Chapter 20
Jameson acts completely normal again after his admission in the car, but every now and then I catch a twinkle in his eye, like he knows he has me swooning and he’s enjoying every minute of it. I guess we’re not going to talk about that again, though. For now, anyway.
“Okay, so let’s talk about the real reason you got me here,” I say after we get our drinks.
It’s been mostly standard small talk since we sat down.
I wouldn’t call this restaurant the nicest place in the world, but for our town, it’s pretty good.
The ambiance is dark and—dare I say—romantic.
A fake candle flickers on the table, illuminating his eyes in a very knee-weakening way.
“You said you found out some new information?”
He raises one eyebrow, his face remaining stoic, but he still has that sparkle in his eye. “Is that the real reason?”
“Yes?”
“If you say so. Yes. So, as I told you, I have a guy digging deeper.”
“Like a private investigator?”
“Sort of.” He takes a drink of water, and I shamelessly watch every subtle movement of his lean, toned muscles.
He’s got that perfect balance. Not overly bulky like a gym rat, but strong enough to toss me around…
if he ever had a need for such a thing. When he sets the glass down, I know he catches me staring, because his eyes lock on mine with a heat that forces me to shift in my seat and cross my legs.
I grab my own glass and take a sip.
“Anyway,” he continues, pulling me back to the conversation.
“My guy found an old newspaper article. It was more detailed than anything we’ve found online.
It was published a few weeks after her disappearance and included reports from several people who claimed they’d seen a different, unknown man around her in the weeks or possibly months before she went missing. ”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You’re kidding. So maybe it wasn’t the husband? Maybe she had a mystery stalker? A serial killer, perhaps?” Chills run down my spine at the thought.
“Maybe. Or maybe she was having an affair and the husband got pissed and ended them both? The mystery man never came forward afterward…So where did he go?”
“Maybe he didn’t want to look guilty, so he took off.”
“Who knows,” Jameson says thoughtfully. I love how invested he’s becoming in this too.
“Well…” I say slowly. An idea forming. “There is someone who might know.”
“Who?” Intrigue lights his face, softened by a note of caution.
“There was an article—an interview with one of the victim’s friends. She insisted the husband was bad news. I wrote down her name, but then I got busy. I’m going to try to track her down.”
“Hmmm. Send me the article and the name. I’ll see what he can find. Maybe she knows more.”
“No, no. Let me try first. This is fun for me. Keeps me busy.”
“Whatever you want,” he says low and steady with a smirk.
I smile at him.
“What?”
“Are we like…teaming up to solve a half-a-century-old mystery?”
He chuckles, crossing his arms and looking down for a moment. He still has a thick, full head of hair. “I mean, how can we turn away now?”
“Exactly.”
Our food arrives and I realize I’m not all that hungry, but I force myself to eat some anyway. “So, you said you were CEO. What happened? Did you just quit? Can you even do that as a CEO?”
He sighs, his expression turning neutral. “I was tired of working with a bunch of old assholes.”
I blink at him as the corner of his lip curls up and he chuckles. Something tells me there’s more truth in that line than he wants to admit.
“I’m kidding. Kind of. I quit cold turkey. And it’s taken longer than I hoped to tie up all the loose ends. I’m trying to wipe my hands completely clean of that world. Just last week I had to go meet some people to sign off on a few more legal documents. It’s almost done now though.”
“So what you’re telling me is…you’re unemployed.”
Jameson huffs out a laugh, surprised but amused. “Basically.”
“Hmmm.”
“Don’t worry,” he holds out a hand. “I can still pay for this meal.”
Oh, I know he can. I just showed him a ten-million-dollar home last week.
The rest of dinner is filled with more playful flirting and heavy eye contact. Maybe it even kicks up more. We don’t talk about the murder or real estate again. He asks me more about my life and I ask about his. Everything I learn just makes me want him more.
That’s right. I want him. No denying it anymore. And I can finally admit to myself that for whatever unknown reason, he’s into me too. Though I don’t know exactly what his intentions are.
After dessert—a tiramisu that could make even a nun moan—he leads us outside, holding the door for me.
A chilly autumn breeze greets us, but I slow anyway.
“You know…” I say slowly, crossing my arms and looking at the ground beside his vehicle, nudging a dry leaf with my shoe. The restaurant speakers outside hum softly with Linger by the Cranberries, and it feels cheesy as hell, but I also love this song.
“Spit it out.” He’s smiling down at me in a way that tells me this date is ending with at least a kiss. Minimum. My stomach flips.
“You really could have told me that little detail you found out over the phone,” I tease.
He sighs. “Yeah. But then I would have missed out on that story about the worst pickup line ever.” He grins, remembering how hard he laughed at my dessert anecdote.
“That would’ve been a shame.”
His eyes grow heavier as his smile falls. I can’t stop staring at his parted lips, wondering what they’d feel like against mine—or other places.
“I also would’ve missed out on seeing you in this outfit,” he murmurs, his hand brushing lightly against my waist. His thumb traces slow circles with a pressure so soft, it sends shivers don’t my back.
His other hand braces on the car, boxing me in.
“And I’d have missed out on smelling that delicious scent of yours that I’m hoping lingers in my rental car for days.
” He leans closer, his minty breath warm against my ear.
“And that smile…the one that drives me mad, because all I can think about is tasting those pouty lips.”
I can’t take it anymore. I’m a puddle. No, I’m floating in a puddle, my body weightless. I don’t even know which one it is.
I tilt my head back so our noses are almost touching.
Our eyes meet and there’s so much heat between us I no longer notice the cold breeze.
When my gaze flicks down to his mouth, he doesn’t hesitate.
His grip tightens at my waist as he pulls me into a kiss.
His other hand cradles the back of my neck as he tilts my head back to give himself full access to what he wants, his lips claiming mine with a passionate, possessive, and fiery kiss.
It's so much better than I imagined. Our mouths mold together perfectly, and when he parts his lips to taste more of me, I feel like I can’t breathe. I release a breathy moan, and his fingers dig deeper into my waist in response.
I wrap my arms around him, gripping his lean muscles through his soft shirt. My breaths come fast and uneven.
And then I stop and pull back. His eyes are heavy-lidded, searching mine in silence.
“We’re kind of directly in front of the restaurant,” I manage, breathless. I take a deep breath. “In my small town. Where you’re practically guaranteed to run into someone you know.
“Are you ashamed of me?” he teases.
I give him an exaggerated once-over, pretending to think it through. He holds his hands out, palms up, happy to be assessed.
“Definitely not.”
“I’ll take you home, then?”
I certainly don’t want to go home right now, but I’ve got no better suggestion. “Okay,” I nod.
He opens the door and waits as I climb in, and his gaze lingers before he closes it. Once he does, I’m left remembering his words about hoping my scent lingers in his car. My stomach flutters, and the way his eyes burned into mine is already etched deep in my memory.