She looked up at him as though he’d just donned a suit of armor. He liked it.
“Hungry?” he blurted without thinking. He hadn’t intended to say it, but now that he had, he decided to run with it. “Want to grab a bite to eat?”
She blinked and looked taken aback for a moment. “Now that you mention it, I am sort of hungry.”
“Good. What’s your pleasure? Chinese? Italian? Tofu burgers with yogurt hollandaise?”
She hesitated a moment, then eyed him with suspicion. “You mean, like, go eat, and talk about the Griffin case? Not like a, uh, a date kind of a thing.”
“Exactly like a date kind of thing. I’m not officially on the Reynaud homicide, and Griffin’s involvement is sort of a gray area right now anyway, so I’m pretty much free to ask you out. I came to your class. Come to my date.” He adjusted his glasses and gave her the smile he knew would do the trick.
Averting her eyes, she said, “No.”
His best smile crumpled on one end. Damn, the woman was a tough nut to crack.
“I’ll tell you what,” he cajoled. “Maybe I’ll let you hold my hand again and you can interpret another dream. I had a really good one last night.”
“You said you hadn’t dreamt since you were fourteen.”
“Not until last night. Go figure. Anyway, it was about a ventriloquist.”
“A ventriloquist?” she said, her lips curving into a suspicious smile. “That’s not so—”
“Did I mention that the ventriloquist was a ten-foot-tall pineapple with an eye patch and a lisp?”
She laughed at that. “Sounds more like The Muppet Show than a dream,” she said dryly, “but, well, all right. It’s not a date, though.”
He took the briefcase from her hand. “You are an unattached woman, I am an unattached man. We are attracted to each other. Don’t deny it. I’m escorting you in my car to a restaurant where we will eat and drink and engage in conversation, after which I will pay the bill. In my book, that’s a date.”
She wrangled her briefcase from him. “A date is not defined so much by what happens during the course of the evening as by what generally occurs at its culmination. That is to say, sex, or at the minimum, a good-night kiss.”
Snaring the briefcase from her grip, he held it behind his back. “And you’ll be so worried about fending off my unwelcome advances, you won’t be able to relax and enjoy our date.”
“But if it’s not a date, there won’t be any advances, unwelcome or otherwise, thereby allowing both of us to enjoy the meal without any pressure or expectations. That’s why I think—”
“You think too much,” he muttered, setting her briefcase on the desk. “Let’s just make this issue moot, okay?”
Sliding his hand around to the nape of her neck, he tugged Tabitha toward him. She gasped in shock, but before she could pull away, he bent his head and kissed her.
Chapter 9
It is bad luck to divulge the nature of a dream before breakfast.
FOLKLORE
Don’t stop him—stop him—don’t enjoy it—enjoy it—don’t kiss him back—kiss him back…
Oh, yes…by all means, kiss him back…
Tabitha’s brain fought a losing battle with her desires as she let herself go limp against Nate’s wonderfully warm, hard body. While his torso felt like tempered steel, his mouth was soft, his lips coaxing, parting over hers.
How had her hands found their way to his chest? She gripped the lapels of his jacket as though letting go meant she’d blow away in the wind. How had her breasts come so snugly up against him? If he moved, she’d crumple to the floor. When had her tongue touched his? Had he made the first move? Had she?
The kiss seemed to go on and on, too long, and not nearly long enough. He pulled back slowly, licking her bottom lip, suckling it, finally breaking contact.
She sighed as though she were a cat being petted in long, languid strokes. Staring up into Nate’s eyes, she muttered, “I…um, well, that was, um…hmm.”
The detective only gazed down at her, and she wondered if it was because he’d been rendered speechless as well. Behind his glasses, his brown eyes looked sleepy, and very, very warm—like mocha cake right out of the oven.
Stepping away from Tabitha, he picked up her briefcase with one hand and cupped her elbow with the other.
“I’m hungry,” he mumbled under his breath, and she couldn’t help but wonder whether he was talking about food. “What’s your favorite restaurant?”
