Calm, civilized, platonic meal. A cup of coffee and dessert, maybe, before taking her home.
He made another pass from forehead to chin, then recognized the bite of stubble on his palm and cursed under his breath.
“What is it?” Gemma asked.
Cursing again, he lowered his menu. “I meant to shave,” he said, stroking his jaw. “I forgot.”
“Oh.”
“I hope you don’t mind being seen with man who looks like he’s spent a few days out in the wild.” Or one who is wild, he thought, grimacing.
“I like it,” Gemma said, then paused as the server stopped by for their drinks order. When the young man retreated with her request for red wine and his for a draft beer, she glanced at Boone again. “Your heavy beard is…uh…very you.”
Whatever that meant. He cocked a brow at her.
Before he could force an answer from her, the server returned with the drinks, they both shared their meal selections with the aproned young person, and then they were left alone again—a beautiful woman, a scruffy man, and that awkward silence he’d been anticipating.
You’d think he’d find it a lust killer, but with her lovely self across from him, all he could do was think of every place he wanted to see her—on his bed face-up, on his bed ass-up, in his shower, in his kitchen, wearing nothing but his T-shirt.
Wearing nothing at all.
That kept his imagination spinning for several minutes until he realized she was tearing the sourdough dinner roll she’d been served into scraps too small for a mouse to enjoy.
Crap. “Hey,” he said, directing her attention to him. He tried on a smile, hoping it appeared more gentlemanly than feral. “How was your day at—what is it—Gifts for Girlfriends?”
“Oh.” Her expression relaxed and she latched onto the topic with enthusiasm, whiling away the next several minutes with her chatter.
He didn’t listen to the particulars, but just watched her talk, enjoying her mouth moving and the quicksilver expressions chasing across her face. She wound down just as their plates were put in front of them, ravioli for her, manicotti for him.
“Okay.” Picking up her fork, she laughed a little. “You’ll be glad to know I’m officially out of conversation. The next monologue will be up to you, Boone.”
“I don’t mind silence,” he said, and applied himself to his food. No sense in giving away anything of himself when they’d be strangers again soon enough. Mere hours.
“Are you really trying to say you prefer peace and quiet?” she asked with good humor as she speared a pillow of pasta.
His lips twitched. True, he didn’t hang much with women, and true, in his experience they had a need to fill silences more than most men he knew. But instead of saying so, he chewed a bite of manicotti and washed it down with a sip of beer.
When they’d both enjoyed a little more of their meals, Gemma set her fork on her plate, her gaze on him amused. “C’mon,” she said, her tone almost wheedling. “Give me something. Tell me one fact about you.”
Had she forgotten what he’d shared with Candice about Gemma in the grocery—about how pretty he found her? Must he spell it out? Here’s a fact for you—I’ve discovered I’m partial to blue-eyed brunettes in an oddly possessive way.
At his continued silence, she pushed out a little huff of exasperation. “Don’t be that way. Tell me one teeny tiny thing about yourself.”
“Hmm.” His lips twitched again. “I prefer peace and quiet.” Too easy.
She rolled her eyes. “That’s not fair.”
“Why do you need to know anything?” he asked, though he thought he understood exactly why. For a woman like her, personal intimacy was a necessary precursor to sexual intimacy.
Which was not going to happen between them—sexual intimacy. He was all wrong for her, times a million, the biggest reason being he’d never held an interest in being personal with any single one of his bedmates.
“The reason is…” Gemma’s gaze fell to her plate. “You won’t be comfortable with me if we exchange mere monosyllables.”
He shifted on his seat. One, as he’d already decided, there was no reason for him to get “comfortable” with her. And two… “Haven’t you shared enough syllables for us both? As of fifteen minutes ago, I know all about your dependable and bubbly assistant May, the history of the old residence that houses your shop, your advertising campaign centering on Galentine’s Day, not to mention the plans the local business owners’ association has for all of February.”
She stared at him, her fork now stuck in the meaty center of a ravioli, her lovely mouth half-open. “You were listening.”
Shit. He had been. “Osmosis,” he muttered, refocusing on his plate. She’d amused him with the slice of her life she’d revealed, something he’d never, ever admit to. But damn it, besides stunning to look at, she was charming and cheerful and…well, everything he had no idea how to hold onto, let alone care for properly. “It was impossible not to hear you. It’s not as if I could stuff my dinner roll in my ears.”
“Boone…”
“Yeah?” He glanced up, then quickly glanced away from the warmth in her eyes. He couldn’t let her do that, look at him with that bright light in case it softened his resolve and made him think, even for an instant, that something might be building here.
Nothing was building here.
He didn’t have the foundation for it, or the tools.
Damn it, he’d always known that and he didn’t feel like explaining it to her.
“Boone…”
This time he ignored the entreaty completely, embracing awkward silence and frustrating disaster as the only way this night should go.
“I forgot to bring this by.” A new voice broke the tension hovering over the booth.
Boone welcomed the distraction. “Yes?” he said, lifting his head to find the hostess who’d seated them.
“This month we’re supposed to hand these out.” She dropped a set of small cards on their table, about twenty in the stack bound by a ring.
