She pivoted, a full tray of drinks in her hand, smiling brightly at a table full of businessmen as she deftly set down glass after glass. They were out of earshot, but she seemed to chat easily, responding to whatever they were saying.
“Morgan,” came Ryder’s voice from a corner of the big room.
Morgan dragged his gaze from Amelia and started for the table where Ryder, Herb and Cole were taking their seats.
“Did you do the Black Ridge trail?” Cole asked, referring to Morgan’s bike-riding trip they’d discussed earlier in the week.
Morgan sat down in a wood and red leather captain’s chair. “Went up as far as the falls, but I started to lose the light.”
“That’s impressive for an evening ride,” said Cole.
“I took off from the lab at four,” Morgan said. He’d come in early that morning to test out a theory that had been percolating through his brain all night long.
“If you decide to try Mikes Peak this weekend, give me a call.”
“Sounds good,” said Morgan.
“Not enough excitement for me,” Ryder put in. He’d grown up in Southern California and spent most of his weekends surfing with his old buddies.
“Too much excitement for me,” Herb joked. “Saturday night, I’ll be cooking. This weekend, it’s baby artichokes barigoule, rack of lamb with dried cherry cognac glace, chanterelle mushroom risotto, and chocolate raspberry soufflé.”
“You have a date?” asked Ryder.
“No,” Herb said. “But, if I ever do I’ll...” His gaze moved to a spot above Morgan’s head.
Morgan felt a light touch on his shoulder.
“Hello, Morgan.”
He quickly turned his head and caught Amelia’s smile.
“Thanks again for dinner last weekend,” she said.
“It wasn’t anything fancy,” he found himself apologizing. He couldn’t help contrast the grilled burgers with Herb’s culinary extravaganza.
“It was fantastic.” She included the rest of the table in her smile. “Can I get anyone a drink?”
It took a second for any of them to speak up.
“A beer,” said Cole. “Whatever you have on tap.”
“Same for me,” said Ryder.
“A glass of the Blackarch merlot,” said Herb.
She looked to Morgan.
“A martini.” He decided he needed a bit of a punch. “Dry, with a twist.”
“Any particular brand of gin?”
“Do you have Tandee?”
“We do.”
“That’ll be fine.”
“Great to see you, Morgan.”
She turned, and he watched her walk away.
A patron at a table filled with what looked like frat boys, reached for her as she passed. Morgan stiffened, but she deftly sidestepped the jerk, continuing on to the bar.
When Morgan turned back to the table, all three men were silently staring at him.
“Who the hell was that?” asked Ryder.
“You had dinner with her?” asked Herb.
Cole just grinned and waggled his brows.
“She’s my next-door neighbor,” Morgan admitted.
“Nice neighborhood.” Cole smirked.
“I helped her move a sofa on Sunday. We grilled some burgers. That was all.” Morgan didn’t feel comfortable giving the guys the wrong impression.
Still, his gaze trailed back to her.
She’d moved to the frat boys’ table, but she looked relaxed, as if she was taking their crudeness in stride. She took some notes on her pad, asked a couple of questions, laughed and shook her head, then turned to move away.
As she did, Morgan caught a change in her expression. For a fleeting second, she looked annoyed and exasperated. But then she approached yet another table, and she smiled warmly at the couple sitting there.
“Wonder how she feels about dried cherry cognac glace,” Herb speculated.
Morgan shot him a warning glare. “You’ll never find out.”
“Ahhh,” said Ryder.
Morgan realized his mistake. “There’s no ahhh,” he informed them. “She’s nice, sweet, a little bit naïve. She doesn’t need any of you guys hitting on her.”
“Call me pessimistic,” said Ryder, “but I don’t think she’ll be swooning at any of our feet anytime soon.”
Morgan realized that was true. “She was a cheerleader at U of Arizona.”
“I’ve got nothing against cheerleaders,” said Herb.
Cole came back with, “yeah, but cheerleaders have something against you.”
“You never know,” Herb countered. “Don’t underestimate the power of chocolate raspberry soufflé.”
Morgan couldn’t help remembering the red velvet cupcakes. His glance went to Amelia again. She was back at the frat boys’ table. But this time, she had a tray laden with drinks, so she wasn’t as nimble. The frat boy who had reached for her was moving way too close. He deliberately brushed her forearm with his shoulder.
Morgan rose from his chair, maneuvering around the other tables until he came to Amelia.
“Sorry to interrupt.” He spoke loud enough for the grabby frat boy to overhear. “But what time are you coming home tonight?”
Amelia blinked at him in confusion. “Ah, I get off around midnight.”
Morgan glanced at Frat Boy, then back to Amelia. “Sounds good. I’ll pick you up then.”
Like she had done to him, he gave her a light squeeze on the shoulder. Then he gave Frat Boy one final warning look. “Have a good shift.”
o o o o
To Amelia’s surprise, Morgan was waiting in the parking lot when her shift ended. He rose from the driver’s seat, standing beside his Aston Martin to wave her over. She gave a quick goodbye to the other two waitresses who took the bus and made her way to his car.
“You shouldn’t have stayed,” she breathed. “I thought you were joking.”
