Touch Me

by Sahara Kelly

  The chimes tinkled, clanged and then gave up as he swung himself inside, looked around, blinked at the light and then spied Eden.

  “Hi.”

  She swallowed. “Hello.” He was tall, very tall, his presence overwhelmingly masculine in the rather delicate surroundings. Eden remembered her manners. “Can I help you with anything?”

  He moved to the counter as she crossed the store and stepped behind it, feeling a mite more protected by the granite surface even though he’d dropped his helmet down on it with a solid thunk. “I hope so.” He pointed to his cheek. “I need something for this, and your sign says healing, among the other stuff.”

  Eden’s medical training leaped to the fore as she lapsed into trauma mode and reached out to move his chin so she could see the damage more clearly. She winced. “Ouch. This must’ve hurt. Dueling scar?”

  Absently she moved his head this way and that, focused on the torn skin and the traces of dried blood.

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. “The gravel won.”

  “Not the Harley?” She reached beneath the counter for cotton and a bottle of water. Dampening the cotton, Eden carefully blotted up the debris and cleaned the scratch.

  “That, dear girl, is not a Harley. It’s a BMW touring bike, thank you very much.”

  “Okay. Whatever. Hold still.”

  Completely unimpressed, Eden dabbed away the last of the smears and narrowed her eyes in concentration. “Any deeper and this would’ve needed a stitch or two.”

  “I don’t like stitches.”

  “Don’t be a baby.” Eden tossed away the soiled cotton and turned to rummage in one of the storage drawers. She had a tube of organic balm that would help heal and disinfect the wound at the same time. “I thought bikers were supposed to shrug something like this off as a mere scratch.”

  He squirmed as Eden began to dab the balm onto his face. “For the record, I’m not a biker in your sense of the word.” He jumped. “Shoot, this stuff stings. And it doesn’t exactly smell great either. What the hell is it?”

  “Wheatgrass.” Unconcernedly, Eden dabbed more of it, tracing down the firm cheek, ignoring the hint of stubble.

  “Lovely. Now I have to go eat a ton of tofu to help it work, right?” His tone was wry.

  “Jumping to conclusions here.”

  “And you haven’t? You see my helmet, my jacket, my bike and automatically turn me into an Easy Rider.” He tried to grin. “Ouch.”

  “Sorry. My mistake. What do they call you motorcycle riders these days?” If he was going to get cute with her, then damn it. She’d get cute back.

  “Most often they call me Sean. Sean Patrick Rafferty.”

  “That would be the Polish Raffertys, I’m assuming.”

  “I see our reputation precedes us.”

  “But of course.” Eden pulled away and put the cap back on the tube. “Here. On the house.”

  Sean blinked. “It feels better already. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He sighed. “Wanna start over?”

  Eden was helpless against the winsome puppy-eyed look he was throwing her way and couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I’m Sean Rafferty. Nice to meet you. I’m teaching a summer course at the University. High Energy Physics. I ride a BMW K1200 touring bike, not a hog, and I got this cut from a piece of gravel that flew up from a truck wheel. I’m a baby about pain and stitches and my mother always insisted that nature has some of the best cures around which is why I ended up here. She also told me not to drink to excess, not to do drugs and find myself a nice girl.” He paused for breath. “Are you a nice girl?”

  He held up his hand as Eden opened her mouth to answer. “Before you say a thing, I just want you to know I was wearing my helmet—I’d just flipped up the visor to take a drink of water.” He shrugged. “Hazards of the road, I guess. So…” He leaned on the counter and gazed thoughtfully at Eden. “Back to my question. Are you a nice girl?”

  “No. I dismember men who ride motorcycles and then I grind them up into paste. I use them for incantations and spells against people who take the best parking places at the mall over the holidays. Sometimes I need a dash of eye of newt to make it all work properly.”

  “God. Are you a wacky Wiccan?”

  “What?”

  Sean stifled a chuckle. “This is a vaudeville routine, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. I think I’ve lost the thread of the conversation.” Eden was trying desperately to follow along. “Wacky Wiccan?”