Gemma face brightened. “Oh, fun! It’s an idea that came out of a business association meeting. The new woman the group hired is awesome.”
Instinct caused Boone to look at the items with new concern. “What kind of idea?”
“To make our night more interesting,” Gemma said, in a cheery tone.
More interesting? Boone thought, telling himself it wasn’t panic that began twisting his gut. But…more interesting?
If Gemma and this thing kindling between them despite the silence and awkwardness got any more interesting, the disaster would truly become a…well, disaster.
Somebody save him. Possibly he muttered it. But for sure he thought this—he was in big trouble.
Chapter 8
“What’s that you said?” Gemma asked Boone, picking up the cards. “Did you say ‘somebody save me’?”
Instead of answering, he refocused on his plate and scooped another bite of pasta and sauce onto his fork. She studied him, trying to read something into his poker face. Was the man unsteadied, maybe just a little?
Because she wanted to shake him out of his usual stoic control. She wanted him to toss all the caution he’d been throwing her way since they’d met to the wind. Throw it to the wind and take her in his arms.
Tonight, at the moment when he’d pressed a hot kiss to her neck, she’d decided nothing less would satisfy her than Boone and she together…in bed. That bad she’d promised herself in front of her mother’s mirror was really going to happen.
Her fingertips found her throat, where she could swear the touch of his lips and the stealthy wet stroke of his tongue lingered on her flesh. The caress had caused heat to flash over her and she’d nearly gone down at his feet. For a short second she’d sensed he too suffered a sexual punch, but then he’d seemed to gather himself together, his cool mask reestablished.
Gemma glanced absently at the cards, running her thumb over their edges. What could she do to strip that m
ask away?
The thought gave her pause…should she feel bad about playing such a game?
But no, it wasn’t a game, only a simple, straightforward seduction. Nobody was going to get hurt, surely not big, strong Boone, who had blondes in red sports cars offering themselves up for his pleasure. Who Candice had implied didn’t intend to settle on just one woman.
Gemma didn’t want him settling on her, either.
Well, not beyond settling over her on a mattress, in a dark room, for as long as it took to exorcise the prurient fantasies he continued to inspire.
With those big hands.
That mouth surrounded by dark whiskers.
His midnight eyes, now downcast.
Then they flashed up to catch her gaze. She jumped.
“…Gemma?” he prompted.
“What?” Wow, such a brilliant conversationalist, she thought, grimacing. She’d missed the entirety of his question, but she couldn’t replay his words as they’d been lost in the mist of her steamy imagination. She cleared her throat. “I mean, um, say it again?”
“Explain exactly what’s in your hand.”
She looked once again at the cards. “An amusement,” she said. “Designed for people to share their knowledge of the area.” She cleared her throat once more and read aloud the question on the first piece of cardstock. “What’s the best pizza joint in town?”
He answered, and it proved to be an easy conversation starter as she instantly rated his choice a distant third or maybe fourth place. Lively debate led to a friendly quarrel over the proper thickness of crust and the wrongness/rightness of anise in a tomato sauce. The banter put her at ease and it looked like the same for him as they finished their meals. They were relaxed in their seats as the server brought the dessert menu and both opted for ordering coffee only.
They continued trading their opinions on exotic toppings and whether a white-colored sauce made it not pizza at all but something else altogether. The discussion turned heated again when she mentioned a sweet potato crust she’d once enjoyed. During this, their plates were cleared away, and then the coffee arrived and was enjoyed.
“What’s the next one?” he asked, nodding toward the cards, a faint smile on his face. “Turns out I enjoy arguing with you.”
“Really? Why?”
He thought a moment. “I usually don’t engage in disputes with females…either they’re a client, in which case I must find a quick way for them to win, or—”
“A quick way for them to win?”
“Time is money, babe, for the client and the construction company. Not only that, but, well, I always aim to please.”
There was not a little mischief in his smile now, as well as confidence in his ability to persuade. Gemma could guess he used more than simple logic and knowledge of the financial bottom line to get his way on the job. Yes, of course he’d use his handsome face and unmistakable virility to win over the ladies. More often than was probably good for him.
Hmm.
“Besides clients, what other category of women don’t you argue with?” she asked. “Are you a dutiful son to your mother?”
His dark eyes didn’t flicker. “I haven’t seen my mom since I was four years old. She walked out on my dad and me before I hit kindergarten.”
“Oh.” Her surprise had her fumbling with the stack in hand and cursing herself for the clumsy question. She hurried to read the words on the next card. “Where’s your favorite place to get coffee in Sawyer Shores?”
Without hesitation, he named a local indie café, surprising her. She’d figured construction guys favored drive-throughs of the fast-food variety or one of the big chains. “I love lattés from Harry’s,” she said, thinking of the frothy beverage. But you had to find an open parking spot on the main drag of town and then stand in a perpetually long line to get a fix.
“The sister of one of my poker buddies works there.”
Gemma’s eyebrows rose. “You play poker.”
“Thursday nights. Like clockwork.”
Interesting. The check arrived and he dealt with it after giving her one sharp look when she reached for her purse.