“I promised you a ride.”
“I know. But that was a ruse. I got what you were doing.”
And he’d done it so deftly. She couldn’t help being impressed. He’d used brains rather than brawn to shut the annoying customer down, ensuring there was no argument or confrontation. It hadn’t even impacted her tip.
Morgan rounded the hood to open the passenger side door. “He was a little jerk.”
“Unfortunately, guys like him are an occupational hazard.”
“Doesn’t the manager help?”
“He will if I ask. But you learn to spot who’s going to cross the line.” She lowered herself on to the seat, swinging her legs inside. It was a treat not to have to wait for the bus and then trudge two blocks uphill to her condo in high heels.
“Do you mind that I intervened?” Morgan asked.
She reflexively smiled at that, and their eyes met. “Not at all. You were perfect.”
He held her gaze for a moment, something shifting in the depths of his blue eyes, arcing awareness between them. His tone went husky. “I’m glad I was there.”
She wanted to capture the feeling, hang on to the emotion, push it, explore it, see where on earth it might lead. But she knew that was a silly idea. He was a genius with a plum job, while she was a waitress. They were about as different from each other as you could get.
“They gave me a good tip,” she said instead, turning her attention to the seat belt.
“That was the very least they owed you,” Morgan said as he pushed the door closed.
“I could have easily taken the bus,” she pointed out as he entered from the other side.
“I didn’t want to disappoint you.” He reached forward to turn the key.
Her gaze rested on his profile, and she couldn’t help thinking that with a makeover he could be a leading man. “You’ve never disappointed me, Morgan.”
“Good to hear.” He pulled straight ahead, crossing the empty parking lot. “Are you working tomorrow?”
“Saturday? Yes.” She nodded. “Busiest night of the week, as you
can imagine. I’ve got Monday and Tuesday off next week. I’m going into LA. There are three open auditions on Monday.”
She was a little excited, a little scared.
“What are the parts?” he asked conversationally.
“Two are commercials, shampoo and off-road vehicles. But the third is a small part in a couple of sitcom episodes. And those can always turns into more. For example, if the audience responds well to a character, they’ll generally extend the storyline.”
“Did you go to any auditions this week?” he asked.
“On Wednesday.” She’d been pretty disappointed. The lineups were long, the time in front of the casting director was minuscule, and it was impossible to know what they’d liked or didn’t like about her performance.
“When do you expect to hear?”
“Probably never.” She slipped her tight shoes off her swollen feet. “I’m thinking I might try getting an agent.”
Morgan took the bend in the road and started up the long hill toward their complex. “Will that help?”
“It will if I can get a good agent. It’s pretty tough out there.”
“Seems like there’d be a lot of competition in the film business,” he offered.
Amelia gave a nod of agreement, wiggling her toes free. “But I’m not giving up.”
“Good for you.”
She grinned. “In the meantime, I can act interested when men try to chat me up at Sapphire Sunday.”
“Are we that bad?”
“Most of you aren’t. And you’re not. You’re one of the good guys, Morgan.” As she said the words out loud, she realized how true they were.
He swung the car into the short driveway of the condos and shut down the engine. “Glad to hear it.”
When he opened his door, she followed suit, slinging her purse over one shoulder and dangling her sandals from her opposite hand. But before she could clamber out, he was there, offering to help.
She took the hand he offered, letting him pull her gently to her feet. Then she was directly in front of him, nearly touching him, marveling all over again at his unexpected good looks even as she caught a whiff of his very masculine scent.
“Thanks for driving me home,” she offered in a voice that had turned to a husky whisper.
“Anytime,” he answered.
“You might regret saying that,” she teased.
“I don’t think so.”
He sobered, and so did she. The dense coastal wind wafted between them, rustling the leaves on the nearby trees. The streetlights buzzed in the background, while the faint sound of traffic whirred along the thoroughfare at the bottom of the hill.
He inched closer, an intense expression on his face.
She waited. She wanted this kiss. She wanted it very badly.
He hesitated for a long moment, and she thought she’d misjudged. But then his hand came up, cradling her cheek. He dipped his head, and she let her eyes flutter closed, parting her lips, waiting the excruciating seconds until his mouth finally touched hers.
His lips were soft, warm, firm as they kissed hers. One hand gently cradled her face, the other moving to the small of her back, urging her into the heat of his body. She stepped forward, bringing her thighs against his, feeling a surge of his strength. She tipped her head, straining up to meet him, fusing their lips more firmly together. Desire cleared a pathway through her brain. Rational thought left, replaced by raw emotion and want.
Her sandals slipped from her fingers, bouncing to the asphalt. She had to touch him, so she reached up, placing her palms against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body, the play of his hard muscles, the beat of his heart. Her fingertips explored, absorbing tiny shocks of arousal that fueled her desire.
His tongue tested her lips, and she opened to him, wider and wider, parrying, drinking in his tart taste, inhaling his scent, pressing closer and sliding her hands around his neck to the bare skin below his hairline. He was strong and sure, steady and stable, and she felt ridiculously safe and centered in his arms.
Then he broke the kiss and drew slowly back, blinking in the dim light of the driveway.
“Anthropology,” he breathed.
