by Boone Brux
Chapter Seven
The dress looked like she was trying too hard. She turned to the left and assessed her reflection. Why was she acting so stupid? It’s not like it mattered what Price thought about her outfit. Even if that wasn’t completely true, she refused to give in to the strange and perplexing impulse to change clothes yet again.
He’d called to let her know her car was ready. Though she’d insisted on taking a cab to the hotel, he wouldn’t hear of it and informed her he’d pick her up in an hour. Exactly forty-two of those sixty minutes had been spent ruminating over four outfits, their styles varying from laundry day leftovers to ladies’ luncheon.
“Grrrr.” She threw the coral-colored cardigan onto the pile of clothes in her closet. “What is wrong with me? Today is just another day. So what if I’m going to see Price?”
A few days ago she would have thrown on the dress, pulled her hair into a neat bun, and not thought any more about her appearance. She pivoted to view the outfit from behind one more time and then harrumphed. Maybe she was trying too hard?
A second later the doorbell rang. Too late to analyze that psychological gem now, and the outfit would have to do. Smoothing her hands down the skirt of her dress, she took a last critical look before heading into the living room.
More than anything, she wanted to play it cool. Last night there had been a few times when she thought he was going to kiss her, and one time when she would have let him. But after a good night’s sleep she’d realized fueling that spark would not be in either of their best interests.
She yanked open the door, schooling her expression. “Morning.”
Dozens of times she’d been in the same room with Price and had never given it a second thought. She’d never noticed his broad shoulders or the strong line of his jaw. Never wondered what it would feel like to be in his arms, or contemplated what it would be like to be kissed by him. Nope, never once—until last night—and now.
“Good morning. You look pretty.”
“Thanks.” Her voice cracked slightly. As casually as possible, she cleared her throat. “You look nice, too.” The words faded off, as if acknowledging how handsome he was or that he smelled incredible were a betrayal of her beliefs.
He handed her a paper cup with the name of his hotel restaurant printed on the side. “You might have to nuke it for a few seconds to warm it up.”
“What is it?” She took the cup and sniffed. “Coffee?”
“Not just any coffee.” Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside the apartment and closed the door. “Some of the most exotic and expensive coffee in the world.”
“What makes it so costly?” It did smell good. She peeled off the lid and inhaled again before taking a sip.
“It’s luwak coffee from Indonesia.”
“That’s delicious.” She took another gulp. “No, delicious isn’t strong enough. Divine. Life-changing.” She sipped again. “What makes it so good?”
Lowering his cup, he smacked his lips. “I’m not sure exactly. Something about the civet’s enzymes.”
“What’s a civet?” Unwilling to set the coffee down, she gestured him deeper into the apartment with her head. “Some kind of coffee bean?”
“No, it’s an animal.” He followed her into the living room. “A monkey, I think.”
She spun on him. “Excuse me?”
“Maybe it’s a cat. Or a cross between the two, like a cat monkey.”
“What does a civet have to do with the coffee you just gave me?” She held the cup away from her body. “And its enzymes?”
“Well, from what I understand, the civets sneak onto the coffee plantations, eat the ripe berries, and then poop them out. At which time, small Indonesian children with large burlap bags run around the jungle collecting the excreted coffee berries.”
“What!” She shoved the coffee an arm’s length away. If she hadn’t been standing on her throw rug she might have dropped the cup completely. “You handed me—” A cough sputtered from her. “A cup of coffee made from civet waste and let me—” Her gag reflex kicked in, her body convulsing in a dry heave. “Drink it?”
“The civets can’t digest the coffee berries so they come out practically whole.” He frowned at her and shook his head. “I’m sure they washed them first, and most of the bacteria are probably killed in the roasting process.” He took another deep gulp, which incited a round of gagging from her.
“I think I’m going to puke.” With the cup held as far as she could reach, she shuffled toward the sink. “I can’t believe you gave me poop coffee!”
