Wicked Nights by Anne Marsh

summer of experimenting. She’d ridden it ever since.
    She settled in, waiting for the ride to fill up. The sky was dark now, with plenty of stars peeking
    through the clouds. She’d always meant to buy one of those charts and learn their names. She tracked one
    glowing blob and debated if the slowly moving light was a comet or a shooting star. Her knowledge of
    astronomy was sadly lacking. She’d seen a shooting star once, a bright flare and a quick descent. The flash
    of red was her first clue that celestial milestones weren’t in her future tonight. Her “star” was a plane. Nope.
    She’d better not count on a career as an astronomer.
    And...darn it. Despite her careful planning to not think about Cal or the bet she had impulsively
    proposed to him, Mr. Tall, Dark and Glum himself stood there on the pier, dogging her from the shadows.
    The Pleasure Pier wasn’t his kind of scene. She had a hard time imagining him fisting a bag of taffy and
    riding the swings until he was deliciously seasick. Cal was too responsible, too...something else. On the
    other hand, if she accidentally fell over the pier because she was too dizzy, he’d be the first one in to save
    her.
    He watched from a distance, giving the impression there was an invisible space bubble or do-not-cross
    police tape surrounding him. The pier’s usual evening crowd flowed around him obediently. He’d changed
    out of his suit, looking more familiar in his usual faded blue jeans, T-shirt and work boots. His long, lean
    legs were stretched out slightly in front of him as he leaned against the pier’s railing, the ocean at his back.
    And, God, his eyes...she liked his watchful, heated gaze far too much for comfort. She had no idea why he
    was here, but as long as he stared, she was staring back.
    So screw it.
    Flip him the bird or crook her finger? Oh, the choices... Grinning, she flipped him the bird. He tipped
    his head in silent acknowledgment and then slipped away into the shadows.
    She pushed down the strange pang of disappointment. She might not like Cal, but baiting him was
    almost as much fun as eating taffy and riding the swings. He had better things to do than stand there and
    watch her. Of course.
    She’d been kissing distance from him that night at Big Petey’s, and the closeness had made an
    impression. That was all these residual feelings were. Because kissing Cal—or doing anything else with the
    man—would be a recipe for disaster. His hot body came with an arrogant, take-charge attitude she didn’t
    need in her life. She’d win their bet and thumb her nose at him. So what if she’d imagined the man doing a
    Chippendales routine at her own personal direction? Just because he’d have to take orders from her didn’t
    mean she had to give him any orders. She certainly hadn’t planned on actually getting into bed with him.
    Lenny bellowed for last-takers, and she tightened her fingers on the chains connecting her swing to the
    ride. The anticipation of waiting to start was almost as good as the ride itself. As the music swirled and
    blared, the swing dipped and swayed as someone else sat down beside her. Nope. No way. She always rode
    alone.
    She turned her head—although how she was going to protest sharing a public ride with single seats for
    solo riders, she didn’t know—and Cal settled onto the seat beside her. She couldn’t remember the last time
    Cal had ridden the swings. Or the first time, for that matter.
    “I could be saving that seat,” she pointed out through a mouthful of candy.
    He raised a brow. She hated when he did that. The gesture always, always preceded his busting her.
    Sure enough...
    “For whom?”
    He reached out a thumb and rubbed at the sticky corner of her mouth. Oops. She was wearing her guilty
    pleasure on her face. At least he hadn’t licked his finger first. Ignoring the rasp of his callused skin against
    hers, she pulled away from his touch. He was also far too literal. “I didn’t say I was.