Mitchell glanced down at where his own hands had landed on her hips as though surprised to find them there. Julie moved slowly, sliding his glasses off and setting them carefully on her coffee table. Her breath hitched as she got the first close-up look of his eyes. No wonder he kept them covered. Eyes like that could kill a girl.

Julie suddenly became uncomfortably aware that she was straddling a virtual stranger without so much as a swipe of mascara or a bra, and her hair hadn’t seen a straightener since yesterday morning. No wonder he hadn’t exactly lost himself in the kiss. She looked like a bag lady.

Giving him an embarrassed smile, a first for her, she started to climb off his lap, but his fingers tightened around her hips in silent demand. Stay.

He straightened so that they were eye to eye, and slowly, deliberately put his hands on either side of her face before jerking her head forward and fusing their mouths.

Julie’s eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t pegged him as classic alpha, but the truth was in the kiss.

He was going for Hot and Hard.

And he did it well. Really well. If the previous kiss had been strangely familiar, this one was pure passion. All Julie could do was hang on to the front of his shirt as he took her mouth, his tongue sliding against hers in silky strokes as her hips began to move against his in a matching rhythm.

When they needed to breathe, they pulled back just slightly, reluctantly, catching their breath in between teasing flicks of slow, brief melding of mouths. What was this? It was like the first kiss, the last kiss, and every kiss in between, all rolled into one hot, bizarre moment.

His hands began a slow trek upward and Julie arched into him, wanting his hands over her. On her.

Something prissy and nagging tickled the back of her mind. Too fast. This is date three material.

But she couldn’t quite make herself obey her own rules of dating. In fact, if he would just take off these damned jeans, she could wiggle and—

His hands were bracketing her rib cage now and she caught her breath, waiting, wanting. And then he moved again, but not in the direction she wanted.

No!

Before she knew what was happening, he’d lifted her up and off him and she was slouched in the corner of her couch, feeling very much like a cat in heat. Alone.

They stared at each other for several moments, and Julie read the same confused expression in his eyes.

What the hell just happened?

Mitchell let out a long breath and leaned forward to grab the glasses she’d set on the coffee table. He slid them back on before looking at her, and she felt a small surge of regret. His mask was firmly in place.

Wall Street was back.

He slowly extended a hand toward her, rubbing a thumb over her bottom lip.

“I should go,” he said quietly.

She bit her lip and refrained from asking why. Why stop something that good? If this was how relationships were supposed to progress, she wanted no part of it. She had a major case of blue ovaries.

“You sure you don’t want to stay?”

Mitchell’s eyes fell on her mouth before finally shaking his head. “Want and should aren’t the same thing in my book.”

She sniffed. “No wonder you look so stuffy.”

Strange man that he was, he grinned at that. “Do you have running shoes?”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. All she wanted was a normal, boring date with this guy, and instead he was running circles around her. “Running shoes? Is that a hint?”

“Yes or no, Ms. Greene.”

“Yes, I own sneakers,” she said, sitting up straighter and trying to keep up.

“Good,” he said, watching her mouth. “Take the A or C train up to Columbus Circle tomorrow. Eight o’clock.”

Her jaw dropped. “Eight in the morning? Nothing will even be open. What would we possibly do in Central Park at that time on a Sunday?”

He grinned and ran a finger down the bridge of her nose. For a moment she was a little dazzled by the pure excitement on his face. “What do you think? We’re going for a run.”

And just like that, he’d done it again.

Julie was completely and utterly flummoxed by a man.

Chapter Six

At 7:55 on Sunday morning, Julie was sitting on a bench near Columbus Circle, trying to figure out at exactly what point she’d lost her mind.

For starters, she was up before nine on a Sunday. Everyone thought New York was the city that didn’t sleep, but it totally did. It slept on Sundays. Or at least it was supposed to.

And if she was up before nine, it should be to primp for a four-star brunch with the girls. Instead, the most exciting part of Julie’s outfit this morning was her hot pink sports bra. For a run. With a man who she wasn’t even sure liked her.

Everything about them was incompatible, and in any other situation she’d have moved on. But moving on was how she’d gotten herself into this mess in the first place. She had absolutely no experience in sticking it out, and it was time to face the music. Even if the music was of the boring, classical variety.

And then there was the not-so-small matter of that kiss.

That kiss might be worth the price of running. For “fun.” It’s not that Julie didn’t exercise. She did, for thirty minutes, five times a week. But that was solely a necessary evil to keep her thunder thighs under control. She sure as hell didn’t seek out the opportunity to do it in her spare time.

“Julie!”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she muttered when she saw Mitchell jogging toward her. He looked obnoxiously sporty, fit, and awake.

“What the hell are you wearing?” she asked as he stopped in front of the bench where she’d been sulking. Julie’s own workout gear was put together and color-coordinated. It was important to look put together to combat the inevitable sweat. But Mitchell’s running gear was on a totally different level.

Everything looked slightly more high-tech than what she was wearing. His silver shoes had all sorts of reflective stripes that caught the sun. His shirt looked like that expensive, high-tech material that could like whisk your sweat away from your body and throw it into the nearest garbage can. The shorts, at least, were normal.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” he asked, glancing down.

“I guess I just wasn’t aware that NASA made workout gear.”

“You’re grumpy,” he said, pulling her ponytail.

“Oh, yay, it’s playful Mitchell,” she muttered. “Remind me again why we’re doing this.”

“Ah, Ms. Greene. Don’t tell me you’ve never run in Central Park.”

“Er, no. I’m more of an elliptical-in-the-air-conditioning kind of girl.”

He shook his head in dismay. “You’re in for a real treat.”

“Sure,” she said, gazing up at the blazing sun. “If by treat you mean blisters, heatstroke, and shin splints.”

He glanced around at the growing number of people heading toward the park entrance. “Well, if you want I can buy you a hot dog and leave you sitting on a bench with the rest of the inactive fatties.”

“Hey!” She jabbed her finger at him. “Not everyone who sits on a bench in Central Park is an inactive fatty. Some of them read.”

“I know.” He grinned. “I’m often one of them. Reading is my other favorite hobby, remember?”

“Not really. That little factoid was so boring that my brain had to reject it or risk falling into a coma.”

He tilted his head toward the entrance of the park. “Come on. No more stalling.”

She trotted after him as he wove around the various ice cream vendors and rented bicycle tours. “So how big is Central Park exactly? How far do you usually run?”

“There are a couple of different paths. Just follow my lead and holler when you get tired.”

“Tired, my ass,” she grumbled. Long-distance running might not be at the top of her bucket list, but she was still in pretty good shape. “I’ll lead,” she snapped as she quickened her pace to a jog and sped past him. “Try to keep up.”

Thirty minutes later, Julie realized her mistake.

She tried to hold in a wheeze and contemplated asking passersby if they had an inhaler. Not that she was asthmatic, but it was possible that she’d been just a wee bit overoptimistic about her fitness.