“Poop coffee?” His laughter followed her into the kitchen. “Wait.” A second before she sent the offending liquid down the drain, he grabbed her arm. “Don’t dump it. I’m just playing with you. It’s not”—he snickered—“poop coffee.”
“I don’t believe you.” She glared at him, ignoring the pleasant hold he had on her arm. “Giving me coffee brewed from beans that made their way through the intestinal track of some jungle animal is your kind of fun. Telling me it’s not, but it really is, so I continue to drink it—” Her lips pressed into a tight, humorless smile. “Even more up your alley.”
“I’m not lying.” He rescued the coffee from her, popped it in the microwave, and punched thirty seconds. “Though it is exotic and costly, it’s not poop coffee.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned her hip against the counter, still not sure if she believed him. “What kind is it then?”
“La Esmeralda Special from Panama.” The microwave beeped. He retrieved the cup and handed it to her. “Over three hundred dollars a pound, even more expensive than”—her eyes narrowed, pelting him with visual darts—“umm, the other kind of coffee.”
“And there are no animals involved in the making of La Esmeralda?”
He held up his hand, giving her the Scout’s honor sign. “Not a one.”
“All right then.” She accepted the coffee again, but before taking a sip said, “But you swear this is from Panama?”
He made an X over his heart and then held up his hand. “I swear on my mother’s grave.”
“Your mother is still alive.”
“Then I swear on the graves of my ancestors. You’ve met my family. You know I’m not going to chance getting cursed by that lot.” He flicked his fingers in her direction. “Go on. It’s safe.”
Though tentative at first, she allowed the rich liquid to roll over her tongue and down her throat. “This must be what wealthy people drink in the morning.” Grasping the cup between both hands, she held it as if it were a fragile treasure. “What does a cup of this brew run?”
“I think we priced it at twenty-two a cup.”
Her jaw slackened and eyes rounded. “Dollars?”
“Well, I wanted to be paid in live chickens, but my accountant vetoed that, so we settled on dollars.”
“Funny.” She rolled her eyes and then glowered at him over the top of her cup, but had no intention of wasting the delicious coffee. “Anyway, thank you for this, I think. Even at twenty-two dollars a cup it will probably sell well.”
“I hope you’re right. We didn’t buy a lot and will sell it as a specialty item. That way our loss won’t be crippling if nobody wants a primo cup of coffee at a primo price.” He smiled. “That’s good business sense.”
“Yes, it is.” Walking into the living room, she scanned the area for her sandals. “I also took a wise business step today and called Lawson’s office.”
“Really?” He followed her into the room. “How did it go?”
“Great.” The toe of one shoe peeked out from under the chair, and she set the cup on the coffee table, kneeling to retrieve it. “My intent had been to find out exactly where and with whom to drop off my résumé, but when I told the human resources person my name, he said there was a note to go ahead and set up the interview. I’m supposed to take them my résumé today.”
“That’s fantastic. When is the interview?”
He
r hand swished back and forth under the chair until finding the matching shoe. “Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Tomorrow? So soon?” He gently gripped her upper arm and helped her up. “Are you ready?”
“Thanks.” The butterflies dancing in her stomach were becoming all too familiar when he touched her. “Uh, yeah, as much as I’ll ever be, I guess.” She perched on the edge of the chair and slipped on her shoes. “My problem isn’t being ready, it’s coming off as too intense.”
“You’ll do great. Just remember to relax and breathe.”
She stood and snagged her coffee. “You make it sound so easy.”
His eyes traveled down and then up her body. “You really do look nice today.”
“Oh, well…” Surprised by his repeated compliment, she ran her hands over her skirt, needlessly smoothing the fabric. “Thank you—again.”
A few seconds of awkward silence ticked by as he continued to stare appreciatively at her. Finally, he said, “Let’s do this.”
“Okay.” The word blurted from her somewhat louder than she’d planned, and then quieted the rest of her response. “After you.”
