Chapter Eighteen
Paul stared at the glass of water she’d abandoned, and considered dumping it over his head.
Maybe he should dump it in his lap. That was where he really needed it.
Instead of pouring the water on his overheated body, he drank it in greedy gulps.
He felt like he was in some kind of farce.
The moment he’d seen her outfit, he’d known he was in for trouble.
The style might have been elegant on a less curvaceous woman.
On Vanessa, it was howl-at-the-moon sexy.
Its plunging neckline put her full breasts on glorious display.
The red fabric draped over her like gauze, filmy and insubstantial.
He’d been half aroused all evening, wondering what she was wearing underneath it.
If that wasn’t torture enough, she’d downed two dirty martinis, nibbled on a salad, and started grilling him about bunnies.
When she’d guessed the truth about Gwen, he’d expected her to walk out on him.
He would have understood getting dumped on the spot.
Instead, she’d fellated a strawberry and invited him to fuck her.
It was a tease. She’d given him a raging hard-on on purpose, to prevent him from following her. She’d probably called a cab and ditched him.
Even if it wasn’t a tease, he could not fuck her. Not in public, and not in her current state. She was angry, emotional, and inebriated. She might not be falling-down drunk, but she was over the legal limit.
He wouldn’t have sex with her in the parking lot, regardless. It wasn’t his style, and he was supposed to be laying low, not getting arrested for lewd behavior. He shouldn’t even be out on a date with a woman like Vanessa, who drew attention like moths to flame.
When his erection settled into half-mast, he rose from the table. He’d already paid the check and waved away the waitress, who’d offered to box up the cheesecake.
He found Vanessa waiting by the passenger side of his truck.
She was bent forward, checking her appearance in the side mirror.
She straightened at his arrival. He unlocked the door and opened it for her.
She didn’t climb in. With a humming sound, she resumed the torture she’d started earlier.
Slipping her arms around his neck, she pressed her body against his and twisted her fingers in his hair.
“You didn’t hurry.”
“Get in the truck. Please.”
She trailed kisses along his jaw. “You’re so tense. Are you uncomfortable?”
He turned his head to the side and tried to ignore the riot of sensations she created. Her breasts brushed his chest. When her hand slid between them, his blood surged with fresh arousal. His cock stiffened against her palm.
“Oh my,” she said, her mouth making a soft moue as she molded her fingers around him. “This is a big problem.”
Before he could anticipate her next move, she dropped to her knees right there in the parking lot.
Paul groaned at the sight. She was shielded by his body and the truck door, so a random passerby might not be able to see what she was doing—but they would know what she was doing. The position was unmistakable.
While he scanned the area for onlookers, her nimble fingers danced across his fly, unbuttoning him quickly.
Paul didn’t want to turn her down, but he couldn’t allow her to continue.
This was a busy parking lot at a family restaurant.
If he didn’t put an end to this encounter, they were going to get caught.
He captured her wandering hands and held them still.
Instead of attempting to reason with her, he lifted her to her feet and covered her mouth with his.
He kissed her with frustration and longing, with tenderness and passion.
She kissed him back, sort of woodenly. She tasted like strawberries and vodka and something deeper, like sorrow.
Damn it.
He broke the kiss, braced his hands on her waist and boosted her into the passenger seat.
She went without a fight, her skirt floating around her thighs.
He gathered the frothy fabric to make sure it didn’t get slammed in the door.
Then he closed it gently and buttoned his fly as he approached the driver’s side.
Jesus. What a crazy first date.
They didn’t speak as he drove to the cabin.
His instincts told him she wouldn’t be as amorous in a private setting.
He didn’t know what to make of her behavior.
She had a strange way of showing her disapproval about his affair with Gwen.
What the hell had the bartender put in those martinis?
Maybe the combination of strong spirits and post-divorce stress had turned her into a girl gone wild.
She’d seemed determined to prove that she wasn’t interested in a relationship.
Paul’s gut twisted with regret. He hated her ex-husband for trampling her self-esteem. He also hated Kyle for stirring up shit. He hated himself for inventing a term like bunny, and for every other bad choice he’d made.
He couldn’t go back in time and avoid an affair with Gwen.
It had been a mistake, rooted in his desire to stay unattached.
