I nodded, just about holding myself together. “But you didn’t ask me, so it can’t be.”
“I did ask you. I even sent it in a note. You replied back on a post-it.” That grin again.
“You didn’t mention the word date.”
He shrugged, looking smug. “What would be different if I had?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would you have dressed differently?” He made an obvious glance at my dress, which was low cut and tight.
I felt my cheeks warm, remembering that he knew exactly what was under there.
“No. I wouldn’t actually.”
“So you dressed for a date. So you either knew, or hoped, it was a date.” He was smug now. “One or the other. I like what you’re wearing, by the way.”
“Thank you.” I sat a little straighter. “You look smart too.”
His eyes gleamed. “I didn’t say you looked smart.”
I managed to glare. “How do I look then?”
“Like you’d look better in my bed.” He sat back and folded his arms, as if he was watching a bomb go off now he’d dropped it.
My mouth went dry. I knew Gully was a flirt and he’d talked countless number of women into his bed or car, or anywhere with fifty percent privacy. I’d heard tales from Ivy before she’d died and then his brothers since being in Puffin Bay, once they were sure Gully and I were just friends.
“You see me with my head down a toilet every morning.” I decided now was a good time to remind him of that.
“Because you’re pregnant with my child. I see you every morning when you’re on your knees throwing up and you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. You always have been.” The cockiness to his words was mixed with something else, a roughness that was badly hidden vulnerability.
“I was your friend’s little sister.”
He nodded. “That doesn’t exclude you from being more to me than that. I can still want you in my bed. Under me. Me inside you again.” The volume of his words dropped. “I can remember vividly what you were like when you came and I want to do that again, to make you forget everything apart from my name.”
I sipped my water, wishing it was wine.
“Why didn’t you – why didn’t bring this up after New Orleans?” Two years ago tomorrow. That was when we’d spent that single night together.
He shook his head. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever been with who’s had my number and not followed up afterwards. I assumed that we were drawing a line under it. Then you were dating and being semi-serious with some bloke whose head I wanted to crush. I wanted more, but not at the expense of our friendship.”
“And now? What’s changed? I’m pregnant and we’re having a baby?” I felt a jolt of fear. Worry for some reason.
“No. You’re in my house and in my life and if I thought that was all you wanted, I’d keep quiet. We’d co-parent and be friends and I’d always be your biggest cheerleader. But I don’t want to bejustthat and I don’t think that’s all you want either. I see the way you look at me sometimes and when I touch you, I know it makes you shiver in the best fucking way. You don’t let friends see you like your camera captured, Iris.” He shook his head slightly. “And this isn’t just because you’re having my baby. In fact, it doesn’t have anything to do with that.”
I swallowed, wondering how his words could be having this effect on me, sitting here in public with waiters mooching about and a woman who kept glancing at us who probably recognised Gully.
“If Ivy was alive - ”
“She’d already know what I felt. I don’t think you being Ivy’s sister has anything to do with how I feel about you, or how much I want to fuck you right now, other than she’s how we met and we would’ve met anyway, even without her dying.” He reached under the table and pulled on my leg.
I raised it, feeling Gully’s hand knock off the slip on shoe I’d been wearing.
“Feel.” He shifted, guiding my food to between his legs where I could feel his thick erection through his pants. “That’s just me imagining you in my bed.”
He looked pained. I wasn’t sure if it was frustration or something else.
“I promised myself I wouldn’t tell you how I feel.”