All the way to the car she mentally argued the point that sometimes emotions couldn’t be controlled, but what she did with them could. By the time she was seated and belted in, the logical part of her brain had won out over her rebellious heart, chalking the whole thing up to loneliness, lack of sex, and his charm.
She glanced at Price. Yeah, she was definitely making too much of their time together. He didn’t appear to be conflicted about whether there was or wasn’t an attraction between them. Last night had been fun, that’s it. The guy was a professional flirt, plus he knew about the wedding favor. Him nuzzling her neck, holding her close, staring into her eyes like she was the only woman on earth while they danced, was just Price being Price. Nothing more.
They spent most of the drive to pick up her car talking about their schedules for the next few days, and consoling each other over the numerous parties Roxy’s and Kyle’s parents had hosted, and which the wedding party had been compelled to attend. The conversation flowed easily, and with each mile she felt more confident about her assessment of their situation. After the unpleasant morning, when she’d turned into alter-ego Kinni, frantically dressing and undressing, unable to make up her mind, it felt good to regain control of the situation and herself. She exhaled.
“We should go out sometime,” Price said.
The gulp of coffee she swallowed stuck. She coughed and attempted to clear her throat. “We went out yesterday.” The words rasped from her, the liquid still making it difficult to talk and his suggestion destroying the calm she argued into place. “And we’re out now.”
“I mean go out on a date.” He glanced at her. “Not to run errands for the wedding.”
“A date?” Her voice pitched higher than usual. “Why?”
A snort of laughter rumbled from him. “Why do most people go on dates?”
“You mean a date-date?” She nodded, not because she was agreeing to his request, but because his single announcement had vaporized all the reasons she should ignore the spark between them. It had shot to hell the logical argument that the attraction was one-sided on her part. And he’d completely derailed any sort of well-thought-out, intelligent-sounding response. “As in”—she hesitated—“romantically?”
“Yeah, like dinner and a movie, or whatever you want.” From the periphery she could see him glancing at her and then back to the road. “No pressure, but…” It was his turn to pause. “Yes, a romantically oriented date.”
Words failed her. For the first time that she could remember in her adult life, she had no argument for or against it. The several minutes she’s spent convincing herself to not get involved gave way to the desire to say yes. A tiny bud of excitement blossomed and spread in the pit of her stomach, but years of sensible decision-making weren’t so easily tucked away.
“Do you think that would be wise?” Now she did look at him, which probably wasn’t a good idea. His smile made his green eyes sparkle. She’d dated good-looking men before, but nobody who could compare to Price. Not that they were dating. But they could be, if she’d only say yes. Another zing of exhilaration shot through her. All she had to do was say yes. “Wouldn’t it be weird?”
His smile faltered. “Do you think it would be weird?”
“I don’t know, I mean—” What did she mean? What the hell was she trying to say? She wasn’t thinking clearly. All she wanted was for him to smile at her again, like he was jazzed to be with her. His suggestion had sent her into a tailspin of possibilities, but she didn’t want to say or do anything that might ruin the friendship they’d developed, or other more romantically slanted prospects. “Is that a path we even want to go down?”
“Why not?” He pulled into the hotel garage. “I don’t know about you, but I think we get along pretty well.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Two days realistically wasn’t enough time to make an educated decision. She’d spent more time than that picking out a bathmat. “I’m just not sure if we should chance something more serious. We have the group to think about. If things got ugly between us it might affect our friendships with them.”
After parking in his private spot and shutting off the car, he shifted in the seat to face her. “Look, I’m not saying let’s get married or anything remotely that serious, but…” He reached across the center divider and brushed his finger along her jawbone before gently grasping her chin. “I like you. You make me laugh. You’re hot as hell, and I want to spend more time with you.”
It was suddenly difficult to breathe—or think. The way he stared at her sent her heart racing. She wanted this despite all the reasons she shouldn’t. Roxy’s favor echoed through her mind. “Yes.” Relief flooded her, washing away all hesitation. “Yes,” she said more forcefully, in case any doubts lingered. “Let’s try it.”
