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Marie Harte
She smiled and shook her head. “I’m not a very social person, Gage. I don’t date
much.”
“Why not?” He looked puzzled, and as his stare slowly traveled over her face and
breasts, she felt the temperature in the room rise. “I have a hard time believing you lack
for men.”
“Oh?” She couldn’t help sounding frosty.
He sighed. “What, I offended you for hinting at your beauty? Sue me. Remember,
I’m the one who felt like meat.”
“A walking, prancing hamburger,” she muttered and tucked into the food the waiter
brought.
Gage laughed loudly. “Come on, Hailey. Admit it. You wanted me doused in
ketchup, with you being the bun. Or maybe the pickle?”
“Shut up,” she said, trying not to smile at his joke.
“Or maybe mustard? You’re blonde, and you seem more spicy than sweet. Yeah,
mustard. I like mustard.”
“Anyone ever tell you you talk too much?”
He frowned and looked like he wanted to say more, when suddenly he lifted his fork
and began eating. Silently, stoically.
Taken aback, she paused. “I was just kidding. I like mustard too,” she said softly.
He glanced up, studying her for a moment, then smiled, his grin putting her at ease.
“Good. Because I changed my mind. One dinner’s not going to cover my feeling like a
walking hamburger. I want desert too, at my place. Nothing more,” he said quickly,
forestalling a possible rejection. “Your friend’s across the quad, and if you like, we can
eat it in full view of her place.”
Hailey thought about Faith looking in on her private, intimate time with Gage and
quickly quashed the notion. “No, that’s okay. I suppose I should trust you, considering
you could have turned me in before now.”
He grinned, the sensual twist on his lips making her shift in her chair. Had to be his