So instead of making a fuss, she thought back to that single time she’d gone to a casino with some girlfriends. In ten minutes she’d lost half of her budgeted gambling cash at a blackjack table. Then and there, she’d shoved the remainder in a deep pocket of her purse to save for the cute winter jacket she’d been watching. Risk was not her thing.
“What kind of poker, exactly?” she asked Boone when he slid the pleather booklet enclosing the bill to the edge of the table.
“Dealer’s choice,” he said. “Each player gets to deal a different game of his choosing.”
Probably not blackjack, then. “Do you always win?” With that impassive face of his, she wouldn’t be surprised.
He grinned now, though, and it eased his handsome features in a way that made her practically swoon all over again. “What do you think?”
“Yes?”
Laughing, he reached for her hand, squeezed it. “Not more than my share. What would be the fun in that?”
She forced herself not to stare at where they were joined or betray any reaction to the heat now shooting up her arm. Whoa, boy. “What do you mean about fun?”
“It’s only entertaining when you play with people of near-like skill—and people you know. Ending on the upside every time would defeat the purpose of the evening.”
“And what is the purpose, exactly?”
“It’s a friendly competition.” His fingers squeezed hers again. “In essence, it’s a chance to show off. A simple measure of our, uh, abilities.”
Uh-huh. “Abilities?” she asked, cocking a brow.
He grinned at her, nodded. “Something we’ve been doing since we dressed in furs and carried spears.”
“I don’t understand men,” she complained. Showing off was a new pair of shoes, bought on sale, using a coupon on top of the lowest price. Then modeling them for your friends who enthusiastically congratulated you on your taste and your success in bargain hunting.
“Haven’t I just made clear we’re uncomplicated animals, barely evolved?” Boone asked. “We like to eat, sleep, and…” His voice trailed off.
What he could have said lingered in the air.
“Show off,” she finished for him, because the phrase have sex or one with a similar meaning seemed suddenly perilous to say aloud in the cozy setting of the booth.
His hand was still on hers, big and strong, his workingman’s palm rough where it lay across her knuckles. “Yeah. Show off.”
Though he didn’t correct her, his eyes laughed into hers until his gaze dropped to her mouth and turned warmer. Lazier. Captivated.
Her lips tingled, heating up, and she licked them.
She couldn’t help it!
Boone’s hand freed hers like it stung and his attention shifted to another set of cards on the table. Each piece had been outlined in red. He cleared his throat. “What about this stack that came with the bill? What’s its purpose?”
Those red edges registered. “I didn’t notice the server delivering it,” she said, dismayed. She made a grab for the cards, but he scooped them up instead.
“Is there a problem?”
“We shouldn’t read them.” She eyed the stack, uneasiness settling in her belly. The second set had been designed with Valentine’s Day in mind, and though Gemma didn’t know exactly what was written on each, the business association had approved a “PG-13” rating. “They might not be appropriate. We might be…embarrassed.”
His fingers still curled around them, Boone tilted his head to study her face. “Just so you know, it takes a lot to embarrass me.”
She swallowed, suddenly, keenly, aware she was way, way out of her league. What had she been about, with her intent to seduce him? Because she embarrassed easily, and it could come in the form of an outsized sense of modesty—thank you, the nuns at St. Mary’s—or worse, doubt in her ability to
satisfy a man with his depth and breadth of experience. She, who’d had two lovers in her past.
Neither who made her as aroused as she got just looking at Boone.
It takes a lot to embarrass me, he’d said, while she was now mortified by her earlier, arrogant plans for the man. How could she have thought to pull off that feat?
Her good sense came back with a roar.
“We should go,” Gemma decided, popping to her feet. “Monday mornings come early and we both have work.” Slipping her purse’s strap over her shoulder, she sidestepped quickly out of the booth.
“Sure,” Boone said, so easily that she was glad she’d abandoned her quest to get him into bed. If he wasn’t disappointed at the way the evening was ending, then neither was she.
The ride back to their neighborhood was mercifully brief. Gemma jumped out of her side when he brought the truck to a halt, but couldn’t outpace him on the way to her front door. Her feet dawdled, not as glad as the rest of her that their date was over.
Dumb feet.
She scowled at them as she dug for her key, then brandished it triumphantly for Boone. “I’ve got it from here,” she told him.
The glow from her porch light edged his high, angled cheekbones and cast his eyes in shadow, making it impossible to read what he was thinking. Shoving his hands in his pockets, his mouth twisted. “Whoops,” he said, pulling out the stack of red-edged cards. “I took these by mistake.”
“Not to worry,” Gemma reassured him. “They’re complimentary.” Then she turned toward her door, prepared to get herself safely inside. “I should say good night.”
“Hey.”
With reluctance, she turned back.
“I had a very nice time,” he said, polite. Gentlemanly. Cool. All the things she’d hoped he ultimately wouldn’t be when their evening began. When she’d believed she had what it took to handle his innate, ever-simmering sexuality, the sexuality that even now made her nerves string tight.
“It was nice for me, too,” she said, trying to match his courteous tone. “Thank you.”
ALL IN (7-Stud Club Book 1) Page 9
