Kane experienced a quick, silent panic that she’d call him Mr. Slater. Which would mean he’d have to do something drastic to remind her that since they’d seen each other naked, last names were just creepy, but then she said, “Kane. How nice to see you.”
Not the most enthusiastic greeting he’d ever received, but the leap of heat in her eyes told a different story.
“I like your office.” He gestured to the scuffed tin poster hanging above her head covered in a stamped advertisement for Jolly Good Doughnuts.
“What? Oh. Yes, well, the room I’ve been given at the Gold Coast is sufficient for sleeping, but it doesn’t provide a large enough desk, or a steady supply of hot coffee. We featured Blue Smoke Coffee in the magazine earlier this year in an article about the new trend in scaled-down coffee bars.”
“Hey, I read that article—I think I even tore it out of the magazine and pinned it to the wall of the tour bus. I had every intention of visiting all the places y’all listed. What are the odds I’d stumble over this one completely at random?”
“I couldn’t say.” Claire narrowed her eyes at him, clearly a bit on the disbelieving side of incredible coincidence.
“My mama always says I was born under a lucky star.” He gave her his best disarming smile and leaned back in the booth, locking his arms behind his head to stop them from reaching for her.
She was just so perfect and whole within herself, with an inner stillness born of knowing exactly who she was and what she wanted. Claire Durand sometimes seemed more like a monument or a statue made of marble and steel than a flesh-and-blood woman.
But Kane knew she was made of silky smooth flesh, and that she was hot-blooded through and through. He’d had that firm, creamy skin of hers under his hands, his mouth. He’d tasted it.
The contrast between the Claire in his head, how she’d been that night, and the Claire sitting straight-shouldered and distant across from him made Kane’s head spin harder than a shot of espresso on an empty stomach.
“Anyway,” Kane barreled ahead. “I would’ve thought you’d be a-okay with running into me here … off the competition site, away from everyone who knows us.” He spread his arms along the back of the booth. “There’s no one here to care if I get inappropriate.”
He waggled his eyebrows to take the edge off his words, but the unhappy curve of Claire’s mouth told him he’d failed. “Kane … all I asked was that you be a bit more … circumspect. More aware of our surroundings. This is not a vacation from my real job—this is an enormous and highly visible part of my real job. I can’t be seen as one of your … what is the word? Groupies.”
Stung, Kane dropped his elbows to the table and leaned in. “Okay, A? You’re not a groupie. Nobody in their right mind would mistake you for one. And two, that’s not totally accurate.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you don’t take your duties as a judge of the RSC seriously. But it is not your career, Kane.”
He winced. “Uh, no … actually, that part was pretty accurate. And I see your point. I do. But you didn’t just ask me to be circumspect. You asked for time. Apart. And that’s hard for me.”
The raw honesty in his voice must have gotten through to her, because everything about her softened, from the line of her shoulders to the look in her eyes.
Reaching a slim hand across the table, Claire let her fingertips rest gently on his rigid wrist. “It’s hard for me, too. I have missed you.”
Kane could relate. After that first night together in New York, followed by weeks of banter, flirting, kissing, and making love across the country as the judges traveled to the other regional finals to pick the teams from the Midwest, South, Southwest, and West Coast, Claire’s request to cool things down once the actual competition began had come as a
Not the most enthusiastic greeting he’d ever received, but the leap of heat in her eyes told a different story.
“I like your office.” He gestured to the scuffed tin poster hanging above her head covered in a stamped advertisement for Jolly Good Doughnuts.
“What? Oh. Yes, well, the room I’ve been given at the Gold Coast is sufficient for sleeping, but it doesn’t provide a large enough desk, or a steady supply of hot coffee. We featured Blue Smoke Coffee in the magazine earlier this year in an article about the new trend in scaled-down coffee bars.”
“Hey, I read that article—I think I even tore it out of the magazine and pinned it to the wall of the tour bus. I had every intention of visiting all the places y’all listed. What are the odds I’d stumble over this one completely at random?”
“I couldn’t say.” Claire narrowed her eyes at him, clearly a bit on the disbelieving side of incredible coincidence.
“My mama always says I was born under a lucky star.” He gave her his best disarming smile and leaned back in the booth, locking his arms behind his head to stop them from reaching for her.
She was just so perfect and whole within herself, with an inner stillness born of knowing exactly who she was and what she wanted. Claire Durand sometimes seemed more like a monument or a statue made of marble and steel than a flesh-and-blood woman.
But Kane knew she was made of silky smooth flesh, and that she was hot-blooded through and through. He’d had that firm, creamy skin of hers under his hands, his mouth. He’d tasted it.
The contrast between the Claire in his head, how she’d been that night, and the Claire sitting straight-shouldered and distant across from him made Kane’s head spin harder than a shot of espresso on an empty stomach.
“Anyway,” Kane barreled ahead. “I would’ve thought you’d be a-okay with running into me here … off the competition site, away from everyone who knows us.” He spread his arms along the back of the booth. “There’s no one here to care if I get inappropriate.”
He waggled his eyebrows to take the edge off his words, but the unhappy curve of Claire’s mouth told him he’d failed. “Kane … all I asked was that you be a bit more … circumspect. More aware of our surroundings. This is not a vacation from my real job—this is an enormous and highly visible part of my real job. I can’t be seen as one of your … what is the word? Groupies.”
Stung, Kane dropped his elbows to the table and leaned in. “Okay, A? You’re not a groupie. Nobody in their right mind would mistake you for one. And two, that’s not totally accurate.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you don’t take your duties as a judge of the RSC seriously. But it is not your career, Kane.”
He winced. “Uh, no … actually, that part was pretty accurate. And I see your point. I do. But you didn’t just ask me to be circumspect. You asked for time. Apart. And that’s hard for me.”
The raw honesty in his voice must have gotten through to her, because everything about her softened, from the line of her shoulders to the look in her eyes.
Reaching a slim hand across the table, Claire let her fingertips rest gently on his rigid wrist. “It’s hard for me, too. I have missed you.”
Kane could relate. After that first night together in New York, followed by weeks of banter, flirting, kissing, and making love across the country as the judges traveled to the other regional finals to pick the teams from the Midwest, South, Southwest, and West Coast, Claire’s request to cool things down once the actual competition began had come as a
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