Unrestrained by Joey W. Hill Page B

I’ll call him and tell him it’s okay. If you change your mind and decide not to come to my home for lunch, I understand, but I hope you’ll let me take you out to lunch or dinner one day. You might have been doing what your code of honor dictates, but my gratitude—and my own sense of honor—needs to be satisfied as well.”
    The blue color of his eyes intensified when he smiled, the green becoming more vibrant, the gold ring around the irises more rich. She could devote hours to studying his eyes, or watching him pot plants. She imagined him transplanting the young seedlings once they sprouted, handling them so tenderly. She thought about the way he’d touched Willow’s arm, the gentle power to it. Despite his teasing, she had nothing to fear from him. Not like she had from those men last night. His danger to her was a far more personal thing.
    She was a lamb, inviting the lion into her pasture while she lay down and waited to see what he would do. She liked the feeling. It made her anxious, too. Once she was back in her car, on her way home, would she doubt herself? Think she’d blown the whole situation out of control, misrepresented herself?
    He tore a sheet off a notepad he had mounted on the wall, and plucked a pencil out of an old coffee mug on the bench. Scribbling down a phone number, he folded it over and extended it, holding it between two knuckles. “This is my cell, if you need to change the when and where.”
    Maybe he recognized her thought process. He’d just given her a tentative out. She could take him to a nice restaurant, order a good wine, and make sure she had commitments later in the afternoon to keep it a limited, one-time engagement. She’d see him at the club in a month or so. That would be a sufficient lapse to restore a proper perspective. Then, if she still felt the way she felt now . . .
    “Three p.m. at my place on Friday,” she confirmed. “I’ll leave my cell number on your kitchen table, in case you have a change of plans.”
    He nodded. “I’ll look forward to it. If the conversation you want to have with me goes the way I expect, I assume I’ll be doing more of the telling from that point on.”
    His voice was a quiet rumble, but she’d been right about the cuffs on Willow’s arms being unnecessary. His words and his gaze alone effectively pinioned her in place. The small room became exponentially smaller, cinching around her with that heated promise. She was feeling too much, too fast.
    He stepped forward. The T-shirt she was wearing had a pocket, and he slid the piece of paper she hadn’t yet taken from him into the narrow space. Since the pocket lay over the crest of her breast, she shivered when the paper’s edge teased her nipple, even beneath the thin cushion of her bra. As she drew in a breath, her right breast rose against the side of his hand. She hadn’t intended that, but he tilted his head to look. His other hand touched her waist, sliding up to capture the left breast, weighing it in his palm. She had fairly sizeable breasts for her frame, something Roy had enjoyed immensely, and the pleasure that came into Dale’s expression as he captured one in his strong grip made everything in her liquefy.
    “Lovely,” he said. “Keep the T-shirt. I like the way you look in it.” Then he stepped back, fingers whispering away from the cotton. Her flesh yearned, but she managed not to totter toward him. Instead, she gave him what she hoped was a calm nod as she picked up the coffee once more, moved toward the door. Placing her hand on the screen, she glanced back at him.
    “You know, I could be a serial killer myself. I might have all sorts of weapons. Guns, a grenade launcher.”
    “A grenade launcher? Cool. I’d accept the lunch invitation for that alone.” He winked at her.
    She shook her head at him. “I knew you’d been in the military. Which branch?”
    “Anything with testosterone loves a grenade launcher,” he corrected her. “What’s not to