  “You know.” Sean gestured with long, well-formed fingers. “The kind of woman who insists her couch be facing the rising sun, talks to an aspidistra, won’t wear anything that isn’t natural and insists you bathe twice a day unless it’s a full moon, in which case running around outside naked is apparently recommended. Must be hell come December.”

  Eden lifted one eyebrow. “I think they refer to it as sky clad.”

  “Hmm.” Sean’s gaze roamed over Eden’s shoulders, coming to rest on her cleavage. “You ever run around naked? Excuse me, sky clad?”

  She bit back a laugh. “My mother told me not to answer personal questions from strange men riding motorcycles. Especially BMWs.”

  “Good.” He reached out and brushed a lock of hair casually away from her face. “We both listen to our mothers. Have dinner with me?”

  “What?”

  “You’re repeating yourself.”

  “Did you just invite me to dinner?”

  “Yes. Dinner. You know…food people eat at the end of the day when they get hungry. Oh—one other thing. What’s your name?”

  “What?”

  “I have to say you repeat yourself a lot, don’t you? I usually like to find out the names of the people I ask out to dinner. It makes ordering that much easier.”

  Eden sucked in air. “Mister Rafferty. Anyone ever tell you you’re certifiably nuts?”

  Sean grinned, white teeth flashing, a very masculine look that made Eden realize how damned handsome he was. “All the time. Especially my mother. But she loves me anyway. Want me to call her? She’ll tell you I’m crazy but harmless. And it’s Doctor or Professor Rafferty actually, but I’ll settle for Sean. Especially if you’re in my arms when you say it…maybe you could whisper it slowly…I wouldn’t mind if you repeated it either…”

  Eden found herself sputtering and coloring under the caressing weight of his gaze. Damn it, she was reacting to him like a starving woman in front of a delicatessen. He was starting to make her mouth water. “You work fast, don’t you? Ever give a woman time to catch her breath, for God’s sake?”

  “If I think they’re going to say no, then absolutely not.” He straightened and picked up his helmet. “Look, I’m a down-to-earth, ordinary guy who’d enjoy your company at dinner. If you don’t mind the stinky cream on my face. Nothing fancy, just a fun meal. No strings, okay?”

  Eden lifted one eyebrow. “No strings? Then what was all that stuff about whispering your name while I’m in your arms?”

  “Guess you’ll have to have dinner with me and find out.”

  Eden opened her mouth to refuse but he was halfway out the door.

  “I’ll pick you up here at seven. My other bike’s got four wheels and doors and everything.” He winked. “It’s a real car.” The wind chimes rang as he opened the door and strode through.

  Eden dragged herself together and dashed out from behind the counter. She swung the door wide, fully intending to yell after him and tell Mister-slash-Professor Rafferty in no uncertain terms she had no intention of having dinner with him.

  But when she opened her mouth something else came out. “I’m not a wacky Wiccan, you dolt. And my name’s Eden.”

  Sean, already muffled by his helmet, swung himself onto his bike, started it up and as it lowered off its stand, he waved at her and gave her a thumbs-up sign.

  Weakly, Eden waved back as the smooth roar deepened and he was gone.

  Oh Lord. What the fuck have I gone a
nd done?

  —

  Professor Sean Rafferty came to the conclusion that he finally knew what a deuterium nucleus felt like after being whipped around a particle accelerator. He was a bit dizzy, short of breath and that buzzing in his ears was probably a stray lepton trying to get out.

  One look into a pair of sherry brown eyes—and he was cooked. Shattered into his constituent matter, a trembling mass of quarks and gluons, Sean leaned his head on his hand and made himself face the terrible truth.

  He was a goner.

  It wasn’t a terribly scientific description of his current resting state, but by God it described it dead-on.

  Glancing around the apartment, Sean sighed. It was an unholy mess and he shuddered at the thought of bringing anyone here, let alone Eden Morell. The mere fact he was thinking along those lines told him more than all the hours of self-examination he could have wallowed in. He wanted her. Fiercely, savagely, burningly and all those adjectives beloved of dramatic writers.

