When she reached up past him to pull a jar of sesame seeds from the cupboard, he slipped his free hand around her waist and pulled her up against him.
“And what else?” he murmured, tasting her lips, savoring the hint of wine on them.
A ginger-and-garlic-scented hand reached up to stroke his cheek as she kissed him back. “Foot fungus,” she gasped a laugh against his mouth and he smiled too.
“How appropriate, since I ran out of foot powder yesterday. Aren’t you sweet—always thinking of me.”
She chuckled against his mouth, then dropped her voice low and dusky. “Sexual stimulation.”
She started to pull away, but he held her tightly with the one hand. “What? Should I be offended that you think we’re in need of help in that area?” He tasted her mouth again—delicious with wine and warmth and Fiona. “And I knowyoucertainly don’t need any help in that area. Unless…” some of the teasing note crept from his voice as a bit of insecurity wafted in, “you do need it.”
“Oh,Gideon.” Laughter lit her eyes, and he felt better—and foolish for his moment of nerves. “You know better than that.”
“Just kidding,” he said, smiling. He released her and she slipped away to continue making their dinner.
But all the rest of the evening, all during the wonderful meal of broiled tuna steaks with spicy Asian noodles, sesame seeds, and green beans sautéed in garlic and ginger, and even that night as he tenderly undressed her and made her cry and keen with passion, he wondered.
And then he wondered why he’d worried so.
Everything was fine.
Fifteen
“So,what about that new Thai restaurant in Grand Rapids for dinner tonight?” Gideon spoke into the phone as he scrolled through his latest batch of email. “That new one over by the river? One of the guys at the gym said it was great.” Another email from Gordon Borowy? Did that man ever let up?
“Oh, no thanks,” Fiona replied.
“All right. Well, we could just stay in, make something at my place. I saw some great-looking crab legs at the market yesterday. How about surf and turf? I’ll do the turf, you do the surf? You can pick up some wine—if you don’t mind driving up my way.” He opened another email, scanned it, and deleted it. Then, he froze as her words sunk in.
“I have plans tonight,” she was saying casually…very casually.
“Oh.” He paused then asked, “Well, are you going to be late? I could come by afterward. I don’t mind driving down there. Unless you’re going to be up this way.”
There was a short silence, then she replied steadily. “I’m not sure how late I’ll be—but, anyway, Gideon, I think I’m just going to head home afterward.”
He let out a long breath—silently so that she wouldn’t hear—and told himself to ignore the unease rising in him.
It was, after all, Friday night.
Maybe her brother was in town. He fought the urge to ask, to reassure himself…and he won. “All right, then, darling,” he said with forced casualness. “Have a good time tonight, whatever you’re up to, and I’ll talk with you tomorrow.”
There was obvious relief in her voice when she replied. “You too, Gideon. Good-bye.”
He placed the phone deliberately back on its cradle and swiped a hand over his hair.
Dammit. He shouldn’t be surprised. Hewasn’tsurprised. But that didn’t ease his apprehension. Was this her way of putting space between them? Was this how she was going to blow him off? Or was he just making a big deal about nothing?
Why should it bother him that she’d made other plans? It didn’t…except that she’d waited until he called to tell him. Almost as though she’d wanted to catch him off-guard. Gideon felt his mouth tighten and his shoulders tense.
Then, practicality swept over him and he forced the tension away. Fiona was the most guileless person he knew. She probably didn’t know the meaning of the word manipulation. And, besides, it was only one night. The first night they hadn’t seen each other since the attack on Fiona two weeks ago.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. He did. It was just that he’d been looking forward to—expecting—to see her all day…and now he was just disappointed.
With a frown, he gamely returned his attention to the latest barrage of emails from Gordon Borowy.
* * *
Fiona set the shop’s phone on its cradle with a flourish of satisfaction. That had been easier than she’d expected. Perhaps it had been too easy. Perhaps she was making a mountain out of a molehill. Perhaps—
