me a bravado that doesn't feel false. I take in everything without shame. Though we're formal, he hasn’t shaved. His hair is short on the sides and longish on the top. A natural wave sweeps it off a low forehead. The flame of his hair burns a deep bronze above eyes that are almost too large for a man's face.
No female alive would mistake Jared McKenna for anything but male. His broad shoulders anchor our table, his biceps stretching the dark navy suit. His crisp white shirt is a blazing star beneath his dusky complexion. I think of how calloused those strong hands are.
“You're blushing,” he comments softly, and I nod. Mick studies me and I don't look away. Still brave. Finally he lets his hands drop to the table draped in fine linen. “You don't seem embarrassed.”
I shake my head. I’m not blushing from shame; it's the effect he has on me. I've never felt arousal, and now it's here to stay because of Mick.
It's in the beating of my heart, the ache between my legs. My nipples are sharp pebbles beneath the lightweight material of my shimmery dress.
It's all... and nothing.
“Then what are you, Miss Mitchell?” Mick asks in soft inquiry.
“I'm not a game to be conquered,” I say. Though I’m not being honest.
Jared makes a purr of contentment deep in his throat and leans back. The waiter comes in and asks what I'd like to drink.
“Whatever he’s having,” I reply. I know that McKenna has some agenda and is accustomed to seeing his pushed through.
He orders a bottle of wine I've never heard of and smiles at me, the dimple in his chin flattening.
But he knows nothing. What Mick senses as contrary simply is what it is. I'm not playing hard to get, I'm simply calling out the shots of whatever this is. I don't have time to play metaphorical chess with him. I have patients to help and dances to grind through to get my mom in a place where I won't have to worry.
In all that, I can't lie to myself and say I don't want what he offers. McKenna doesn't have to know about me. He won't care anyway. A man like him can have anyone he wants.
The wine comes, and he swirls his sample around, stealing a breath from the top. After McKenna’s imperceptible nod, the waiter fills the glass the rest of the way and leaves to give us time to drink without ordering right away.
I look away from Jared for the first time that evening and gaze into the black velvet view. The sky is sprinkled with stars, some of their glory stolen by the lights of the city. The slowly spinning top of the Space Needle gives us bites of the beautiful city in appetizer-sized chunks.
“I'm not playing a game,” Mick says.
I turn back to him, shaking my head. “I don't think so... Mick.” I gather up my courage. “You're not guilty. You're a rich guy. Really rich.” His smile fades, and I almost feel bad about what I'm going to say. “You can have any woman, and a lot of them will say yes because of what you are rather than who.”
He nods, but his face takes on a grim edge.
“I don't care about your money.” I've never meant anything more.
He sees it and can't hide his surprise. “I believe you. I don't know why... but you're different than the others.” He takes an unhurried sip of wine, his eyes gleaming at me over the crystal rim.
“Than the others?”
He spreads his large hands away from his body. “I didn't mean there's been a bevy of women.”
My eyes lift to his.
He has the grace to look embarrassed. “There have been other women, of course.”
“Yes, I'm aware.” I mean, look at him!
“There's nothing I can do to not be what I am. I'll never meet anyone on equal footing.”
“Well tonight's your lucky night.”
His brows shoot to his hairline. When the waiter returns, Mick’s hard glance makes him meld into the background again. I don't try to hide my smile. Mick’s is sure of people's acquiescence. It's kind of disturbing. But I'm so off-kilter I can roll with whatever this strange night throws my
No female alive would mistake Jared McKenna for anything but male. His broad shoulders anchor our table, his biceps stretching the dark navy suit. His crisp white shirt is a blazing star beneath his dusky complexion. I think of how calloused those strong hands are.
“You're blushing,” he comments softly, and I nod. Mick studies me and I don't look away. Still brave. Finally he lets his hands drop to the table draped in fine linen. “You don't seem embarrassed.”
I shake my head. I’m not blushing from shame; it's the effect he has on me. I've never felt arousal, and now it's here to stay because of Mick.
It's in the beating of my heart, the ache between my legs. My nipples are sharp pebbles beneath the lightweight material of my shimmery dress.
It's all... and nothing.
“Then what are you, Miss Mitchell?” Mick asks in soft inquiry.
“I'm not a game to be conquered,” I say. Though I’m not being honest.
Jared makes a purr of contentment deep in his throat and leans back. The waiter comes in and asks what I'd like to drink.
“Whatever he’s having,” I reply. I know that McKenna has some agenda and is accustomed to seeing his pushed through.
He orders a bottle of wine I've never heard of and smiles at me, the dimple in his chin flattening.
But he knows nothing. What Mick senses as contrary simply is what it is. I'm not playing hard to get, I'm simply calling out the shots of whatever this is. I don't have time to play metaphorical chess with him. I have patients to help and dances to grind through to get my mom in a place where I won't have to worry.
In all that, I can't lie to myself and say I don't want what he offers. McKenna doesn't have to know about me. He won't care anyway. A man like him can have anyone he wants.
The wine comes, and he swirls his sample around, stealing a breath from the top. After McKenna’s imperceptible nod, the waiter fills the glass the rest of the way and leaves to give us time to drink without ordering right away.
I look away from Jared for the first time that evening and gaze into the black velvet view. The sky is sprinkled with stars, some of their glory stolen by the lights of the city. The slowly spinning top of the Space Needle gives us bites of the beautiful city in appetizer-sized chunks.
“I'm not playing a game,” Mick says.
I turn back to him, shaking my head. “I don't think so... Mick.” I gather up my courage. “You're not guilty. You're a rich guy. Really rich.” His smile fades, and I almost feel bad about what I'm going to say. “You can have any woman, and a lot of them will say yes because of what you are rather than who.”
He nods, but his face takes on a grim edge.
“I don't care about your money.” I've never meant anything more.
He sees it and can't hide his surprise. “I believe you. I don't know why... but you're different than the others.” He takes an unhurried sip of wine, his eyes gleaming at me over the crystal rim.
“Than the others?”
He spreads his large hands away from his body. “I didn't mean there's been a bevy of women.”
My eyes lift to his.
He has the grace to look embarrassed. “There have been other women, of course.”
“Yes, I'm aware.” I mean, look at him!
“There's nothing I can do to not be what I am. I'll never meet anyone on equal footing.”
“Well tonight's your lucky night.”
His brows shoot to his hairline. When the waiter returns, Mick’s hard glance makes him meld into the background again. I don't try to hide my smile. Mick’s is sure of people's acquiescence. It's kind of disturbing. But I'm so off-kilter I can roll with whatever this strange night throws my
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