“Excuse me?”
“I have no explanation for my behavior, except that you’re an incredibly beautiful woman, and I’m an ordinary man.”
He thought she was beautiful. Her heart lifted with joy.
But the rest he had wrong.
“You’re not ordinary,” she told him. He was a genius rocket scientist, smarter than any ten other people.
“But I am,” he insisted. “Excruciatingly ordinary and completely predictable.”
“I didn’t predict you kissing me.” But she’d wanted it. She’d wanted it very badly. And it hadn’t disappointed her. He was one amazing kisser.
He pulled back, dropping his hands so he wasn’t touching her anymore. “Any standardized test of human psychology and physiology would have predicted me kissing you.”
Despite his analytical words, she still felt dreamy. “Would it have predicted me kissing you back?”
That seemed to stump him. “Probably not.”
“Interesting,” she mused in her sexiest voice, waiting for him to reach out again.
Instead, he leaned down and picked up her sandals, handing them over to her. “Sleep well.”
Huh? Sleep? There was no chance that was going to happen, not as jazzed as she was feeling right now.
He took what seemed like a reluctant step backward.
“That’s it?” she asked, wandering into unfamiliar territory. She’d never had to encourage a man who’d kissed her to take things further. It was usually the opposite.
“What’s it?” he asked.
“You kissed me, I kissed you back, and now you’re...”
“Saying goodnight,” he finished for her.
“You’re not going to try to take things further?” She was curious now. Okay, that was a lie. She was turned on and totally into him.
“You expect that I’ll try to sleep with you now.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Isn’t that what the standardized test of human psychology and physiology would tell you to do?” She struggled to understand what was going on here. Was he saying he didn’t want to sleep with her?
“If I was a caveman, sure.”
“You’d drag me to your bed by the hair?”
“Probably not by the hair. But, yeah, in my more primitive form, I wouldn’t care much whether you were willing or not.”
An image bloomed in her mind of him scooping her up in his arms and whisking her up the stairs in his condo. It was sexy. It was compelling. She waited, hoping he’d make a move.
But he took another step backward. “Lucky for you, I’m not a caveman.”
“Lucky for me,” she echoed, knowing it wasn’t even remotely true.
o o o o
Morgan forced himself to avoid Amelia for the following week. Oh, he still heard her come home at night, still listened to her shower, her music, her wave sound app. But he didn’t dare let himself run into her.
It had taken every ounce of restraint he could muster to walk away from her after their kiss. Caveman or not, he’d desperately wanted to haul her off to his bed and make love to her. Not that she would have said yes. That was just hopeful thinking on his part. And, if he’d pressed, it would have been embarrassing for them both.
For a few days afterward, he didn’t trust that he wouldn’t make a fool of himself if he saw her again.
Luckily, it was Saturday night now. She was sure to be at work, so it was safe for him to venture into the yard. May had turned into June, and the weather was going from warm to hot. He’d spend his Saturday morning bike riding in the hills and most of the afternoon at a karate dojo in town. It had taken a few false starts, but he’d finally found a club that seemed to suit his style of karate, more kata, less kumite, and no full-contact sparring. He liked the discipline of karate, the regular exercise, the fe
eling of self-confidence and mental control. He had no interest in fighting.
He’d taken a quick shower at the club, and now he was looking forward to a dip in the pool along with a glass of wine. He’d figure out something to eat later on, maybe put on a classic movie. He didn’t really feel like doing much of anything tonight.
Wearing a pair of loose, black bathing trunks, a towel over his shoulder and an open bottle of cabernet sauvignon in his hand, he eased open the door and walked onto the patio. Too late, he saw Amelia lounging in her own pool across the low fence.
“Hi, Morgan,” she greeted cheerfully.
He quickly cataloged his options and concluded he had none except to carry on.
“I thought you’d be at work,” he returned.
“Night off. Going swimming?”
“I thought I’d cool off,” he said.
“Perfect timing.” She held an empty wineglass in the air, waggling it from side to side. “I need a refill.”
Again, he had no options except the obvious. “I’ve got a cab sauv.”
“Yum. Come on over. The water’s fine.”
“Sure,” he said, giving in to the inevitable as he kicked off his flip-flops to make his way across the lawn.
Her underwater lights were on, illuminating her tiny, yellow bikini. Her tanned skin was obscured by the water, but she looked fantastic anyway. The closer he got, the more he desired her.
Fixing his focus on her wineglass, he leaned over to pour.
“You are a gentleman,” she told him approvingly, completely oblivious to the carnal thoughts running through his brain.
He tossed his towel to one side, set the wine bottle and his own glass on the deck then lowered himself into the pool, sitting down on the wraparound tile bench.
“Feels good,” he noted as the cool water surrounded him.
“It must have been ninety-five today,” she observed as he poured himself a glass of wine.
“Were you outside?” he asked, ordering himself to keep it light and impersonal.
“Down at Andrea’s Gym.”
“You work out?” For some reason, that surprised him. Not to say she wasn’t in good shape. She was in amazing shape. He just couldn’t picture her on free weights and rowing machines.
An Unlikely Match (The Match Series - Book #1) Page 6
