First Time For Everything. Aimee Carson

lightly.

      Her hazel eyes flickered with heat. “Briefly park your car in the drop-off lane at the airport?”

      “Illegal.” He struggled to keep the sizzle from his gaze. “Not to mention inconsiderate.”

      Jax bit her delectable lip, clearly suppressing the grin as she turned and continued up, reaching the second floor and moving down an empty hallway. “So my willingness to risk an arrest for my cause is being questioned by a man who thinks I’m reckless for leaving home without an umbrella when there’s a ten percent chance of rain. I’m thinking the most appropriate song for me is ‘It’s My Life’ by Bon Jovi.” She entered a small, cramped office with two desks and stopped, turning to face him again. “But that’s only because I’m not aware of any songs entitled—” Jax leaned in, bringing her arousing, obstinate gaze closer “—‘My Choices Are None of Your Damn Business.’”

      She was near enough for him to see the flecks of brown and green in her eyes. But he didn’t require a close-up view to see the fire snapping in her gaze, the stubborn insistence that she would do what she wanted and damn The consequences.

      Including touching him…

      The memory resurfaced, resurrecting the acute need she’d created when she’d held his lips. Her soft fingers. The heated skin. And the smell of vanilla filling the car. Suddenly he was struck with the realization that Jax’s scent was always changing, as unpredictable as the woman herself.

      With his heart pounding, his tone was rough as he dished up a dose of harsh reality. “Your choices are my business now.”

      At the reminder of her current living arrangements—made more alarming by the chemistry sizzling between them—time stretched. Expanded to impossible lengths. Gazes locked, the moment lasted ten forevers as awareness pulsed between them. Until they were interrupted by a woman about Jax’s age as she poked her head through the doorway.

      “Janet Bennet stopped by looking for you, Jax,” the blonde said. Blake cleared his throat, willing his libido to heel, and Jax took a small step back as her coworker sent her an encouraging smile. “There’s a private-practice therapy group in town that’s looking to hire a music therapist, and she recommended you. Apparently the job is yours if you want it,” the woman continued. “They can afford to pay you a lot better, too.”

      Looking unconcerned, Jax retrieved her mail from the cubbyholes lining one wall and began flipping through the envelopes. “I’ll hold out until South Glade is back on its feet.”

      “You haven’t heard?” her coworker said.

      Eyes now alert, Jax looked up from her mail. “Heard what?”