by Tamsin Baker
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Going to apply for his position?”
I’d considered it . . . until sense kicked in and I realized that Graeme would never place me in a position where his own would be threatened.
To an onlooker, it seemed like stupidity for me to stay at Hagen when I was thwarted every which way, every time I tried to move up. That’s because they didn’t see the good in my job. How our private lab offered something most government labs didn’t—an environment beyond Richard’s ever-reaching grasp.
That was the long answer, one which Gideon didn’t need to know. Suffice to say, he could make do with the shorter, brush-off version. “I’ll think about it.”
“If you apply, I’d be happy to back your recommendation.”
Whoa! My heart beat double-time and my GLOM pushed to the max. I had to cut this conversation off at the knees, before I dropped to mine and begged him to take me again.
“That won’t get you back into my pants.”
His expression cut my snide retort off at the calves. It was low, when all he’d done was offer me kindness. But I didn’t want kindness, not from him. I didn’t want anything that made him more likeable and more fuckable, and gave little or no arguments to stop me from doing both.
“Much as I’d love back into your pants, my offer had nothing to do with that. You’re good at your job, much better than some, and I believe Graeme would be an idiot not to consider you for the position.”
Fuck.
I was so, so gone.
“Thanks. That’s really nice of you to say.”
“I didn’t say it because it was nice. I said it because it’s true. I still question why my job wasn’t handed to you.”
I’d long since stopped questioning, after seeing how good he was at what he did. Still, it was nice of him to say. “Yeah, well, if I’d landed the position, we’d all have missed your scintillating company.”
“Imagine that.” He grinned, and without thinking, my lips curved in response. “I can’t say I’m sorry. Meeting you has been a highlight.” He raised his hand. “And before your panties get all knotted into thinking that comment is about last night, I just want to clarify that it is, but it’s also about much more. This moment, right now, and every other time we’ve talked and I’ve felt at one with you.”
The man knew how to melt every item of clothing—panties included—clear from my body. I wanted to believe him. Everything in me wanted to trust that I was more than the sum of Richard’s bitter aspersions.
There was a word. Trust. I’d sworn it’d be a cold day in hell before I handed that sword over to a man again. Yet here I was, wondering if Gideon could be the one.
Was I stupid for thinking he wouldn’t take my trust and ram it straight through my heart?
Richard’s actions had made me bleed—in truth, I was bleeding still. Was I really ready to try again?
He knocked back the last of his coffee and lobbed the empty cup into the recycle box next to my trash. When he turned back and his green gaze met mine, flutters filtered out from my chest, burrowing deep down into my abdomen.
I swallowed.
Damn. Even a brow-quirk was sexy on Gideon. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I pulled my mind back from his sexy eyebrow to decipher his comment. “The coffee?”
“Coffee with me.” His lips slid into a sexy, fuck-me-six-ways-through-Sunday smile. “Isn’t the next step lunch? Or we could miss that one and go straight to dinner.”
Temptation incarnate. He was like the devil, dangling all my hopes and dreams just out of reach. “It’s only dinner, Tiff. I’m not asking for more.”
Problem was, I wasn’t adverse to him asking for more. I was just too damn scared to give it. And I hated it. Hated that Richard’s claws were still firmly sunk into my soul.
Still, he was right. It was only dinner. And dinner didn’t have to lead to more if I didn’t want it to.
His gaze bored holes in my every resolve, his patience warming every part of me not already burning with anticipation. That sexy, pleasurable mouth curved into what I could only describe as a hopeful smile.
I blocked every warning that stated I was being a fool once again.
Only dinner, I could do.
“Sure. Why not?”
Chapter 12
Gideon
It wasn’t the most enthusiastic of responses, but it was a start.
