Chapter 5 #4
He was a good-looking man, but she’d enjoyed his company far more than she expected to.
Bottom line: he intrigued her. But getting a drink with a hot man she was fiercely attracted to was upping the stakes and it wasn’t a smart move.
It was better to keep her distance, so she would be strong, and clever, eminently sensible.
What excuse should she use? That Luna was expecting her?
She had a video call scheduled with a client?
She’d promised herself an early night? She already had a date?
“That sounds good,” she said.
Brilliant, Dunlop. Excellent work.
Then she looked down and saw what she was wearing. “Ugh, I can’t go out like this,” she said, plucking her shirt away from her chest.
Dane stood up, and Wren followed him to her feet. “What if we went home, showered, and met up again later? It’s just after six now … what about eight at…” He trailed off, and lifted his big, broad hands. “Your town, your choice.”
Wren picked up her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and collected her cooler bag. “Well, there’s Boojee. It’s upmarket and serves awesome cocktails, leans into the paranormal, but it’s probably filled with tourists on Friday night—”
“No thanks.”
“I thought you believed in ghosts,” she teased.
His eyes warmed, and the lines at the corners crinkled. “I said that I was open to possibilities,” he replied. “Let’s pass on Boo-whatever.”
“Then there’s Banshees, gothic with flickering sconces and supposedly haunted portraits—”
“Hard pass.”
She grinned, knowing they only had one option left, the place where she wanted to go the moment he’d first suggested getting a drink.
“Then I’ll meet you at The Bar at eight.
Wood-paneled walls, vintage beer signs, and a place where no ghost talk is allowed.
The only spirit Jasper believes in is Jack. ”
“Sounds good.” He walked with her to the door, stepping back to let her go through first. “I’ll meet you there at eight,” he told her, when they stepped into the sunshine of the early summer evening.
Wren nodded and was about to walk to her car when Dane quietly called her name, making her stop and turn.
“You were wrong, you know,” he said, his words just loud enough to reach her.
She pushed her hair off her forehead. “About what?”
He took a few steps toward her and stopped when his trainers almost touched her feet; so close that if she inhaled, her breasts would skim his chest. She really, really wanted to take a deep breath.
Underneath his deodorant, she could smell his perspiration, clean and somehow sweet. She wanted to push his damp hair off his forehead, and wondered if he even knew he’d raised a sweat from attempting to dance.
Then she made the mistake of lifting her eyes and allowing her gaze to meet his eyes, immediately sucked into their force field. How could he pull her in by just looking at her? What dark magic was this?
Not that she believed in magic. Anyway, moving on…
His hand brushed hers, slow and deliberate—and she knew it wasn’t a mistake, the result of being too close.
His fingers hooked around hers, and her pulse spiked, scattering in all directions at once.
His eyes dropped to her mouth, and she held her breath, waited for him to close the last inch between their lips…
His eyes caught hers, suddenly deeper, suddenly serious, as if he was trying to read her, trying to work out her reaction.
Good God, he was going to kiss her. And she was absolutely up for it.
She handed him the tiniest nods, a quick yes, please, and when his eyes crinkled, just fractionally, she knew he’d received her oblique message.
The world narrowed, then faded, the sounds of H-Town muffled.
Her heartbeat was the powerful, strong, sharp beat of a rock song.
“I did have fun earlier,” he quietly stated. “When I was watching you.”
Okay, cool. Whatever. Kiss me now. Please.
And then, impossibly, the lips that had been heading for hers hovered without making contact, dangerously close but not close enough.
What? Why did he stop? Wren froze, caught between anticipation and frustration.
He didn’t pull away, but neither did he close the gap. Aargh, what was she supposed to do now?
Her fingers tightened around his, absolutely aware that her every nerve ending was on fire.
When he finally blinked and pulled back, just a little, his lips lifted and he handed her a soft, sexy half-smile.
Wren, her heart hammering, glared at him, uncomfortable with the combination of panties-on-fire attraction, kiss-me-quick frustration and a healthy dose of irritation.
“Wren, you wreck me,” he said, low, teasing and dangerous, “I’ll see you later, okay?”
He stepped back, leaving Wren feeling a little dizzy, her pulse racing and a dozen unformed questions on her lips.
She watched him walk away, heat moving like molasses through her body.
Was he playing hard to get? Or teasing her with a dose of delayed gratification?
Or was she, highly possible, reading far too much into this?
She swallowed her laugh. Either way, he was damn good at this. Whatever this was.