After the Kiss Page 6

  And it was effective. Too effective. His time was up. Julie had a steadfast rule that the first kiss should never last more than two minutes. Enough to get a feel for the other person, but just enough mystery to leave him wanting more.

  Pull back. Pull back now.

  Instead she dug her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer. She had no finesse, no awareness, no control. Julie tried to pull Mitchell on top of her, but he resisted. She pulled back slightly and frowned. How was it that he still had some restraint while she was practically panting?

  He gazed steadily into her eyes, looking completely unfazed. Correction: looking completely smug.

  No. Hell, no. If she was losing her mind, she was taking him with her.

  Forgetting all about the types of kisses, both good and bad, Julie launched herself at Mitchell, pinning him to the couch while she climbed on top of him like a horny teenager. His eyes flashed in surprise, and she very slowly, very intentionally brushed the front of her ancient boxers against the front of his jeans. His expression went wary. This time it was Julie’s turn for the smug smile.

  Mitchell glanced down at where his own hands had landed on her hips as though surprised to find them there. Julie moved slowly, sliding his glasses off and setting them carefully on her coffee table. Her breath hitched as she got the first close-up look of his eyes. No wonder he kept them covered. Eyes like that could kill a girl.

  Julie suddenly became uncomfortably aware that she was straddling a virtual stranger without so much as a swipe of mascara or a bra, and her hair hadn’t seen a straightener since yesterday morning. No wonder he hadn’t exactly lost himself in the kiss. She looked like a bag lady.

  Giving him an embarrassed smile, a first for her, she started to climb off his lap, but his fingers tightened around her hips in silent demand. Stay.

  He straightened so that they were eye to eye, and slowly, deliberately put his hands on either side of her face before jerking her head forward and fusing their mouths.

  Julie’s eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t pegged him as classic alpha, but the truth was in the kiss.

  He was going for Hot and Hard.

  And he did it well. Really well. If the previous kiss had been strangely familiar, this one was pure passion. All Julie could do was hang on to the front of his shirt as he took her mouth, his tongue sliding against hers in silky strokes as her hips began to move against his in a matching rhythm.

  When they needed to breathe, they pulled back just slightly, reluctantly, catching their breath in between teasing flicks of slow, brief melding of mouths. What was this? It was like the first kiss, the last kiss, and every kiss in between, all rolled into one hot, bizarre moment.

  His hands began a slow trek upward and Julie arched into him, wanting his hands over her. On her.

  Something prissy and nagging tickled the back of her mind. Too fast. This is date three material.

  But she couldn’t quite make herself obey her own rules of dating. In fact, if he would just take off these damned jeans, she could wiggle and—

  His hands were bracketing her rib cage now and she caught her breath, waiting, wanting. And then he moved again, but not in the direction she wanted.

  No!

  Before she knew what was happening, he’d lifted her up and off him and she was slouched in the corner of her couch, feeling very much like a cat in heat. Alone.

  They stared at each other for several moments, and Julie read the same confused expression in his eyes.

  What the hell just happened?

  Mitchell let out a long breath and leaned forward to grab the glasses she’d set on the coffee table. He slid them back on before looking at her, and she felt a small surge of regret. His mask was firmly in place.

  Wall Street was back.

  He slowly extended a hand toward her, rubbing a thumb over her bottom lip.

  “I should go,” he said quietly.

  She bit her lip and refrained from asking why. Why stop something that good? If this was how relationships were supposed to progress, she wanted no part of it. She had a major case of blue ovaries.

  “You sure you don’t want to stay?”

  Mitchell’s eyes fell on her mouth before finally shaking his head. “Want and should aren’t the same thing in my book.”

  She sniffed. “No wonder you look so stuffy.”

  Strange man that he was, he grinned at that. “Do you have running shoes?”

  She couldn’t help it. She laughed. All she wanted was a normal, boring date with this guy, and instead he was running circles around her. “Running shoes? Is that a hint?”

  “Yes or no, Ms. Greene.”