We’d moved from a cold standoff, through coffee, to all the possibilities a shared dinner promised. And much as I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want the evening to end balls-deep inside her sweet body, that wasn’t the extent of my need where Tiff was concerned. I enjoyed our exchanges, enjoyed picking the moment in each one where she finally relaxed and let me in. I wanted inside of her head as much as I wanted inside of her body, to discover what made her delectable mind tick. I wanted her body and soul, both of which would only come with trust and an openness that until now had been lacking between us.
Tonight was my opportunity to change that.
We’d agreed to meet at Greco’s, a new restaurant in the French Quarter, not far from Woldenberg Park. I’d insisted on picking her up, she’d insisted on meeting me there. I’d eventually conceded, and clocked it up to a win. I understood how important it was to retain a semblance of control. I felt the same when bloodlust hit. Losing control meant losing a sense of myself, and it cut too close to the core and a future I dreaded with every ounce of my being.
I turned back to the bar and ordered, the vodka and lime springing more from habit than need. My taste buds wouldn’t appreciate the drink’s flavor any more than they’d appreciate the food we were about to eat. For three hundred years, nothing but blood had seen them waken. But a lifetime of fitting in meant I ate and drank when social etiquette required it.
And for the purposes of now, drinking gave me something to do while I waited for Tiff to arrive.
A sudden awareness zapped up my spine. I turned and immediately found her. Even across the room I sensed her uncertainty—fight warring with flight as she reluctantly weaved around tables to join me at the bar.
A black, ankle-length skirt with an ass-high side-slit swished about her black boots, the sparkles on her black top glinting under the golden drop lights. Nothing particularly tight or revealing, but for the split that barely winked my way. I’d bet my Harley she’d chosen them deliberately, with lack of seduction in mind. She seemed unaware that covering up that beautiful body was just as alluring as revealing it. I’d sampled the delights beneath all that black, and nothing, no mourner’s outfit, could detract from the memory.
“Hi.” I moved a little to make space for her beside me.
She eyed the small gap, then determinedly remained where she was. “Hi.” She breathed the word between pants, as if she’d run the distance from her tiny apartment, two blocks away. “Sorry I’m late.”
I bit back a trail of cheesy replies from you’re worth the wait, to the best things in life are worth waiting for. “I booked a table, but would you like a drink here first?” Again that uncertainty. I could read each thought as it tumbled through her mind and across her overly expressive face. Primarily, they all boiled down to one question—did she want to extend the evening by sharing a drink now?
She barely paused with her answer. “Let’s sit.”
If I were one to read between the lines, I’d be sure to read “the sooner we’re done, the better.” Just as well that wasn’t my thing.
I dropped my hand to her waist, leading her to the left and our semi-private, corner table.
Tiff chose the seat with her back to the wall, leaving me with my back to the restaurant. I shuffled my chair to the left, allowing my peripheral vision to take in the other tables around us. What it also did was bring me close enough to breath in her heady scent—vanilla and spice and all things sexy.
In the low lighting, her eyes glowed deep, dark cobalt and her cheeks were dusty pink. She licked her lips and I wanted
to do the same. I swallowed. “You look beautiful.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Thanks.”
I bit back a sigh. How to disprove her so obvious skepticism? I had two options—let her continue to doubt everything I said, or cut her disbelief off at the knees before it had a chance to grow. No choice, really.
“Before the evening goes any further, let’s get one thing straight.” I covered the hand scrunching her napkin on the table. She snatched it free. I swallowed another sigh, fighting to keep the frustration from my voice. “Saying you’re beautiful wasn’t a line or an attempt to lead you on. I genuinely find you shit-hot sexy and totally irresistible.” I shot her a grin. “And in the essence of all-out honesty, I also find you interesting. So, much as I’d love another rendition of last night’s activities, I also want to get to know you. That means genuine, straight-down-the-line conversation, no bullshit.” I tried to read between her crinkled brows and her tightly clamped lips, her sharply squared shoulders and stiffly raised chin, and got nothing. “So, Tiff. What do you say?”
