How good I am at sports." Her head dipped as if she didn't want Dane to see her cry. A shuddering sob shook her shoulders and she tightened into a ball.
Sympathy flowered into a need to act. Marissa stepped forward. "He thinks you're beautiful."
Janey looked up. "He does?"
Marissa dared a glance at Dane. His mouth was opening and closing like freshly-caught fish. She sent him a just-go-with-it look. His answering look said I-will-kill-you-later.
"He was just telling me how beautiful you are. How your blonde hair shines in the sunlight when you're pitching."
"Really?" She sniffled. "He said that?"
"Yes. And how nice you look in your uniform." Marissa's smile faltered. "But, alas, he knows that you can never be his."
"I-I can't?"
"You're young. Beautiful. Out of reach. He's already made the decision that he must admire you from afar."
"But why?"
"Because he's old."