  “Yes, I own sneakers,” she said, sitting up straighter and trying to keep up.

  “Good,” he said, watching her mouth. “Take the A or C train up to Columbus Circle tomorrow. Eight o’clock.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Eight in the morning? Nothing will even be open. What would we possibly do in Central Park at that time on a Sunday?”

  He grinned and ran a finger down the bridge of her nose. For a moment she was a little dazzled by the pure excitement on his face. “What do you think? We’re going for a run.”

  And just like that, he’d done it again.

  Julie was completely and utterly flummoxed by a man.

  Chapter Six

  At 7:55 on Sunday morning, Julie was sitting on a bench near Columbus Circle, trying to figure out at exactly what point she’d lost her mind.

  For starters, she was up before nine on a Sunday. Everyone thought New York was the city that didn’t sleep, but it totally did. It slept on Sundays. Or at least it was supposed to.

  And if she was up before nine, it should be to primp for a four-star brunch with the girls. Instead, the most exciting part of Julie’s outfit this morning was her hot pink sports bra. For a run. With a man who she wasn’t even sure liked her.

  Everything about them was incompatible, and in any other situation she’d have moved on. But moving on was how she’d gotten herself into this mess in the first place. She had absolutely no experience in sticking it out, and it was time to face the music. Even if the music was of the boring, classical variety.

  And then there was the not-so-small matter of that kiss.

  That kiss might be worth the price of running. For “fun.” It’s not that Julie didn’t exercise. She did, for thirty minutes, five times a week. But that was solely a necessary evil to keep her thunder thighs under control. She sure as hell didn’t seek out the opportunity to do it in her spare time.

  “Julie!”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” she muttered when she saw Mitchell jogging toward her. He looked obnoxiously sporty, fit, and awake.

  “What the hell are you wearing?” she asked as he stopped in front of the bench where she’d been sulking. Julie’s own workout gear was put together and color-coordinated. It was important to look put together to combat the inevitable sweat. But Mitchell’s running gear was on a totally different level.

  Everything looked slightly more high-tech than what she was wearing. His silver shoes had all sorts of reflective stripes that caught the sun. His shirt looked like that expensive, high-tech material that could like whisk your sweat away from your body and throw it into the nearest garbage can. The shorts, at least, were normal.

  “What’s wrong with my clothes?” he asked, glancing down.

  “I guess I just wasn’t aware that NASA made workout gear.”

  “You’re grumpy,” he said, pulling her ponytail.

  “Oh, yay, it’s playful Mitchell,” she muttered. “Remind me again why we’re doing this.”

  “Ah, Ms. Greene. Don’t tell me you’ve never run in Central Park.”

  “Er, no. I’m more of an elliptical-in-the-air-conditioning kind of girl.”

  He shook his head in dismay. “You’re in for a real treat.”

  “Sure,” she said, gazing up at the blazing sun. “If by treat you mean blisters, heatstroke, and shin splints.”<
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  He glanced around at the growing number of people heading toward the park entrance. “Well, if you want I can buy you a hot dog and leave you sitting on a bench with the rest of the inactive fatties.”

  “Hey!” She jabbed her finger at him. “Not everyone who sits on a bench in Central Park is an inactive fatty. Some of them read.”

  “I know.” He grinned. “I’m often one of them. Reading is my other favorite hobby, remember?”

  “Not really. That little factoid was so boring that my brain had to reject it or risk falling into a coma.”

  He tilted his head toward the entrance of the park. “Come on. No more stalling.”

  She trotted after him as he wove around the various ice cream vendors and rented bicycle tours. “So how big is Central Park exactly? How far do you usually run?”

  “There are a couple of different paths. Just follow my lead and holler when you get tired.”

  “Tired, my ass,” she grumbled. Long-distance running might not be at the top of her bucket list, but she was still in pretty good shape. “I’ll lead,” she snapped as she quickened her pace to a jog and sped past him. “Try to keep up.”

