I leaned forward and practically hissed my next words. “Refer tothat…incident. It never happened and will never be mentioned again.”
He grinned, slow and sexy. “You don’t want me to mention your unmentionables?”
“Yes! No! Argh!” I took a deep breath in an attempt to get myself unflustered. “That’s correct,” I said more calmly, and maybe a little primly. “Never again. Is that clear?”
“Crystal clear.” He picked up a fry from his plate. “In fact, as transparent as that sheer fuchsia number that—”
I lunged across the table to cover his mouth with my hand, nearly knocking over his drink. “Shush!”
My eyes locked with his, and my heart thumped. I was close enough to breathe in his enticing, outdoorsy scent. The temperature of my blood immediately shot up a degree or two. I finally realized that I had my fingertips pressed to his lips and snatched my hand away as if I’d been shocked.
I sank back down into my seat and adjusted my sweater as I tried to recover a shred of dignity. “And it’s translucent, not transparent.”
“I stand corrected.”
I glared at him.
He remained unfazed.
My stomach gave another loud growl, and I grabbed three more of his fries.
“Why don’t you order something?” he asked.
I tucked my hands into the sleeves of my sweater and shrank into my seat. “Because I just needed a few fries.”
He studied me for a moment, a little too perceptibly for my comfort. “I can get you—”
“No!” I realized I’d spoken a lot louder than I’d meant to. “No, thank you,” I amended at a lower volume. “I’m fine.”
I didn’t need to accept charity from him. It wasn’t like I was going to starve. As soon as I got home, I could make myself a meal of…crackers and peanut butter. And chocolate cake.
To my relief, a man came up to our table, holding papers in his hand and diverting Wyatt’s attention away from me.
“Hey, Wyatt,” the man said in greeting. Then he nodded at me before handing the papers to my companion. “I got those stills you asked for.”
“These are great,” Wyatt said, taking a quick look at the two sheets. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry I can’t help you with the guy’s name, but if he shows up here again, I’ll text you.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
“Enjoy your meal,” he said with a nod at both of us.
As Mike walked away, I realized that the waitress had never brought my ice water. I sighed and averted my gaze from Wyatt’s glass, which was still half full of soda.
Wyatt set the papers on the table and slid them toward me. “Our mystery man.”
I picked up the two sheets. Each one showed a grainy photo of a white man with brown hair who appeared to be in his thirties. Although the pictures weren’t sharp, they were clear enough.
“I’ve seen this guy before,” I said. “At the Mirage.”
Wyatt was about to take a drink but now set down his glass. “Does he live there?”
“Nope, but he visits someone who does.” I tapped the photo that showed the closest view of the man’s face. “This is Bitty Dover’s godson.”
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
