All Over You by Sarah Mayberry Page B

Her toes peeped out from between the straps of a pair of elegant red-suede stilettos and he’d felt an instant surge of desire as she brushed past him.
    The feeling had only intensified when she’d slid into his car and run an unconsciously sensual hand along the upholstery. It wasn’t until they were halfway to the intimate little restaurant he’d chosen in Malibu that he’d realized she was half lit. Not actually drunk, but definitely…relaxed. At first he’d been annoyed, but then she’d started to let her guard down. And now he was officially intrigued.
    The cold-eyed, hard-nosed sourpuss of earlier in the day had been replaced by a lighthearted woman with a quick wit and a ready laugh. It was as though the earlier Grace had been sketched in black and white and at last he was being treated to the Technicolor version.
    “I love mushrooms,” she purred now as her main course was delivered. “They’ve got everything — aroma, texture, taste. Don’t you think?”
    He wondered if she was aware that she was running her fingers up and down the stem of her glass. And if she knew what it was doing to him.
    “I’m a big fan of the pea, myself,” he countered.
    “The pea?” She smiled, ready to be amused. He liked that about her.
    “Why not? It’s small, it’s green, it rolls. Design, color, movement — the pea has a lot to offer.”
    She shook her head and looked vaguely annoyed. “There you go again, surprising me.”
    “Let me guess, you had me pegged as a potato kind of guy?” he asked.
    She took a slug of her wine and shook her head for the second time. One of her elbows found its way onto the table and she leaned forward to accentuate her point.
    “You’re an actor. You’re supposed to be one-dimensional. We’re supposed to be talking about how great you are,” she said.
    There was just the slightest slur in her words, enough to make him shake his head subtly when the waiter approached, wine list in hand, hoping to secure an order for a second bottle.
    “But, instead, we’re talking about vegetables. And music. And architecture. And our favorite movies,” she said.
    She sounded put out.
    “This bothers you?” he asked, slicing into his panfried snapper.
    “Yeah, it bothers me. The way I figure it is this — some people in life get the looks, others get the smarts. You can’t have both.”
    “Why not?”
    She looked genuinely outraged. “It’s not fair. Good looks
and
smarts — there’s no defense against that,” she said.
    He raised his eyebrows and reached for the lemon wedge on the edge of his plate.
    “Defense? Is there some kind of war going on that I don’t know about?” he asked, squeezing lemon juice over his fish.
    “Oh!” she said suddenly, jerking back.
    He glanced up and realized that his lemon wedge had misfired and squirted her in the eye.
    “I’m sorry — are you all right?” he asked, half standing and leaning forward.
    She pulled her glasses off and blinked a few times. Then she smiled.
    “Nice shot,” she said, tongue in cheek.
    Smooth, really smooth,
he chastised himself. The only time she’d unwound with him all day, and he tried to blind her. Feeling guilty, he plucked the heavy black frames from her fingers.
    Her eyes widened. “It’s okay, I can clean them myself,” she said when he began drying them on his pristine napkin.
    “At least allow me to exorcise my guilt,” he said, caught in the unobscured magic of her green gaze.
    He’d noticed her eyes before — their exotic tilt, their color — but her glasses had always provided a chunky barrier to her thoughts. Now he felt as though he could see straight through to her soul.
    “What’s wrong?” she asked, tugging at the neckline of her dress uncomfortably.
    “You have amazing eyes,” he said, staring into them intently. “What color is that? Like sea foam. But greener.”
    “Moldy green,” she said dismissively. “That’s what my sisters used to call it.”
    “Jealousy is a