I sipped my drink, biting my tongue, leaving her space and time and the power to choose whichever direction the evening would take.
After an age, her shoulders dropped and she pinned her gaze to mine. “No bullshit and no sex. Just conversation.”
“That’s all I ask.”
“That’s all you’re getting.”
I nodded. If she wanted a rise, she wouldn’t get one. Not above the waist, that is.
Silence rose up and yawned between us, despite the animated chatter from nearby tables and the louder than necessary tones of AC/DC riding the highway to hell.
There was so much we had to learn about each other, so much she had to learn. We were fated to be together, till death do we part, and she had to come willingly. That meant trust, on both sides.
Something that wouldn’t happen if we didn’t get past the burgeoning black hole that had completely killed conversation.
I needed to act before the evening moved from awkward to irreparable.
“Smooth or crunchy?”
Her head snapped back. The wary, deer caught in headlights look vanished, surprise taking its place. And a question, no doubt along the lines of whether I’d lost every one of my marbles.
Our relationship wasn’t destined for ordinary. Why should our conversation be any different?
“W—what?”
“Smooth or crunchy, as in peanut butter. Which are you?”
“Why?” Still no trust, and the conversation was on spreads.
We’d get past this if it killed me. I ignored the reality of the throwaway and focused on the depths of her blue-green gaze. “Because it’s more interesting than ‘what’s your favorite color?’ and less risky than ‘top or bottom? What’s your favorite position?’”
Chapter 13
Tiffany
Just when I thought I had Gideon all figured out, he threw me a curveball.
Peanut butter.
The question almost made me smile, as did his reasons for it. Bite or not to bite? The answer was simple. I didn’t want this uncomfortableness between us any more than I wanted him out of my pants. Not really.
At least the discomfort I could do something about.
I inhaled and met his gaze with one just as sharp. “Neither. I’m a Nutella kinda girl.”
He nodded. “Ahh, choc-nut. Interesting.”
“Is it?”
“Everything about you is interesting.”
Yeah, right.
The tone behind the words seemed sincere, perhaps he even believed them, but what compliment ever came without strings?
“Cilantro, yes or no?”
The question broke my thoughts and I left them. Whatever his motivation, it wasn’t my concern as long as it didn’t suck me in. “Yes, of course. Thai food isn’t the same without it.” I thought quickly. “White or black pepper?”
“Black. I like the complexity.” He raised his brows. “You?”
“White. I guess I’m just a simple gal at heart.”
He didn’t comment. And for that I was relieved, much as it would have given me more reason to doubt him. I needed it, but wasn’t sure I wanted it.
“I’d ask snow or sunshine, but I already know you prefer snow.” He considered. “Beach or pool?”
“Pool. Sand’s too messy.”
“Agreed.”
I couldn’t resist. “Blondes or brunettes?”
“Either. Hair color is incidental, personality is what cuts it for me.”
I couldn’t help the jump of my brows. Really?
“Hey, I promised no bullshit and I meant it.” He grinned. “I could have taken the cheesy route and said blondes, especially the one opposite me, but I didn’t. Give credit where credit’s due.” The sexy curve of his lips almost undid me more than his words.
Fuck.
An unfortunate choice of words when Gideon was near.
He moved forwards and drummed the table with his fingers. “Waffles or pancakes?”
“No competition. Pancakes.”
He nodded before scanning the restaurant floor. “Our wait staff seem awfully absent.” He cocked his head. “How hungry are you?”
An unfortunate question. But he wasn’t talking anything but food. The subtext was all me. “Fair but not ravenous.”
“Good.” He took my hand, and this time I didn’t snatch it back. His skin was cool, yet he still managed to warm my blood. “Trust me?”
It was a long shot, and I could only jump so far. I spared him a faint smile. “Where dinner’s concerned, I’ll take a leap.”
“Good.” Although his expression didn’t match the word. Still, this was a night for no bullshit, and that saloon door swung both ways.