“Excellent decision.” He gave her a brilliant smile but didn’t let go of her chin. “I think we should seal this agreement, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
His body shifted and he leaned in, stopping an inch from her. She didn’t pull away. “With a kiss.”
All she managed was a nod before his lips descended on hers. Though his kiss was gentle, there was no doubt he was in charge. He coaxed her lips apart with his tongue before slanting his mouth completely over hers. Her body ignited in a firestorm of heat. She couldn’t catch a breath, and didn’t want to waste time trying if it meant he’d stop kissing her. It felt as if her heart raced in her chest, and at the same time as if it had stopped all together.
Never had somebody made her feel like this with just a kiss. She opened her mouth a little wider and darted her tongue across his lower lip. A moan she took as appreciation hummed from him. He shifted, reaching across her, and pushed the button on the side of the seat. The back of the seat slowly descended, lowering them several inches.
He deepened the kiss, his hand sliding to her waist and over her ribs. The little breath she could get, caught in her throat. Aching need thrummed across her chest, her nipples tightening in anticipation of his touch. She threaded her fingers through his thick hair. The fact that it was softer than she’d expected registered for a second, but evaporated when his hand traveled upward and cupped her breast. Sparks of desire shot through her when his fingers massaged the aching bud.
Tightening her grip in his hair, she pulled his mouth against hers. A mewl she didn’t know she could make purred from her. She silently cursed the car’s compact interior. If the stupid console weren’t in the way, they’d have a lot more freedom to move.
A loud screech echoed through the garage, snapping Kinni out of the frenzied make-out session. Price showed no sign of stopping his seduction, and it took all of her willpower to push against his wonderfully toned chest and break the kiss. “Stop.” Shallow pants huffed from her. “We can’t do this in the car.”
He hovered a few inches above her. “Whe
re should we do it?”
His question and wicked smile cleared a little of the lust from her brain. “We’re not doing it anywhere.” She fumbled for the switch and lifted the seat back, forcing him to retreat to the driver’s side of the car. “A date, that was the suggestion. Not jumping into bed.”
Still turned in the seat, he leaned against the door and frowned. “But it’s not out of the question, is it? I mean, you have to admit, that was pretty hot.”
Hot was an understatement, but sex wasn’t what she wanted from him—well, it wasn’t the only thing she wanted from him. “Listen, if all you want to do is get in my pants, then I’m not interested.” Hearing how harsh that sounded, she held up her hand to stave off his comment. “What I mean is, I’m not against sleeping with you, but not if that’s all there is. Even you have to agree that wouldn’t be very smart.”
“I guess.” His frown relaxed. “And just to be clear, I didn’t ask you out just to get in your pants.” He smirked. “Though after that kiss, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to keep my hands off you.”
“Well, when the urge strikes, just say no.” She gifted him with her sweetest smile. “Say it with me. No.”
He scowled at her. “No.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard.” She popped open the door and climbed out.
“Easy for you to say,” he mumbled, exiting the car. He peered at her over the roof. “But when the time comes, I’m going to make sure you say yes.”
“If the time comes,” she corrected.
“Oh, it will. I promise you that.”
She walked around the back of the car. Instantly his hand was on her waist. He’d done it before, but now the action seemed more intimate, as if he was staking his claim. The scene in the car had been scorching hot. Though she hadn’t been surprised by her reaction to his kiss, she had been shocked at the intensity. No amount of analyzing or compartmentalizing could debate away the fact that she would end up in his bed eventually, but there needed to be more—she hadn’t been bluffing when she’d said that. Sex was the easy part. It was the rest of the relationship she usually screwed up. His hold tightened on her, and she darted a look at him and then away. Some of the lustful excitement evaporated. Why did she think he’d be different than the other guys? What made her think that he wouldn’t get tired of her anal personality, too?
