“I’m not much of a drinker,” she admitted.
Pat clutched his chest in his portrayal of “You wound me.”
“I do like margaritas,” she offered. “Do you make them here?”
“Do I?” Pat puffed up proudly. “It just so happens I am known for my margaritas.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Rob thinks everyone comes here for the food.” He shook his head. “Poor, misguided fool. They come from miles around for my margaritas, and stick around to eat while they’re here.”
Brooke’s smile grew. “Then I can’t wait to try one.”
After Pat left, Brooke said, “I like seeing you with your friends.”
“First off, Sally is not my friend.” Shane put his napkin in his lap like Brooke had. “As for the other two, total pains in my a…butt.”
“They make you smile. You need to smile more. And get out more. Your mom’s worried you spend too much time alone in your room.”
That made him sound like some antisocial teenager. “To think I liked that you two were baking together.” He especially liked that she fit into that aspect of his family life so easily. He did not, however, like being the topic of conversation between Brooke and his mother. “What else did she say?”
Brooke looked uncomfortable, showing a sudden interest in the fireplace. “She told me when you were in the hospital you used to call out my name in your sleep.” She turned her gaze on him. “She told me sometimes you still do.”
Damn his mother.
Thank goodness the waitress showed up with Brooke’s drink, the sheer size of it worthy of a much-needed change in conversation.
“It’s so big,” she said, eyeing the large glass that looked more like a cocktail for two than for one.
He resisted the sudden urge to say “That’s what she said.” But thinking it was enough to make him smile. Moving on….Shane rescued a beer from its ice bath, twisted the top off, and held it out to Brooke. “A toast.”
She used both hands to raise her oversized glass from the table and clink it against the neck of his bottle. “To what?”
So many things came to mind. “To our first official date.” Thinking there probably wouldn’t be a second or a third threatened to ruin his good mood. So he added, “And to my friend Mic coming through for us. Your picture is off Facebook.”
Her eyes went wide. “It is? Finally. I know it’s only been up for a little over forty-eight hours, but it feels like forever.” She tipped her glass, tasted her drink, then licked some icy red liquid from her top lip.
He kind of got fixated on that tiny, teasing glimpse of her tongue, and caught himself staring at her lips, hoping to see it again.
No such luck.
“Wow. This really is fantastic.” She looked at him over the salted rim, “Which one is Mic, again?” and took a big swallow.
“Rory McRoy.”
Her lips formed a glistening O. “Neve e-mailed him, too.”
“Mic mentioned that. Then he asked for a favor.”
“Anything,” Brooke said, taking another mouthful before setting the glass down.
He waited for the tongue, covering his hesitation by taking a swig of beer. Unfortunately it didn’t make an appearance. “He doesn’t want Neve to know I contacted him, too.”
Brooke tilted her head in question.
“He’s crazy about her. Something bad went down between them last time he was home.” Brooke didn’t look surprised. “He came back from leave hostile and moody.”
She blotted her lips with her napkin. “He couldn’t have been worse than Neve.”
“Do you know what happened?” Shane took a chance.
She nodded but didn’t elaborate.
“You’re not going to tell me?”
She shook her head. “It’s not my story to tell. I will share that if he thinks getting my picture taken down from Facebook, as a favor to Neve, will be enough to get him back into her good graces, he is gravely mistaken.”
“That bad, huh?”
She nodded again. “Yup.” And swallowed down some more margarita.
Conversation came to a halt when the waitress returned to take their order. Brooke hurried to choose her entrée while Shane ordered without ever opening his menu. “Tell Robbie Shane wants a steak, medium, and a baked potato with the works.” He glanced at Brooke. “If the works includes bacon, then no bacon.” Shit. What about the butter and sour cream if he was having a steak. “Um, maybe I should—”
“Order whatever you’d like,” Brooke said. “I keep kosher. I don’t expect you to.”
“Butter and sour cream,” he told the waitress. “No bacon.”
After Brooke ordered her broiled fish of some sort with steamed broccoli, she turned to stare at two couples who’d started to dance beside the piano, while Shane stared at her. The long, thick, wavy hair he loved to touch. The flawless, smooth skin, especially radiant by candlelight. The look of longing on her beautiful face that he hoped to one day see directed at him.
“Do you like to dance?” His question startled her.
“No,” she answered, too quickly, like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been doing. “Not especially.” She fumbled with a straw, peeling off the paper wrapper before sliding it into her drink and swirling it around.
Brooke was a terrible liar.
“Would you like to dance with me?” He ached to hold her close, again, to feel her body pressed to his.
She glanced at his cane, propped up against the wall. “Can you?”
“Even when I had two good legs, no one ever complimented my skills on the dance floor.” The ladies seemed much more inclined to compliment his skills of a more sensual sort. “But if you’re okay with us swaying back and forth like we’re at the senior prom, then I’m gung ho to give it a go.”
She closed her lips around the tip of the straw and drew the icy red liquid into her mouth. “I didn’t go to my senior prom,” she admitted, looking sad. “I wasn’t over the whole…you know.”
Yeah. He knew.
