they followed her in silence, she felt Danny’s broad shoulders moving in silent amusement.
They took their seats, watched the woman walk away, then Danny muttered, “Meow.”
Shaking her head, genuinely embarrassed, she said, “I didn’t mean…”
He held a hand up. “I’m kidding. I know you were talking about our earlier conversation. Just yanking your chain.”
His mischievous expression brought a smile to her lips—the same smile she’d had on her face almost every minute since she’d met him. Well, at least the minutes since he’d admitted he’d found her underwear in her car, and had been amused by it.
She kept smiling as they glanced at the menus. Chuckling as they sipped their drinks. Laughing as they ate their lunch and playfully argued over whether Christian Bale or Michael Keaton had been the better Batman. That was followed by a dozen other get-to-know-you bits of nonsense that didn’t matter but were vitally important just the same.
Important because every word he said, no matter how innocuous, was uttered in that husky male voice and accompanied by that devastatingly attractive smile. And deep down she knew that every damn one of them was a replacement for the conversation they were having in their own minds. Their layer of small talk was a veneer, a thin coating covering up the questions they weren’t asking.
Do you feel it? Am I alone in this? Are we crazy?
With every word, every laugh, every shared glance, every brush of their hands on the table or glance of each other’s mouths, hands, bodies, the heat grew. She knew it by the way his hand lingered when he reached over to pull a wind-blown leaf out of her hair. By the way he shifted in his chair, sliding his foot closer, until their legs brushed under the table. And when he took a plump cherry tomato out of his salad and held it to her lips, it took all her strength of will not to flick her tongue out and take some salt off his skin to flavor it.
They had come here just to “see what happened.” She had no doubt that what had happened was that the chemistry and physical attraction between them had grown so thick she could almost bite into it. By the time they’d finished eating and called for the check, she was ready to lean over the table, grab two fistfuls of his thick hair and drag him in for a hot, wet kiss.
Crazy. He’s a stranger!
Well, not really. Their conversation hadn’t revealed a whole lot. Not even, she realized, their last names. But she knew he was the oldest child from a big family—like her. Knew he had read the latest bestsellers but couldn’t stand Oprah books. Knew he had a ’67 Impala that he treated like a golden carriage. Knew he flexed his right hand once in a while, as if he had an ache in it. Knew he picked the tomatoes out of his salad.
She knew she wanted him. That was the most important thing, the only thing that really mattered to her right now.
Being totally honest, not only was she comfortable going on this man’s boat with him—or just about anywhere else he asked—but she also hoped she’d still be on it tomorrow morning. A quick call to a neighbor who sometimes looked after Brionne, her cat, and she’d be all set. She was probably being totally Mad-Mari about this, but she wanted to have sex with him. Tonight.
Mari had never been the type to have one-night stands, though she’d had one or two affairs that didn’t last much longer than a week. But somehow, even if she was told that there was no way she would ever see Danny again, she wouldn’t care. She wanted a night in his arms. In his bed. Wanted his hands and his mouth and every inch of his skin touching hers. Right or wrong, the past or the future didn’t have anything to do with it. She just wanted. Now.
Besides, if she was really about to dive into her real life—everything she’d been planning for all these years—wasn’t one last fling in order? Why not have one last Mad-Mari romp with a hot, sexy, blue collar guy
They took their seats, watched the woman walk away, then Danny muttered, “Meow.”
Shaking her head, genuinely embarrassed, she said, “I didn’t mean…”
He held a hand up. “I’m kidding. I know you were talking about our earlier conversation. Just yanking your chain.”
His mischievous expression brought a smile to her lips—the same smile she’d had on her face almost every minute since she’d met him. Well, at least the minutes since he’d admitted he’d found her underwear in her car, and had been amused by it.
She kept smiling as they glanced at the menus. Chuckling as they sipped their drinks. Laughing as they ate their lunch and playfully argued over whether Christian Bale or Michael Keaton had been the better Batman. That was followed by a dozen other get-to-know-you bits of nonsense that didn’t matter but were vitally important just the same.
Important because every word he said, no matter how innocuous, was uttered in that husky male voice and accompanied by that devastatingly attractive smile. And deep down she knew that every damn one of them was a replacement for the conversation they were having in their own minds. Their layer of small talk was a veneer, a thin coating covering up the questions they weren’t asking.
Do you feel it? Am I alone in this? Are we crazy?
With every word, every laugh, every shared glance, every brush of their hands on the table or glance of each other’s mouths, hands, bodies, the heat grew. She knew it by the way his hand lingered when he reached over to pull a wind-blown leaf out of her hair. By the way he shifted in his chair, sliding his foot closer, until their legs brushed under the table. And when he took a plump cherry tomato out of his salad and held it to her lips, it took all her strength of will not to flick her tongue out and take some salt off his skin to flavor it.
They had come here just to “see what happened.” She had no doubt that what had happened was that the chemistry and physical attraction between them had grown so thick she could almost bite into it. By the time they’d finished eating and called for the check, she was ready to lean over the table, grab two fistfuls of his thick hair and drag him in for a hot, wet kiss.
Crazy. He’s a stranger!
Well, not really. Their conversation hadn’t revealed a whole lot. Not even, she realized, their last names. But she knew he was the oldest child from a big family—like her. Knew he had read the latest bestsellers but couldn’t stand Oprah books. Knew he had a ’67 Impala that he treated like a golden carriage. Knew he flexed his right hand once in a while, as if he had an ache in it. Knew he picked the tomatoes out of his salad.
She knew she wanted him. That was the most important thing, the only thing that really mattered to her right now.
Being totally honest, not only was she comfortable going on this man’s boat with him—or just about anywhere else he asked—but she also hoped she’d still be on it tomorrow morning. A quick call to a neighbor who sometimes looked after Brionne, her cat, and she’d be all set. She was probably being totally Mad-Mari about this, but she wanted to have sex with him. Tonight.
Mari had never been the type to have one-night stands, though she’d had one or two affairs that didn’t last much longer than a week. But somehow, even if she was told that there was no way she would ever see Danny again, she wouldn’t care. She wanted a night in his arms. In his bed. Wanted his hands and his mouth and every inch of his skin touching hers. Right or wrong, the past or the future didn’t have anything to do with it. She just wanted. Now.
Besides, if she was really about to dive into her real life—everything she’d been planning for all these years—wasn’t one last fling in order? Why not have one last Mad-Mari romp with a hot, sexy, blue collar guy
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