She uttered the name of the first place that came into her head, a new restaurant she’d read about in the Chronicle last Sunday. Nate Darling’s kiss was so potent, she could barely recall what planet she was on, let alone the names of eating establishments.
Panicking, she tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind—nothing except Nate kissing her again, everywhere. Every naked where.
It had been so long since she’d had sex. Maybe too long. Maybe that’s all it was. Maybe she really didn’t like him so much as want him, since a mere kiss had opened the door to her neatly-stored-away sex drive—which had been in absentia since she’d divorced Cal.
As it turned out, she’d blathered out the name Chez François—which was actually a second story eatery in Ghiardelli Square that overlooked the bay. If Inspector Darling thought her choosing a French restaurant for a casual dinner was a bit over the top, he didn’t say so.
The dining room was airy and spacious, elegance evident in every neat little table, every bouquet of fresh flowers, the straight line of every waiter’s spine.
From where they were seated, Tabitha could look out the window and see Alcatraz Island, the “Rock” and its forlorn buildings illuminated by amber lights. Choppy waves broke the reflection on the dark water, making the island appear to be floating on a sea of iridescent blue gems.
As soon as Tabitha and Nate had settled in, a gray-haired waiter wearing a black coat and white bow tie appeared and offered them menus.
“Monsieur, mademoiselle,” he announced, his French accent thick. “Bon soir, and welcome to Chez François. I am Maurice. This evening, our sole in butter and garlic sauce is especially délicieux.”
Across the table, the detective looked down at the menu, then up at the waiter. “Est-ce que je peux obtenir un bifteck?”
Tabitha stared, impressed more than she would have imagined. Nate Darling spoke French? “You speak French?”
His lips quirked. “Oui. Mais mal, le plus souvent.” Then he grinned at her, and she felt her cheeks heat.
Addressing the waiter once more, Nate asked a series of questions in French.
The waiter paled, slid his gaze around the room like a rabbit on the lookout for marauding dogs. Lowering his voice, he said, “Listen, pal. I’m just trying to make a livin’ here. You want a steak, I can get you a steak, but stop tryin’ to impress the lady and cut to the chase, okay?” Diverting his attention to Tabitha, he resumed his French accent, saying loudly, “And what will the lady have?”
“I, um, I think I’d like to start with the free-range escargot.”
“An excellent choice, mademoiselle.”
Across the table, Nate choked. “What the…free-range escargot?” He looked down at the menu, then back up at Tabitha, his eyes glittering with mischief, or was that malice?
“Free-range escargot?” Shaking his head, he said, “They must be a bitch to round up, being so fast and all. Nothing slipperier than a rampaging herd of wild escargot making a dash for freedom. I guess they need special escargot wranglers with itty-bitty little lassos, and—”
“You are being so juvenile,” Tabitha stated.
Resting his elbow on the table, he let his chin fall into his palm. With an amused glint in his eye, he said, “Free-range escargot. Only in California.”
Tabitha felt heat warm her blood at the insult to her native state.
After Maurice finished taking their order and strode away muttering something about testosterone overload, Tabitha lean
ed forward a little, making sure to display some cleavage. When she was sure she had Nate’s attention—and judging from the flushed cheeks and glazed eyes, she did—she whispered seductively, “Un asno es más elegante que usted.”
Blinking shyly, as though she had just complimented him instead of calling him a stupid ass in Spanish, Nate pushed his glasses up on his nose. The male ego, she mused. What a piece of work it was.
“I don’t speak French,” she explained sweetly. “I speak Spanish, usted ganso tonto.”
“Why, thanks,” he said with a wide grin. He relaxed back in his chair and took a sip of wine. “How did you know I like farm animals?”
He couldn’t possibly know she’d called him an ass and a silly goose. “What do you mean?”
His eyes glittered. “Yes, I love all sort of critters, especially, oh, say, donkeys.” With a tilt of his mouth, he said, “Throwing in the thing about the goose was a nice touch.”