“I lied and told Neve I had to go to some fancy party with my family. Then I spent the weekend with Aaron and Hannah.”
Shane held out his hand. “Allow me to give you a sample of what you missed.”
She placed her hand in his with a beautiful smile. “I’d like that.”
It could have been the perfect moment: her hand in his as they both stood and he led her to the dance floor. Only this was real life, and he needed both hands, probably one braced on the table—please let it be strong enough to hold him—and one on his cane, to push up to a standing position. What a mood wrecker. “Um. I need—”
Without letting him finish, Brooke withdrew her hand. “Sorry.”
“You have no reason to apologize.” He stood. The table wobbled but didn’t tip. Whew! “I need a minute.”
Rather than letting him stand there, awkwardly, waiting, Brooke stood, too, and made conversation. “Will you always need a cane?” she asked quietly. “Or does the doctor think you’ll progress to being able to walk without one someday?”
If he worked hard in physical therapy, maybe he wouldn’t need one. But to be honest, “The doc thinks a couple of the screws used to fix me up are what’s giving me trouble. Next visit we’re going to talk about possible removal.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He eased his full weight onto his left leg, gripping his cane for balance. “There’s no guarantee removing the hardware will eliminate all my pain. And aside from the basic risks of surgery, anesthesia changes intraocular pressure. I have residual shrapnel in my good eye, which could shift and do more damage.” A daily concern that’d made him overly cautious early on.
“But you’ve obviously made it through other surgery without a problem.” She retrieved her glass and sucked some more through the straw.
“Not sure I want to risk complete blindness for an elective procedure that may not work.” A humdinger of a decision, that. L
ive life in pain or live life blind or live life blind and in pain. He tested his leg. Sore, but nothing he couldn’t handle, so he held out his right hand palm up. “Let’s try this again.”
A smile replaced her look of concern.
He liked the smile much better.
She placed her small, soft, cool hand into his, and allowed him to lead her to a relatively private spot between the piano and the fireplace.
Chapter Seventeen
Brooke’s heart fluttered out an excited rhythm as Shane led her onto the floor. So many times she’d dreamed about having his strong arms around her, again, of them dancing, swaying to the music, together, their bodies in perfect sync.
He brought them to a stop a few feet in front of the fireplace. The warmth and glow of the crackling fire, the beautiful melody of the piano, the ambiance of the dim, mostly candlelit room made for a dreamlike setting for the most romantic nondream date she’d ever had.
Shane stood tall and proud facing her, so handsome in his khaki dress pants and black golf shirt. Brooke reached up to place her left hand on his shoulder and held out her right hand in perfect dance form, waiting for him to take hold and lead her into the dance. Until she realized he couldn’t take her right hand with his left, because he needed to hold on to his cane. She’d been so caught up in how she’d imagined their first dance, she’d completely forgotten about his cane. How could she be so inconsiderate? “I’m sorry. I—”
“Don’t be. This is new for both of us. How about you clasp your hands behind my neck?”
Doing so put their bodies much closer than proper dance etiquette would allow. His large hand settled at the arch of her lower back, pulling her tight against him, and all thoughts of proper dance etiquette vanished, replaced by an intense yearning to get as close to him as possible.
He started them swaying to the music.
She looked up, resting her chin on his chest. “You smell even better than you look.” A hint of light fragrance, just enough to allure.
He gave her a sexy, flirty smile. “I’m glad you like it.”
She liked it very much.
Brooke turned her head to the side and set her ear to the soft cotton shirt covering his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Closing her eyes, she cuddled in, taking note of every delicious detail, everyplace their bodies touched, every scent from the food to the fire to the man himself, every feeling and emotion.
Right now, nothing else mattered. She’d worry about her picture, the investigation, and her future tomorrow. Tonight was all about Shane.
He pressed his lips to the top of her head in a gentle kiss. “Your hair is so soft, smells so good.” His hand roamed freely, up her back, beneath her hair to the bare skin of her neck, then back down, skimming over the thin cotton of her blouse, feeling almost as good as if there were no barrier between them. “If it were prom I’d do some kind of smooth dance move to turn you away from prying eyes so I could cop a feel.” He slid his hand down to the top of her butt then stopped. “Too bad it’s not prom.”
Eyes still closed, feeling like she was in a seductive trance, she nodded in agreement. “Too bad.”
A chuckle rumbled through his chest.
Brooke smiled. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re a great dancer.” What he lacked in form and grace he made up for with sheer masculinity, strength, and confidence. A very potent and appealing combination.
“It’s all about the partner.” He squeezed her in a one-armed hug. “Believe it or not, since you wrote me about your idea of the perfect dream date, I have imagined us dancing like this dozens of times.”
She had him beat with how many times she’d imagined it.
“I think about you a lot.”
Of nailing her in the backseat of a car and up against a wall. An unfamiliar heat surged through her body. And he called out her name in his sleep. Affection squeezed her heart. He dipped his head to nuzzle her ear. “You have no idea how sexy you are.”
He made her feel sexy.
