scrubbing the counter. Hard.
Oh, hell, Jack thought, suddenly feeling like a prize heel. Now look what you've done, you jackass. There'd been no need to crush her like that. No need to stomp all over her self-esteem. There were gentler ways to squash her interest in him. "Look, I'm sorry," he said to her bent head. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I can get a little cranky when the work's not going right."
"That's okay." Faith's gaze was glued to the counter. "I understand. I shouldn't have interrupted you."
"You didn't interrupt me. I'd have to have been making progress for you to interrupt me. And, believe me, I wasn't." He massaged the back of his neck with one hand, trying to think of something to say that would make her look up and smile at him again. "What I need is a break." He stood, pushing the chair back with his legs. "How about some lunch?"
Faith risked a quick glance at him. "Lunch?" she said skeptically. It was nearly four o'clock. Who ate lunch at four o'clock in the afternoon?
"I had my breakfast around noon," Jack said, easily reading her look. "I know sloth is supposed to be one of the seven deadly sins but... what do you say?" He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Join me for lunch? Or have you eaten already?" he added when she hesitated.
"No, I haven't had lunch yet," she admitted. Or breakfast. She'd been too nervous to eat.
"Well, then?"
She put her sponge down and began stripping off her rubber gloves. If he wanted lunch, she'd give him lunch. The housework could wait. "I really haven't had a good look in your cupboards but I think you have the makings for tuna sandwiches. Would that be okay? Or would you rather have peanut butter and jelly? Or soup? I think I saw a can of chicken noodle."
"Hey." He reached out and put his hand on her arm, stopping her as she reached for the handle of the refrigerator. "I didn't mean for you to make it for me."
"Oh, that's all right," she said breathlessly, her gaze on his hand. His long, elegant fingers were dark against the paleness of her arm. "I don't mind." She lifted her lashes and looked at him. "Really."
Jack pulled his hand back and stuffed it into his pocket to keep from grabbing her and kissing her senseless. Did she have any idea of what she invited with that sweet, steady look? Any idea at all? "I thought we could go out."
"Out?"
"To a restaurant?" Where there are lots and lots of people around.
"Oh." A restaurant, she thought, a little thrill of excitement thrumming through her as she considered it. She'd never gone to a restaurant with a man before. Never been on a date. Not that this was a date, exactly. Still... "I'm not dressed for going out," she said, gesturing at her jeans and sneakers as proof of her statement.
"This is Los Angeles, Angel." Jack couldn't help it; he let his gaze flicker down the length of her body. "You're dressed just fine."
"But-"
"But nothing. Just take off your apron and let's go. I've been cooped up in this apartment all day and I'm starving." He turned and headed for the front door with every expectation that she would follow him.
And, after a brief moment's hesitation, she did. Whipping off her apron, she tossed it onto the kitchen counter and sprinted after him.
It was a typical Southern California summer day outside. The sky was piercingly blue, the temperature hovered in the mid-eighties, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was a perfect day for strolling hand in hand with your girl. Jack fought the urge to link his fingers with Faith's as they pushed through the wrought iron gate that guarded the Wilshire Arms' courtyard and started up Wilshire Boulevard toward Westwood.
Still, he couldn't resist the temptation to watch her out of the corner of his eye as they made their way down the street. The sidewalks weren't as crowded and colorful as they would have been on a weekend but there was enough diversity among their fellow pedestrians to make a sheltered Southerner's eyes widen.
"I'll bet you haven't been to
Oh, hell, Jack thought, suddenly feeling like a prize heel. Now look what you've done, you jackass. There'd been no need to crush her like that. No need to stomp all over her self-esteem. There were gentler ways to squash her interest in him. "Look, I'm sorry," he said to her bent head. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I can get a little cranky when the work's not going right."
"That's okay." Faith's gaze was glued to the counter. "I understand. I shouldn't have interrupted you."
"You didn't interrupt me. I'd have to have been making progress for you to interrupt me. And, believe me, I wasn't." He massaged the back of his neck with one hand, trying to think of something to say that would make her look up and smile at him again. "What I need is a break." He stood, pushing the chair back with his legs. "How about some lunch?"
Faith risked a quick glance at him. "Lunch?" she said skeptically. It was nearly four o'clock. Who ate lunch at four o'clock in the afternoon?
"I had my breakfast around noon," Jack said, easily reading her look. "I know sloth is supposed to be one of the seven deadly sins but... what do you say?" He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Join me for lunch? Or have you eaten already?" he added when she hesitated.
"No, I haven't had lunch yet," she admitted. Or breakfast. She'd been too nervous to eat.
"Well, then?"
She put her sponge down and began stripping off her rubber gloves. If he wanted lunch, she'd give him lunch. The housework could wait. "I really haven't had a good look in your cupboards but I think you have the makings for tuna sandwiches. Would that be okay? Or would you rather have peanut butter and jelly? Or soup? I think I saw a can of chicken noodle."
"Hey." He reached out and put his hand on her arm, stopping her as she reached for the handle of the refrigerator. "I didn't mean for you to make it for me."
"Oh, that's all right," she said breathlessly, her gaze on his hand. His long, elegant fingers were dark against the paleness of her arm. "I don't mind." She lifted her lashes and looked at him. "Really."
Jack pulled his hand back and stuffed it into his pocket to keep from grabbing her and kissing her senseless. Did she have any idea of what she invited with that sweet, steady look? Any idea at all? "I thought we could go out."
"Out?"
"To a restaurant?" Where there are lots and lots of people around.
"Oh." A restaurant, she thought, a little thrill of excitement thrumming through her as she considered it. She'd never gone to a restaurant with a man before. Never been on a date. Not that this was a date, exactly. Still... "I'm not dressed for going out," she said, gesturing at her jeans and sneakers as proof of her statement.
"This is Los Angeles, Angel." Jack couldn't help it; he let his gaze flicker down the length of her body. "You're dressed just fine."
"But-"
"But nothing. Just take off your apron and let's go. I've been cooped up in this apartment all day and I'm starving." He turned and headed for the front door with every expectation that she would follow him.
And, after a brief moment's hesitation, she did. Whipping off her apron, she tossed it onto the kitchen counter and sprinted after him.
It was a typical Southern California summer day outside. The sky was piercingly blue, the temperature hovered in the mid-eighties, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was a perfect day for strolling hand in hand with your girl. Jack fought the urge to link his fingers with Faith's as they pushed through the wrought iron gate that guarded the Wilshire Arms' courtyard and started up Wilshire Boulevard toward Westwood.
Still, he couldn't resist the temptation to watch her out of the corner of his eye as they made their way down the street. The sidewalks weren't as crowded and colorful as they would have been on a weekend but there was enough diversity among their fellow pedestrians to make a sheltered Southerner's eyes widen.
"I'll bet you haven't been to
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