  In two simple words, he lusted. And it scared the crap out of him since he wasn’t given to the whole “bolt of lightning” scenario. Or he hadn’t been up to now.

  This was his sabbatical year, a break from his teaching at the University of Chicago. He’d jumped at the chance to spend his summer in Boston, where so much exciting physics was going on. He’d also jumped at the chance to end his relationship with Jeanine. They’d been together two years, which was a year too long for both of them.

  But physicists were a lazy lot and very insular. She’d been a Research Associate and their affair had developed from late nights on an experiment, shared data and eventually a shared bed. Enthusiastic discussions about the theories of matter didn’t really make for a solid romantic affair and after the heat had passed, that was pretty much all there was left.

  Jeanine’s chance to head to CERN in Switzerland had come at the same time as Sean’s sabbatical approval. They’d hugged, kissed, wished each other well and parted amicably. Too amicably. It was the final line of an equation that should have been more complex if it was to succeed.

  It hadn’t. No harm done.

  But Eden? All thoughts of equations had vaporized in Sean’s brain when she’d smiled at him and touched his face. Absently his hand drifted to the scratch, healing nicely under that yucky cream. He hadn’t had to ask if she was married—there was a sign saying “Ms.” Eden Morell on her counter, but clearly she’d forgotten about it. She’d never have responded with that delicate hint of color in her cheeks if there’d been a Mr. Morell in her life.

  He glanced at the clock. Still an hour before he had to head out and see her again. He knew where he’d take her—a tiny little restaurant that had the best Italian food on the planet. He hoped she’d like it, but she hadn’t struck him as the type to demand dinner at the Ritz.

  She’d been practical, charming, funny and warm. She had the kind of body that drove Sean nuts—ample curves, soft skin and a shape he couldn’t wait to hold against his chest. He loved the ripe fullness of feminine breasts, the sloping dips and hills of a well-rounded ass. No slender-hipped supermodels for him, thank you. He wanted to know he was balls-deep into a woman, not an asexual, pouty-lipped clotheshorse who’d thrown up everything she’d eaten since puberty. He wanted a cushion for his pushin’ as the saying went. He wanted softness, heat and plenty of flesh to hold onto.

  His cock stiffened at the thought of pushin’ into Eden. Christ. He was worse than some of his first-year grad students on the prowl for pussy. He rubbed his hand over his face and winced, then realized he was going to have to shave very carefully around the damn scratch. Although he knew he wasn’t going to take Ms. Morell to bed tonight.

  He was simply going to start the process that would get her there. He had time. And a strong feeling she’d succumb to seduction rather than the “let’s get the check, go back to my place and fuck” strategy.

  Heading into the shower, Sean grinned. Yes, physicists were a breed apart. But they did observe carefully, and he’d spent many hours doing just that—observing. Long nights manning experimental workstations allowed him time to watch his fellow human beings as well as readouts. And he’d discovered a sort of intuition, a strong ability to gauge people based on things like body language, expressions and the way they spoke or answered questions. It had probably stemmed from his college minor in anthropology.

  Physics had always been his first love, but a fascination with his fellow humans came in a close second.

  He had a feeling it was going to be extremely helpful when it came to seducing one Eden Morell. If ever there was a woman who needed seducing, it was her. And as the water drummed over his body, Sean realized he was really looking forward to getting started.

  His cock twitched, hardened and agreed, reminding him that although he wasn’t heading out to get laid, there was still a very active sex drive throbbing between his legs. And the mere thought of Eden was enough to stimulate that natural process which resulted in a fully developed boner.

  It had been some time since Professor Sean Rafferty, Ph.D., had jerked off in the shower. But sometimes, life could be reduced to the simplest of equations. In this case, it was hand plus cock, plus friction times constrictive pressure, equals orgasm.

  Einstein would have been proud.

  Chapter Three

  “So how do you feel about sex?”