“Regardless of what you choose to do about it,” Shane said, swiveling his hips, making his impressive erection known. “I want you to feel what being this close to you does to me. How much I want you. Tonight more than ever.” He stepped sideways, angling his hips, his arousal unmistakable.
The truth is I want you so much I ache for you. She ached for him, too.
Brooke looked up at him. “Is this a sample of the little bit of pressure you warned me about in your Jeep?”
He smiled and thrust his hips, hiding the move in a fancy turn. “Yup.”
“Then I look forward to more pressuring.”
All of a sudden his body went stiff. He sucked in a quick breath then let out a small grunt of pain.
Brooke let go of his neck and stepped back. “What happened?” She looked him over. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He tried to pull her back against him.
He wasn’t fine, his posture rigid, his hand squeezing his cane so hard his knuckles had gone white. Knowing Shane wouldn’t let his discomfort interrupt their dance, Brooke looked around the room, trying to come up with a different reason. A glance at their table gave her what she needed. “Our salads are here.”
“After this song,” he said. But his words sounded forced.
“If you don’t mind,” she said, taking him by his right hand and tugging him toward their table. “I’m famished.”
Upon returning to the table, Shane dropped into his chair, shifting a few times, as if having difficulty finding a comfortable position.
Brooke sat, too. “What can I do to make you more comfortable?”
“Nothing.”
There had to be something. “Do you have pain medicine with you? I could go see—”
“Stop. You said you were famished.” He pointed at her salad. “Eat.”
Cranky Shane had made an appearance. How long would he stay?
Brooke ate, hardly tasting the lettuce or dressing, her appetite gone.
Shane sat there, looking down at his plate. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
He lifted an angry eye to stare at her. “It’s not okay.” He raised his voice. “It’s never going to be okay.”
Brooke set down her fork, remaining calm. “Would you like to leave?” When he didn’t answer right away, looking down and not speaking, Brooke’s hopes for the rest of the evening plummeted. “I could ask the waitress to pack up our entrées.”
He lifted his beer and finished it off, then reached for another one.
“If that’ll make you feel better, fine, go ahead. Drink them all.” She took two more bottles from the ice bucket and placed them on the table in front of him. “I’m happy to drive us home.”
In the process of lifting beer number two to his lips, he stopped, holding it midway between the table and his mouth, and said, “Not a chance.”
“Then I’ll have to find my own way back to your parents’ house.” She looked around. “I bet Sal Jr. would—”
“Are you trying to piss me off?”
“You’re already pissed off. What I’m trying to do is make it clear, if you plan to sit here and get drunk, I will not be riding home with you.”
He set the beer bottle down.
“This is why I drive myself when I go on dates.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “Are you saying, if you had your car, you would actually get up, walk out, and leave me here?”
“As opposed to watching you try to drink away your pain? Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
He smiled. “Then I guess it’s lucky for me you don’t have your car.”
“I could call a taxi.” Although she’d hold off as long as possible. “I am not without options.” Sal Jr. being the last possible one she’d consider.
“You’re a lot tougher than you look.” He moved his beer aside, picked up his fork, and speared a tomato. “I like it.”
“You
know, up until a few minutes ago I was really enjoying our date.”
“I was, too.” He set his hand on the table, palm up, and extended it in her direction. She placed her hand in his. He gave it a squeeze as he added, “And I haven’t enjoyed anything this much in a very long time.”
With that, sweet Shane returned and the rest of their date flew by amid enjoyable conversation, entertaining stories, and delicious food. But all too soon their dessert plates and coffee cups were empty and it was time to leave.
They drove in silence, except for the country music playing on the radio, the air in the Jeep thick, the atmosphere heavy with regret. All in all they’d had a wonderful date, but it’d come to an end. And because Shane refused to entertain the possibility of a future with Brooke in it, their time together would soon come to an end, too. And they both knew it.
Brooke briefly wondered if he’d take her to Sassy’s but got her answer when she recognized the house with the spiders followed by a quick turn into Shane’s neighborhood.
His parents’ house was dark except for the night-light at the base of the stairs. After closing the door, Shane said, “Dad works early so he goes to bed early. If no one’s around, Ma goes with him.”
So, basically, they had the downstairs to themselves.
He took her coat and hung it in the closet.
She stood there, feeling awkward and not sure what to do.
He caught her standing there looking like an idiot and asked, “You up for a good-night kiss?”
Oh, yes. Very much so. Excellent suggestion. She nodded.
He set his cane against the wall, threaded both hands into her hair, and, angling her head to where he wanted it, pressed his lips to hers. Gentle at first, soft brushes, light touches.
Wanting more, Brooke wrapped her arms around him, exploring his muscular back, before settling them around his waist and hugging him tightly.
Shane responded by applying more pressure, more urgency as he deepened the kiss, tonguing the seam of her lips, looking for entry.
Brooke gave him what he sought. He slid inside her mouth, tasting of beer and chocolate and something more. Something she would crave forever. She met his tongue with her own, twirling, sliding, not caring what he’d think of her brazen behavior, simply going along with what her body desperately wanted.
Loving You Is Easy Page 17