  Thirty minutes later, Julie realized her mistake.

  She tried to hold in a wheeze and contemplated asking passersby if they had an inhaler. Not that she was asthmatic, but it was possible that she’d been just a wee bit overoptimistic about her fitness.

  Turned out she’d underestimated a few things.

  Namely, hills.

  And the sun.

  Oh, and the fact that Mitchell apparently had a motor shoved up his ass, because the man had not slowed down.

  “You okay?” he called from where he was jogging in place several feet ahead. He’d passed her about five minutes in but had stayed within her visual range. It didn’t take a genius to see that he was holding back for her.

  “Oh, this is great,” she said, catching up to him and bending at the waist to put her hands on her knees as she gasped. She eyed a nearby baby drinking from a bottle. Milk was hydrating, right?

  “Come on, we’re only a couple of miles in,” he said, still jogging in place. Correction—he was practically jumping.

  “What the hell are you so excited about?” she asked around pants. “We’re running in a big circle, right? It’s not like Santa’s sleigh is at the end of the run.”

  He gave her a sympathetic look. “We can just walk for a while if you want. I probably set the pace too fast. I’m so used to running with Evelyn, I forget not all women are cut out for it.”

  Something red and dangerous flashed before Julie’s eyes, and she forgot all about the fact that her throat felt like sawdust and the sweat between her boobs could have filled Lake Superior.

  He had not just thrown the ex-girlfriend at her, had he?

  “Let’s go,” she said, faking energy she absolutely did not have. “I’ll follow.”

  He shot her a happy grin, and as Julie forced her screaming calves to chug after him, she had the sneaking suspicion that she’d just been played. Again. He’d known that the mention of an ex-girlfriend would spur her on.

  Then she forgot about everything except putting one foot in front of the other. Mitchell had disappeared around a bend. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was already on a second loop, ready to lap her.

  Surely she wouldn’t die here. Would she? Was this the way she was meant to go? Collapsing in the middle of Central Park, where some tourists from Minnesota would find her body and take pictures with their big-lensed camera? And then what if they decided to sell the pictures? Then Stiletto would probably be forced to print an obituary featuring an image of her with a sweat-stained crotch.

  Just when she was about to cry, she saw Mitchell just a few feet ahead. Well, it looked like a few feet. It felt more like a mile or five.

  She told her body to kick into high gear for those last steps with her head held high, but who was she kidding? If there had been a wagon nearby, she’d have fallen into it and begged a homeless man to push her to the nearest hospital.

  Julie finally reached him in all of his shiny, reflective gear and slumped onto the bench beside him. He handed her a water bottle and a hot dog.

  She took several long swallows of the icy water before ripping open the foil and digging into the dog. He’d put relish on it, which she hated, but at this point he could have put maple syrup on the damned thing and she’d have eaten it.

  “Nothing has ever tasted this good. Never,” she said with a full mouth. “How many calories do you think I burned? Two thousand?”

  Mitchell nodded toward an elderly couple sitting on the bench across from them. “Seeing as they passed you about a half mile back, I’d say you burned around fifty.”

  She guffawed, not caring that the tiniest bit of hot dog bun flew out. She was long past being her best around Mitchell Forbes. “They did not. That woman has a walker.”

  “Well, maybe we should get you one of those,” he said, patting her knee. “Or perhaps we could get you a big dog and Rollerblades and you can hitch a ride that way.”

  She swallowed the last bite of her hot dog and eyed his remaining half greedily. He caught her glance and deliberately took a huge bite.

  Julie sighed and settled for the water. Her breathing had slowed slightly, although now she felt vaguely sick. Come to think of it, none of her fitness magazines had ever suggested that scarfing down a hot dog within seconds of almost dying of heatstroke was a good idea.

  “You’re not wearing your glasses,” she said, noticing for the first time.

  He shook his head and dusted hot dog bun crumbs off his fingers. “I don’t like to run with them on.”

  “So you run blind? Surely we could find you a nice pair of goggles to go with the rest of your spacesuit.”

