All I Want(4)

“I don’t obsess,” Zoe said.

“Are you kidding? You’re the queen of obsessing. So just get it out of the way, okay? Act spontaneously. And then relax and go with the flow.”

“I always go with the flow,” Zoe said.

Darcy laughed. “You go with the flow never. Try it my way? Just this once? Trust me, if there are sparks, you’ll thank me.”

“And if there aren’t?” Zoe asked.

“Then you don’t need to worry that that dress makes you look like a grandma.”

And then the whirlwind that was Darcy was gone.

Zoe took one last look at herself in the mirror. Okay, so maybe the dress didn’t scream sex, but that was okay. She wanted a guy to want her for her, right?

Right.

The knock came again. Solid. Firm. And the butterflies in her belly once again took flight.

Oreo’s, too, given that he gave another ear-piercing bark and scrambled to hide under her bed. All he could fit under there was his big, fat head, which left the rest of him sticking out.

She thought about joining him, but she’d never been much for hiding her head under the bed. So she made her way down the creaky stairs, her dress catching on her legs. Dammit. Darcy was making her doubt the choice, but it was too late now. Still, if the dress wasn’t going to make a statement, then she’d have to make do with her personality.

No pressure or anything . . .

Oreo followed her, hiding behind her legs as she opened the front door and got her first look at her blind date and . . . stopped breathing.

Damn. He was even better looking up close. Tall, and that leanly muscled build of his spoke of a man who worked with his body, not a guy who sat on a stool with his hands inside his patients’ mouths all day. He had sharp, light green eyes that crinkled in the corners, like maybe he spent a lot of time in the sun or, better yet, smiled a lot. A scar bisected his left eyebrow, giving him a dark and mysterious air. His square jaw had a slight shadow of growth, shown off when his mouth curved at her scrutiny, and this time her heart kicked hard because he also had a killer smile.

“Hey,” he said in a deep, warm masculine voice.

“Hey,” she mirrored back as Darcy’s words flashed in her head. Act spontaneously. Step outside your comfort zone.

Kiss him.

Heart pounding, Zoe let out a breath and moved forward, having to go up on her tiptoes to brush her mouth across his.

His lips were warm, firm, and yet somehow giving at the same time. She could have easily lost herself in him, but sanity returned and she stepped back.

His smile got a whole lot warmer, but he didn’t speak.

“Thought I’d get that out of the way,” she managed. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve never met a dentist without having to be in a dentist’s chair.” Great, and now she was rambling. She bit her tongue to keep it from running off with the last of her good sense.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he said. “Who’s the dentist?”

Zoe’s smile congealed and her heart stopped, just completely stopped. “Uh . . . you,” she said, “You’re the dentist.”

Still smiling, he shook his head. “Not me.”

Oh God. “You’re not Newman Taylor,” she whispered in horror.

“No,” he said. “But if your next guess is Parker James, you’d be right.”

Oh God. Wyatt’s friend, to whom she’d agreed to rent a room for the few weeks he was in town. She’d had mixed feelings about it, but Wyatt had vouched for the guy, and Zoe could really use the money for some desperately needed renovations. “You’re my brother’s old friend.”

“Not all that old, really,” he said, and looked at her mouth.

The mouth she’d kissed him with. Good God, I kissed him.

He grinned.

And . . . she’d said that out loud. Perfect. She covered her face. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “That kiss was the best thing to happen to me all week.”

Behind her fingers she moaned a little, and he laughed at her. “Wyatt didn’t mention the welcoming committee,” he said. “He did say you might be grumpy. I like this better.”

She was going to have to kill her brother, but since he was out of town for the weekend at a vet conference, that pleasure would have to wait.

Maybe she could just move to Iceland. Iceland might be far enough to escape the humiliation, but probably not. Dammit. She’d kissed a perfect stranger, just accosted him on her doorstep. And . . . now her chest hurt. Maybe an impending heart attack would explain her behavior. Holding her chest, she used her other hand to point at him to stay. “I just need a minute,” she said.

And then slammed the door in his face.

Behind her, in the living room, a brick fell from the ancient old fireplace. It did that every time she slammed the door. She’d tried to get someone out here to fix it but the contractor had wanted her to promise her firstborn, so she’d just decided not to slam the door anymore.

But she kept forgetting. Note to self: Stop kissing strangers, and stop slamming the door. She ran to the kitchen, where she’d left her cell phone, and pounded out her brother’s number.

“Yo,” Wyatt said in greeting. “Hear you’re going out with some dentist guy tonight. Watch where he puts his hands. You don’t know where they’ve been.”