"So what else?" she said. "Are you going to take me to some parties?"
He shrugged. "I don't really attend many."
"Oh? That's not the impression I get."
His eyes narrowed. "And where did you get that impression from?"
"I, um, have to read the gossip pages in the papers. It's part of my job."
"Sure, I bet it is," he growled. "They're wrong anyway. I never attend half the things they have me at."
Yeah, right. Just like he never slept with half the women they have him sleeping with.
A prickly silence settled into the dense air surrounding them. Annie wanted to say something, anything, to diffuse it but Zack seemed to be brooding. Eventually she decided to return to the one thing they had in common—changing her into a social butterfly. She might as well accept that it was going to happen, temporarily at least.
"So apart from getting drunk and spending money, what else are you going to teach me, oh Master?"
Finally he chuckled. He seemed as relieved as she was to get the conversation flowing again. For someone so arrogant and confident, he was surprisingly sensitive about his own image.
"I'm going to teach you to ride a motorbike."
Annie let out a small yelp of protest. "You've got to be joking."
He shook his head.
"There is no way I'm getting on that machine again after today. Especially to ride it by myself. It's dangerous. Didn't you notice me shaking after I got off?"
He shrugged. "I thought I just made you nervous."
"In your dreams, DiMarco."
His brow furrowed but a smile played at his mouth. "Pity. I thought I had some kind of affect on you. It was good for my ego."
"Like your ego needs any help."
"Hey, my ego's as fragile as the next guy's. Especially when a woman doesn't even crack a smile when he makes a joke."
"You haven't said anything funny!"
"Gee thanks. Now I'm shattered."
She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway.
He lay on his back and closed his eyes. "Well, at least I don't have to teach you attitude. You've got enough of that to knock poor little Doggie back to his mommy in New York."
"His name's Dug-E."
But he didn't seem to hear her. His breathing became soft and his arms, crossed over his chest, rose and fell to an even rhythm.
Annie watched him. Did he really think he actually made her nervous? Unbelievable!
Unbelievably sexy, too. Her admiring gaze traveled the length of him. His sheer size was magnificent, as was the bulge in his jeans that was rumored—according to gossip—to be as impressive as it promised. An image of him naked flashed through her mind and it was all she could do not to jump him and have her way with him.
She let her eyes roam back up to his face. The strong contours of his Italian heritage were a perfect canvas for the high cheekbones, straight nose and almond shaped eyes. And the soft lips, strung into a cheeky bow, was way too delicious too ignore.
She imagined kissing those lips, right now, as he lay on the grass beside her. Would he wake up? Would he kiss her back? She felt like Sleeping Beauty in reverse. Zack was certainly a beauty all right—but this was no fairy tale and she was no Princess Charming. More likely he'd wake up and run a mile.
But since she could never have him on a more intimate basis, surely a little kiss would be all right. Just a little peck on those yummy lips, to taste them. The opportunity would soon pass if she didn't grab it. All she wanted to do was touch his mouth with her own before she lost her nerve.
She leaned forward, her face inches from his, and closed her eyes. It was now or never.
CHAPTER 5
Annie leaned over him. Touched him. Zack, in his semi-conscious state, could sense her closeness. The desire to feel the delicate brush of her skin against his, or maybe a nipple caressing his arm, overwhelmed him. Even his lips tingled in anticipation of a small kiss.
The whisper-light stroke against his forehead might have been a dream but he wanted to believe it was real, that she'd kissed him there.
Do it again.
He felt light-headed, dazed by the heat and his own drowsiness. But there was a definite desire on both their parts—the air between them buzzed with it.
The same feather-like caress brushed the hair from his forehead. In his dreams Annie was so close he could almost taste her. She smelled like roses...
A small gasp near his right ear quickened his pulse. "Annie," he murmured, or maybe only dreamed he did. Then all previous thoughts were swamped by a driving need to feel her lips on his. To feel—
The slap on his cheek.
Zack sat up with a jerk. "Hey!" he shouted. "What the hell have I done now?" Since he never seemed to do anything right according to Annie McCallum, he must have done something to annoy her. Maybe he breathed in the wrong direction.
She looked at him matter-of-factly. "There was a bee on your face."
He glared at her, not sure whether to believe her. It was more likely he'd done something to deserve that slap. "A bee?"
The soft pink lips that he'd dreamed were kissing him only moments ago crept into a smile that made her bright blue eyes sparkle. She was truly beautiful when she smiled like that. And she had no idea.
"Did you think I just decided to slap you?" she asked with a laugh. "Why would I do that?"
He shrugged, trying to appear cool, calm and collected when all he felt was hot, on-edge. "Who knows. I seem to have offended you more times than I can count. It wouldn't surprise me if I offended you by the way I slept."
He tried to look intent on picking up their trash and putting it in his backpack. He wasn't avoiding her, he just didn't want to look at her right now. Not with those sweet, tempting lips. Kissable lips.
Jeez, he needed to stop these thoughts immediately. They were wrong. Worse than wrong—they were dangerous. He should not be thinking about her at all. She wasn't his type.
He cursed under his breath. Who was he kidding? Annie was perfect. Too perfect. She was everything he wanted and desired in a woman—she was sexy but didn't have a clue what affect she had on men. She was funny, intelligent and she sent his pulse rate soaring to dangerous levels whenever she was close. What more could a man want?
But that was the problem. She was so perfect for him, he needed to avoid her. She could tempt him to go where no woman had taken him before—matrimony. His type of woman was the partying kind, the kind whose breast size was inversely proportional to her brain size and who believed banks were there to pay for her plastic surgery and shopping sprees. She would never want to have children because it would ruin her figure and she'd never want to live on a ranch because the cafes were too far away. His type of woman was the kind a sensible man would never marry and that was all right by him because he wanted to remain a bachelor. Forever.