She was dressed in black jeans and a tightly ribbed bustier that left her shoulders bare. Her hands were encased in a pair of fingerless gloves and, at the moment, those busy little fingers were stroking low over his belly.

He could feel his hard-on throb with every movement downward.

Something in his sleep-befuddled mind suggested that this was somehow bad, but he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge it.

His knees were throbbing, as well, almost overpowering the pleasure of her touch, but he couldn't figure out why.

Just as her hand brushed over the fly of his jeans, she looked up at him. "Wake up, big boy."

He loved it when she called him that, but why was she telling him to wake up?

Damn.

He lifted his eyelids, groaning with frustration and the pain in his knees.

Talia was leaning over him, concern in her slate eyes.

He lifted his feet from the coffee table, bending his knees with extreme difficulty. Standing was easier than he thought it would be. He just had get to his room and take a hot bath.

He limped toward the stairs.

"Are you going to be okay?"

He gave her a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I just gotta loosen up."

She smiled back, giving him a little hug. "I'll make some breakfast."

He released her, going up to the bathroom that connected to his room. He ran water in the big bathtub, sinking into the warmth, his joints thanking him already.

He couldn't even begin to sort out the paradox that was Talia. Why on earth did his body have to do this to him now?

He was due back at work in two weeks. He could've dealt with it then, when he didn't have to be around her, feel her skin, smell the floral scent that always followed her.

He shouldn't be thinking this way about someone who was literally half his age. Someone who could hurt him just like the women before her.

With a sigh, he dropped his head back against the rim of the tub.

He just needed to act like everything was normal, to pretend he wasn't completely aware of the young girl that was moving around in his kitchen.

He dragged himself out of the tub, pulling on jeans and a black t-shirt and boots, and padded down to the kitchen, his mood improved from when he woke up.

Talia was hovering over the stove and he came up behind her, peering over her shoulder.

"Mmm, steak and eggs."

She nodded. "That okay?"

"Perfect. We got a late start today. What are we doing?" Mark poured two glasses of milk to go with their breakfast.

"We'll keep the same schedule. I'll just be in the gym later tonight." She sighed. "Won't be the first time I put in overtime to make up for slacking."

"You never let up on yourself, do you?"

She shook her head. "I didn't make it this far by saying, 'Oh, I'll do it tomorrow.' Besides, I don't do anything on my days off but study wrestling moves, so why take any off to begin with." She set his plate down in front of him.

"Take today off."

She looked up at him from the plate of food she was picking at more than eating. "Why?"

"We're going out."

She shook her head. "Mark…"

"It's just today. We wrestle five or six days a week when I'm on the road, but we always take at least one day a week."

Her shoulders slumped, as if defeated. "Okay."

"And you can't feel guilty about it," he said, knowing she was already thinking up ways to make up for it tomorrow.

After they'd finished eating and loaded the dishwasher, Talia turned to go upstairs, but stopped. "Mark."

He turned to her. "Hmm?"

A smile hovered at the corners of her mouth, as if she was trying not to grin. Her stormy eyes met his. "Uhh, by the way…" She bit her lip, looking unsure of herself, a quality that made her look cute as hell.

"What is it?"

A grin passed over her full mouth, then her features turned placid. "You talk in your sleep."

Mark paled.

It was difficult to describe to herself what a six-feet-ten-inches tall biker looked like squirming, but he was definitely doing so.

"I do?"

Talia had to swallow a grin. "Yeah." She bit her lip hard. "What were you dreaming about?"

His eyes narrowed suddenly and she could tell he was on the defensive. "Nothing important."

She'd sworn he whispered her name in his sleepy ramblings, but the fact was quickly shook off when she'd noticed the fullness in the front of his jeans.

No way in hell he was dreaming about her, not with that as proof. She was plain, her weight-lifting and tall stature the only thing that made her noticeable, and there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that Mark Calaway was dreaming about her.

She wasn't going to kid herself.

She let him off the hook, for now, ad went upstairs to shower and dress.

When she came back down, Mark was in the garage, sitting on his bike, fiddling with the controls.

"I'm ready," she said, getting him to look up.

He gave her an intent once over that had her shuffling from foot to foot and a blush coming to her cheeks, then he looked back down at the bike. "Go get in the truck."

Damn, he was in a mood. Must not like the outfit.

She'd put on a black bustier and black jeans, boots and fingerless gloves, leaving her hair down and slinging her leather jacket over her shoulder.

He probably wanted her to cover some skin, though she was barely showing any. Mark was always very protective after he'd taken her from her parents' house.

She'd thought he was going to rip Ryan a new ass when they'd started dating.

The thought of her boyfriend, no EX-boyfriend, make her feel bad, and she had to make herself relax and smile as she slipped into the cab of his Ford.