I understand the difference. I’m certain she does too.
Her pupils blow wide, and her pulse flutters at her throat. She flicks her tongue over her lip in a subtle, unconscious gesture that tightens my groin.
Yes. She understands exactly what this is.
I incline my head. “You look good.” More than good. I’d like to wrap that ponytail around my fist and yank while I slam into her from behind.
“What did you do?” Her rising volume attracts glances from nearby tables. “To Greg.”
Having dealt with far more dangerous outbursts than a kindergarten teacher’s outrage, I’ve perfected my skill for ignoring questions. With an unhurried movement, I reach for the bottle of cabernet and pour wine into the second glass I requested. The crimson liquid catches the low light.
“You can’t just stare people into leaving!” Her hands clench at her sides, her knuckles white with tension.
I can when they’re as weak-willed as the clown who believed he deserved to take a woman like you on a date.
I shrug, allowing a flicker of amusement to pierce through my otherwise stoic expression. “I was having a drink. Is that illegal?” My faux innocence is intended to push her buttons.
People get sloppy when they’re emotional. They reveal things.
I slide the extra wine glass toward her in silent invitation and watch the conflict play across her face, the temptation clear as daylight. And her thirst isn’t just for wine.
She recognizes but also fears her attraction.
Smart girl.
“Sit with me.” I soften the command so it can pass as a request. “Sorry if I ruined a great date.”
She hesitates, worrying at her lower lip. I imagine ensnaring that lip between my own teeth and biting down just hard enough to draw blood.
I shove aside the unbidden urge.
Finally, she obeys. “It wasn’t that great.”
I raise my eyebrows in the very picture of surprise. “Oh?”
A genuine smile breaks through her anger. She realizes I’m playing her and goes along with it anyway. “He likes lawnmowers. And fantasy football. And himself.”
“Shortsighted of him.” A corner of my mouth tips up. “I like you.”
Her body trembles, subtly but unmistakably. Her spine straightens a fraction, her shoulders pulling back like a flower angling toward the sun.
Stunning.
I file away the discovery that this woman responds well to praise for future misuse.
Her sip of wine leaves a faint impression of pink lip gloss on the rim. “So, is this what you do? Chase away men and swoop in?”
“First time.” The lie rolls off my tongue without any effort at all. “You looked bored.”
Her shoulders slump. “I was. So bored.”
The truth tastes better than the wine. I drink slowly, studying her over the rim of my glass. She’s softer here, away from her classroom of bright posters and tedious chairs. Less a focused ray of sunshine and more a warm glow. Her guard is lower, too, though not completely down.
Smart again. She’s right not to trust me.
Earlier today, I’d planned to break into her house, scour for the diamonds, and vanish before she returned home. Unfortunately, the neighborhood proved unexpectedly active. Small kids playing in the street, parents chatting on porches, an old man mowing his lawn with meticulous precision.
Too many eyes. Too many potential witnesses.