Tabitha felt her smile turn upside down. “You speak Spanish, too.”
“Sí.”
“You could have warned me.”
“So?”
“You know what I should do?”
“Sue?” He winked.
Tabitha felt her lips twitch. “No, but if you keep this up, I might just—”
“Sigh?”
As the waiter set salad plates in front of them, then departed, Tabitha locked gazes with Nate and once more felt the crackle of attraction course between them. Despite her best efforts, she felt herself returning his smile.
“That was clever,” she said. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but you have a killer smile, which I’m sure you’re very well aware of, and use without compunction to your advantage.”
His grin broadened. “So if you like me, why’d you call me an ass?”
“Because you’re cocky and stubborn and you insulted my home state.”
“I have the right. It’s my home state, too, remember. Why don’t you relax a little? You’ve been acting pissed off ever since I kissed you, even though I know for a fact you liked it.”
She licked her lips. “I have my reasons.”
He stared into her eyes for a long time, then casually turned his attention to the food.
As they worked their way through the meal, a tense silence filled the narrow gap across the linen-covered table. Covertly, she watched Nate’s hands as he cut his steak.
He had lovely hands, square and masculine. She wanted those hands on her again. She remembered how his rough palm had warmed her skin when she’d done his reading. And how his strong fingers had felt curving around her ribs, just under her breast, as he’d held her against him after Griffin’s attack.
Looking over at him, she said, “So. What else would you like to know?”
His head raised. “I haven’t even asked you anything yet.”
“Oh, come on, Inspector. Surely you did a background check on me. All cops do it. Everybody knows that.” She took a bite of bread. “Did I pass muster, or did those outstanding warrants for armed robbery catch up with me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She shook her head. “That’s a very innocent look you’ve cultivated, but I’m not buying it.”
He seemed a little peeved, but nodded. “Okay, yeah. I checked you out a little.”
“A little? I’ll just bet, Sherlock.”
Though she kept her wry smile in place, Tabitha’s chest began to tighten uncomfortably, and her appetite vanished. She should have known better than to have dinner with him. So he really had checked into her background. How much did he know? Did she care what he found out? He would judge her now and, being a skeptic, would find her lacking.
With a sick feeling in her stomach, she realized she did care what he thought. Dammit, how in the hell could she have let that happen?
Nate slowly eased his empty plate away. How much should he tell her? She probably wouldn’t be happy about some of the things her file had disclosed, but then again, how was he going to learn more if he avoided the very topics he wanted to know more about?
She was nervous. She hadn’t been before he’d admitted to doing a background check, but now her mouth had tightened and she kept her eyes on her half-empty plate. Very unlike the confrontational, feisty, take-no-prisoners attitude she’d displayed ever since they met. He would have to tread carefully.
“Honestly,” he ventured, “I think it’s only fair that I know something about you, since you know so much about me.”
She leveled her blue gaze on him. “What are you talking about?”
“I shared my dream with you about Ethan and Andie. I’m sure there are things you supposedly ‘saw’ or guessed about that you’re keeping to yourself. So I figure it’s only right I know a bit of secret information about you, too.”
“That’s stupid.”
“All’s fair to share, I swear, but beware, I, dare, uh, say.”
She blinked, then blinked again. “What in the hell was that?”
Squirming in his chair, he muttered, “Poetry.”
Across from him, Tabitha pressed her lips together and blinked at him once more. “Poetry. You do…poetry.”
“Yeah, well, I was on this case in Washington, about a year ago. Undercover, posing as a famed yet reclusive poet. Sort of got me interested in, uh, poetry.”
He let his eyes meet hers, and realized she was laughing at him.
“Well, it isn’t easy, you know,” he growled defensively. “Apparently not all poems begin with There once was a man from Nantucket…”
She made a sound very close to a giggle. “I suppose not.” Assessing him closely, she said, “But you’re trying to get me off track, Inspector. Let’s get back to what you think you know about me.”