  Eden nearly spewed her mouthful of wine across the table at Sean’s unexpected question. “What?”

  “In romance novels.” His smile was pure innocence. “What did you think I meant?”

  Eden cleared her throat. “It has its place.” She wiped her lips with her napkin and leaned back in her chair. “As long as it furthers the development of a meaningful relationship and doesn’t overwhelm the actual storyline…I’m okay with it.”

  Yes, her cheeks might feel a bit flushed, but she refused to let his question unsettle her. She was unsettled enough by his mere presence. And the second glass of wine she’d let him talk her into, over her one-glass-is-my-limit objections.

  He’d also talked her into the fettuccini Alfredo, which had been superlative, a few calamari on the side—she’d never tried them—and an almost finished portion of tiramisu now rested between her plate and Sean’s, since they’d agreed to split it.

  Eden was beginning to understand that Sean Rafferty was a force to be reckoned with once he got an idea fixed in his head.

  Right now, that force was watching her, his eyes a fascinating blend of green and little gold sparkly bits. To call them hazel was doing them an injustice, just as calling him handsome didn’t come anywhere near to covering the masculine vibes she was picking up from him across the table.

  “A very literary answer.”

  Eden had to sort through her scattered thoughts to pick up the threads of the conversation. “Thank you.”

  “And nicely phrased, although a bit skimpy when it comes to your personal opinion.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “How so?”

  Sean pushed the remains of his meal out of the way, leaned over and picked up her hand, toying with her fingers. “Here we have the hand of a woman who creates romance. She owns a store that could easily be described as a little magical grotto in Boston. Putting on my deerstalker hat for a minute, I’d deduce that she still has a belief in romance and that magic still exists. Especially between a man and a woman. Hence the writing.”

  “Elementary, dear Holmes.”

  “Tsk, tsk. That was elementary, dear Watson.”

  “Sue me.”

  “Whatever.” Sean waved his free hand dismissively. “Point is, I’m not sure why you’re here with me tonight and not already spoken for. Not hounded by hordes of lusty males, slavering at the thought of being near you.”

  Eden barely held back an inelegant snort. “Yeah. Right.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Me too.” Eden sighed. “After my divorce—well, potential dates don’t always want to deal with second-hand go
ods. And those that did? They figured I was ripe and ready for a quick roll in the hay.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t. Odd as it may seem, women do quite nicely without sex. We don’t turn into drooling nymphos if we have to actually go a few years without doing the nasty.”

  Sean swallowed. “A few years?”

  “Mmm hmm.” She casually sipped her wine. Damn, it was tasty stuff and definitely having an effect on her knees. Or maybe it was Sean. Either which way, Eden was more relaxed than she’d been with a man in—well, a few years.

  “Good God, woman.” Sean was still staring at her with an interesting mix of astonishment and horror. “Years?”

  “Don’t be a Neanderthal. It doesn’t go with the degree.” Eden watched him over the rim of her glass. “Besides, it’s only sex.” She shrugged dismissively.

  Sean tightened his grip on her hand, surprising her, since she’d almost forgotten he was still holding it. For some reason, she’d been quite content to leave their fingers entwined. “Eden. You definitely have need of some Rafferty in your life. And in your bed.”

  “Sean, I appreciate the offer. Really I do.” She smiled at him. “But honestly? I’m not a sexual person. I’m fine without the fuss and bother. And let’s face it—” She glanced ruefully down at herself. “I’m not the sort of woman that a man looks at and thinks wickedly erotic thoughts. I’m more the cookies-and-milk type.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Eden blinked at the expletive.

  Sean didn’t give her time to respond. “That’s utter and total bullshit, fostered by advertisers who have managed to convince most of the female population that they should aspire to look like transgender robots.”

  “Gosh, Sean. Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” She quirked an eyebrow at him.

  “Don’t make a joke of it, Eden. I’m serious.”

  And he was, realized Eden. There wasn’t a trace of a smile on his face, just a tension radiating from his eyebrows to the hand that still held hers. “Okay. I’m listening.”