Paul hadn’t broken any vows, but he wasn’t innocent.
He’d cheated with her, rather than on her.
He hadn’t learned from his mistakes, either.
Here he was, pursuing another woman he shouldn’t have.
Like his affair with Gwen, the fling with Vanessa wouldn’t end well.
He should have kept his distance. He shouldn’t have gone out with her tonight.
Kyle had warned him not to get distracted and he hadn’t listened.
Paul had insisted he wasn’t thinking with his dick, but he was. Worse, he was thinking with his heart.
He glanced at Vanessa, who hadn’t said a word since they’d left the parking lot. She’d been quieter than usual at the restaurant, now that he thought about it. Maybe she’d been upset before he picked her up.
“Are you getting along with your father?” he asked.
“Not really.”
“He’s protective of you.”
“Let’s not do this.”
“Do what?”
She gestured between them. “Share things. I bet your married girlfriend didn’t ask about your family. She didn’t even visit you in the hospital. Then again, why would she? You were just a side piece.”
Paul tightened his hands around the steering wheel. “You’re right.”
“About what?”
“I shouldn’t have expected her to visit. I meant nothing to her. To be honest, she didn’t mean much to me, either. But I still wanted someone to be there.” He glanced her direction. “Someone other than Kyle.”
She smiled at his wry tone. “And his ex-wife?”
“How do you know about that?”
“I overheard it.”
Allison had brought the boys to see him.
They’d remained friendly through the divorce, but there were no romantic feelings between them.
Paul, unlike Kyle, had some standards. “I’ve been told that near-death experiences can change people, make you reevaluate your life choices. That’s what it did for me.”
She gave him a measured look and fell silent again. Before tonight, she hadn’t shied away from personal questions. They’d shared plenty, at her insistence. Now she was putting the brakes on an emotional connection. He didn’t know what she wanted from him, other than a hot time in the parking lot.
Five minutes later, they were back at the cabin. He parked in the available space. She didn’t wait for him to open the door for her. Nor did she take his hand as she climbed out. Refusing it, she strode toward the cabin, stumbled in her spike heels, and almost fell.
Paul sighed, shaking his head. He swept her off her feet, with a wince at the twinge in his shoulder, and carried her the rest of the way.
She draped her arms around his neck, complacent. “I guess I’m a little tipsy.”
He grunted an agreement.
“It’s so weird. I had a giant margarita the other night and I was fine.”
“Did you eat a meal with it?”
“Yes.”
“There you go,” he said as he deposited her by the door. “Tonight you had three bites of salad and a strawberry.”
“Bunny food,” she murmured.
He gestured for her purse, which she handed over. He found her key to unlock the door. As soon as they were inside, he drew her into his arms again. “You know what I’ve decided?” he asked her.
“What?”
“I like bunnies,” he said, and kissed her.
She responded languidly, dreamily. She swayed against him, unsteady on her feet.
He broke the kiss and led her toward the couch, where he urged her to sit. “Let me get you a glass of water.”
She flopped down on the cushions. “Why don’t you take me to bed?”
“I think you should eat something first.”
The bodice of her dress shifted to reveal half a nipple. She pouted, but didn’t argue.
After he gave her a glass of cold water, he searched the contents of the fridge. “How about a quesadilla?”
She fumbled with the straps of her sandals. “Sure.”
He heated a plate, tossed a tortilla and shredded cheese on it, and added a smattering of chopped peppers.
She changed into a pair of soft shorts and a T-shirt.
He brought the finished product to the couch.
She made a sound of appreciation as she bit into the spicy, late-night snack.
Paul grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl and joined her.
“Why did you let me order a second martini?” she asked.
“I didn’t want to ruin your fun.”
“I was trying to be sexy.”
He peeled the orange. “You succeeded.”
“Did I embarrass you?”
“Hell no.”
She gave him a skeptical look.
“I was aroused, not embarrassed. If you’d started dancing on the table, or doing cartwheels with no panties on, I might have felt differently.”
She munched on her quesadilla and didn’t argue. He handed her an orange slice, which she accepted. Then they snuggled up together to watch an old movie. She rested her head on his shoulder. He tucked an arm around her waist. It was perfect. Somehow more perfect than edgy, semi-public sex.