“Okay, despite your earlier remark,” he said, “you have no outstanding warrants. Your main source of income is legal transcribing, which you do from home. You began the dream interpretation sideline two years ago, to modest success.” He took a sip of wine, then set the glass down. “Your bills are paid on time, and you live within your means. No credit card debt. You have a checking account, but not much in the way of savings. Your mother lives with you in the house you inherited five years ago from your paternal grandmother. Your father divorced your mother two years ago to marry another woman. You divorced your husband a year ago when you discovered he was being unfaithful. Since then, you have not been seriously involved with anyone.”
There was more, but he thought he should keep it as high-level as possible. Taking it deeper might freak her out, maybe even hurt her, and judging from the panicked look in her eyes, she was wary of exactly how much he knew.
Tossing her napkin on the table, she said, “My, my. Aren’t we thorough.”
“Look, Tabby, I—”
“Not a problem,” she huffed. Pushing herself away from the table, she grabbed her purse from the chair next to her and stood. “Thanks for the eats, Inspector. I’ll see myself home.”
Nate shot to his feet and made a grab for her arm. Wrapping his fingers around her wrist, he said, “I’ll see you home. Give me a sec to pay the bill, and I’ll—”
She shook him off. “I’ll pay my own bill and see myself home, thanks. Yes, I interpreted your dream, but I didn’t violate your privacy, Nate. Checking me out like that was very, very low.”
“I don’t think I said anything—”
“It’s what you didn’t say. The other things. You know about those, too, don’t you?”
He nodded. “I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. I had no idea. I’m sorry.”
Clutching her purse to her breasts, she said, “You don’t know the half of it, Inspector. It wasn’t for you to find out. It was for me to share with a man I’ve grown to trust, a man who cares about me, a man who has a right to know. Not a smug, smart-assed detective whose only goal was to see whether I was good enough to take out to dinner. You are a jerk.”
Around them, the other diners raised their heads
in curious interest. Across the room, Maurice frowned and began moving toward their table.
“Okay, yeah, I admit it,” Nate rushed. “I’m a jerk. But let me take you home, Tabby. Please.”
Maurice arrived and glared down his nose at Nate, but addressed Tabitha. “Iz zere a problem, mademoiselle?”
Without taking her eyes from Nate’s, she said, “Maurice, would you please call me a taxi?”
The waiter gave her a quick nod. “You got it, sister,” he growled. “Come with me. You can wait in the ladies’ lounge.”
Well, Nate thought as he tossed some bills on the table, as first dates went, this one sure sucked, and not in the way he’d hoped. He should follow her home, for her own safety and his peace of mind, but she’d probably have him arrested for stalking her. Just when he decided to do it anyway, his cell phone began to chime “I Walk the Line.” It was his partner.
“What’s up?” he said, watching Tabby follow the waiter across the dining room.
“Hate to disrupt your evening,” Bob said solemnly. “But we got one.”
“Location?”
Bob gave him the address. “Looks like it’s a transient, maybe. In an alley. ME says the carotid was sliced and the guy bled out. Pretty messy.”
“On my way.”
Nate shoved the phone into his pocket and headed for Tabby. Walking through the open door of the ladies’ lounge, he spotted her sitting on a plush sofa, digging through her purse.
“Hey,” he said, and she looked up, astonishment widening her eyes. Reaching for her arm, he tugged her to her feet. “I got a call for a possible homicide in your neighborhood. I’ll drop you at your car at the school, then follow you home. And don’t argue,” he said, when he saw her mouth form a protest.
He quickly escorted her out of the lounge and toward the front door of the restaurant. When Maurice stepped in front of them to block their exit, Nate flashed his badge and the waiter instantly shrank back, his surprised gaze flicking between the two of them.
“Well, that’s one restaurant I can never eat at again,” she muttered, as he pulled her toward his car and opened the door for her.
Arousing Suspicions Page 10
