He took the bags from her with one hand, setting them on deck, and then helped her aboard. Her hand was warm and firm in his. She smelled good, sun-warmed and sexy. There was a moment when he held her hand and her gaze met his, when he could have kissed her.
And then she bent to fuss with the bags at her feet, and the moment was lost. When she straightened, her face was pink and she didn’t quite meet his eyes.Damn.
“Let me put Tiger here in the cabin,” he said. “What can I get you to drink?”
“I brought wine.” She glanced at the Carolina Lager on the table. “But if you’d rather have beer—”
“Wine’s good,” he said firmly. “I’ll get glasses.”
It took him a minute or five to settle the cat. When he came out, Lauren had everything set up on some kind of picnic cloth she must have borrowed from Tess: a couple cheeses from the pricey shop in the harbor, bread from the bakery, a fat bunch of grapes, containers of olives and shrimp salad.
He looked at the trouble she’d gone to, the cloth napkins, the bottle of wine and felt a pinch of something. Regret, maybe. He needed to step up his game. Next time he would make reservations.
“I was going to call you,” he said.
She anchored the lid from the olives under the plastic container. “You don’t have my number. Hard to booty text without a number.”
“Booty text,” he repeated slowly.
“Or booty call. Whatever.” She didn’t sound mad. Although with women, you never knew.
Jack frowned. She wasn’t a booty call to him. She was...
He covered both her busy hands with one of his. She looked up in surprise, glowing and exotic in the setting sun, the tiny jewel winking. He leaned forward and kissed her, long and soft and slow, until her eyelids fluttered closed and her hands flexed under his.
He raised his head. “Hello, Lauren.”
Her lips curved. “Hello, Jack.” She opened her eyes. Exhaled. “We keep screwing up, don’t we?”
He checked her expression. Definitely not mad, he saw with relief. “I’m willing to practice with you,” he offered, straight-faced. “Until we get it right.”
She grinned, widening her eyes in mock concern. “If we get any better, we’ll kill each other.”
She was talking about sex. He laughed, as she obviously intended him to, and reached for the wine. She’d even packed a corkscrew.
“This looks great,” he said, nodding at the spread. She’d transformed his deck to someplace he wanted to be.
“I’m glad you like it. I owed you for last night.”
His brows twitched together. Last night he’d walked out on her to take a call.
“Last night,” she prompted. “The inspiration?”
He thought back. They’d been saying good night, talking about her writing, and then he’d kissed her.
Inspiration, he’d teased.
Her eyes had gleamed with humor, her smile rueful in the moonlight.Am I supposed to thank you now?
Thank me tomorrow.
He shook his head. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to.”
He stared at her, oddly humbled. Shaken.
In the past year, he’d gotten used to doing for himself. Cooking for himself. Caring for himself. He’d almost forgotten how it felt to have someone do for him. Freely. Because shewantedto. Renee always had a hidden agenda, a secret scorecard on which he always lost.