  “I have contacts.”

  “Why don’t you wear them all the time?”

  He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “I find the ladies like the glasses.”

  “It’s not the glasses they like,” she replied distractedly. “It’s the eyes.”

  His smile faltered, and she blushed as she realized what she’d said. “Don’t get too excited. It’s about the only thing you have going for you.”

  He grinned and looked away.

  “So,” Mitchell said, crumpling up his foil and plucking hers out of her hand, “wanna do it again next weekend? I was thinking that we could start a little earlier and get a long run in.”

  A long run? What the hell did he think they’d just endured?

  “You know what I think?” she purred. “I think you should run with someone more your own speed. Maybe the U.S. Olympic track team.”

  “Oh, come on. You didn’t enjoy it even a little bit? All this fresh air, the burn, and the endorphins?”

  Julie rolled her eyes for his benefit, but to tell the truth, now that she was halfway convinced she wasn’t going to die, she did feel … good. And the park was beautiful—no matter how many times she came up to Central Park, which wasn’t often enough, she never failed to marvel at the peaceful green oasis in the middle of the hectic city. Of course, usually she preferred walking through it.

  “So you and Evelyn,” she heard herself saying. “You guys did the whole Sunday jog-and-hot-dog routine too?”

  Mitchell snorted. “Evvy wouldn’t touch a hot dog. But we did run together every weekend. Although she wouldn’t be sitting here afterward. Said she didn’t like lounging in her own sweat.”

  Julie sat up slightly. She hadn’t given a thought to how awful she must look right now. Her once perky ponytail was now completely damp with sweat, and she didn’t even want to think about how red and shiny her face must be.

  But Mitchell didn’t seem to notice, which wasn’t surprising. He didn’t seem to notice anything about her.

  Except for that kiss. Which he had started. And then walked away from.

  Julie let out the smallest of sighs. This relationship business was exhausting.

  “What about you?
” he asked.

  “What about me? Do I like lounging in my own sweat? Yeah, I’m totally digging it. I can’t decide what I like more, the slick feeling of fresh sweat or the gritty feeling as it starts to dry.”

  Mitchell let out a small laugh. “No, I mean what about you and ex-boyfriends on weekends? What did you do? Not running, I take it.”

  “Definitely not,” she said. “I actually haven’t spent much time with ex-boyfriends on weekend days. Saturdays and Sundays are my time, ya know? Laundry, girlfriends, yoga …”

  Mitchell shifted on the bench to face her. “Come on, you never do weekend activities with a guy? Never? What about the more serious boyfriends?”

  She tilted her head up at the sun. “Never really had one, not like that. Not anyone I’d want to go darting around the park getting all sweaty with.”

  He was watching her with an unreadable expression. “But you’ve been in love?”

  “Oh, yes,” Julie said with a smile. “It’s a gift of mine, falling in love fast. Just so long as they leave me alone on my weekends.”

  She felt him studying her again, but she didn’t care. She knew what he was thinking. That it hadn’t ever been real love. That love couldn’t happen after a couple of dates and subsist only on Friday and Saturday nights. But it could. Maybe not the forever kind of love, but certainly the quick and easy kind. It was still love. At least she was pretty sure it was.

  “There was one guy,” Julie found herself confiding. “Long time ago, right after I first moved to the city. Adrian. He lived next door, and he and I would sometimes spend all Sunday drinking mimosas and listening to indie music.”

  “Sounds nice,” he murmured.

  She cut him a glance. “Please. You don’t think it sounds nice at all. You’d rather be yachting or reading Shakespeare.”

  He made a face. “You have me all wrong. When I said I liked to read and run, I didn’t mean that’s all I liked to do. I can relax and veg out with the best of them.”

  “Yah, okay, Wall Street. Twenty bucks says you don’t own any piece of clothing more than two years old to ‘lounge around in,’ and I bet you don’t watch movies that didn’t debut at the Cannes Film Festival.”