“Let’s go.” He pulled me up, and I let him, grabbing my bag as he swept me out of the restaurant and onto the street. With no time to catch my breath, he kept jogging, I kept following, glad I wore boots instead of skimpy heels and an even skimpier skirt.
“Where are we going?”
“Have faith. I won’t lead you astray.”
I doubt that.
We barely paused for traffic, crossing the street, turning the corner, leaving the brilliance and buzz of the restaurant behind. The sidewalk shimmered golden under the glow of street lamps, undertones of fall nipping the air with frost.
My breath escaped in pants, short and fast and oxygen-starved, creating misty white clouds that dissipated moments after they formed. Gideon seemed barely affected. The man had stamina plus—another thought that sent my imagination spiraling.
He pulled me into a dimly lit alley and I pulled back, heart jackhammering against my ribs. “I don’t do alleys.”
He shot me a look as if I was half-baked. I returned the look. I also wasn’t born yesterday. He’d promised no sex, but he hadn’t said nix on the seduction.
“Roll with this. You won’t regret it.” When I still hesitated, he added, “No bullshit, I promise.”
I must be a stark-raving idiot, or at the very least, TSTL. But too stupid to live or not, I let him lead me into the dark. Funny thing was, a couple of seconds in, we reached a brightly-lit all-night café. I’d walked past this alley on countless occasions and never knew what existed beyond its entrance.
He paused at the door. “They make the best pancakes, ever.”
“Pancakes for dinner?”
“Why not? Live a little dangerously, Tiff.”
Problem was, I’d been there, done that and the battered, blood-soaked tee was an everlasting reminder of my mistake.
I shook off all thoughts of Richard. That bastard would not ruin tonight.
While every voice in my head screamed out warnings, I focused on Gideon’s golden gaze and dragged in a much needed dose of oxygen.
It’s just pancakes, for fuck’s sake. “Sure. Why not?”
We pushed into the café and despite the fact that it was buzzing and fuller than I’d have expected due to its out-of-the-way location, we
found a booth towards the back. I scooched in and he followed, only stopping when his thigh was firmly plastered against mine. Good lord, it felt good. Just a touch, and blood sizzled through my veins.
He seemed not to notice, handing me a menu from the center of the table, then leaning over to examine it rather than getting his own.
God, he smelled good. Like fresh, rambling cornfields, crisp pine needles and a dash of lime or lemon, I couldn’t tell which.
“It doesn’t matter which pancake you choose, they’re all good.” He ran a trim, tanned finger down the menu then stopped halfway down. “I’m thinking Date Night.”
“They’re movie titles!”
“Just a bit of fun. Jet, the owner, is a movie buff. So everything on the menu has a movie slant.”
“Mad Max mega burger?”
“To die for, but we’re here for pancakes.” His glance slid from the menu to me. “Unless you fancy a burger? I can highly recommend the Dirty Harry double beef. Or even the Charlton Heston chicken burger if you’re poultry inclined.”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“Perhaps. But it’s also a bit of fun.” He returned his gaze to the menu. “It Happened One Night is looking pretty good right now.” He waggled his brows, and I couldn’t help but grin back. “Or maybe you prefer Some Like it Hot?”
“I’m leaning towards The Good, The Bad and the Ugly.”
His gaze raked mine. “Picture Perfect.”
“Stepford Wives.”
“Taming of the Shrew.”
“Single White Female.”
“Redemption.”
“Psycho.”
“I’m sensing a theme here. Should I be worried?”
It was my turn to waggle my brows. “Very.”
He chuckled, deep and decadent. The timbre burrowed deep into my gut and sank right down to the tips of my curling toes. If ever there was a fuck-me sound that saw my pussy wet and swooning, that was it.
His body was so close, we were almost touching. And that almost was killing me.
He pushed the menu my way. “What say we get a selection? Your choice.”
“Any preferences?”
