Page 60 of Ice Princess

That kiss.

Where on earth did Gunner Kinsey learn to kiss like that? Why ohwhywas it the best kiss of my entire life?

I’m pretty sure I hate him.

I’m a thousand percent sure he hates me too.

People who hate each other shouldnotkiss like their lives depend on it. It’s science.

“Rebel,” Sheriff Kinsey speaks, glancing at me over his shoulder, “glad you could join us. I’ve been waiting for a chance to chat with you. It’s been so long.”

I flash a grin on cue. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Have you been to this restaurant before?” Sheriff Kinsey asks.

“Humph,” Carol cuts in. “Not justanyonecan make an appointment here, you know.”

Gunner stiffens beside me.

Sheriff Kinsey’s smile falters for a second, but he boosts it back up. “I’m not much for fancy restaurants myself. But when my wife puts her mind to something, there’s no talking her out of it. I hope you understand.”

The older man places his hands on his wife’s shoulders. He slides his eyes down to her and back to me in a quick apology.

I’m used to the snide comments. Carol Kinsey doesn’t faze me one bit.

Her son on the other hand…

I look up at Gunner and instantly regret it. My eyes zoom to his lips, recalling the feel of them slanting over mine. Heat burns through my cheeks and I quickly avert my gaze, but it’s too late. I can feel the blush spreading through my entire body.

Thankfully, we’re still on the move, weaving through the restaurant. As I follow the Kinsey family and the waitress, I start to notice people staring in my direction.

But they’re not looking at me.

All eyes are on Gunner.

At first, I assume it’s because he’s so ridiculously tall and uselessly good-looking. He stands a head and shoulders over his dad, who’s close to six feet himself. Even wearing something as casual as a grey pullover and sweatpants, he looks like a model ripped out of a sports magazine.

“Good game, Kinsey!” A patron yells.

“Nice one, Kinsey!” Another table cheers.

My head swivels around in shock. We’re several miles outside of Lucky Falls and this restaurant seems catered to, well, people who watch stocks over sports.

Gunner offers little more than a nod of acknowledgement. The way he hurries ahead, as if he’s afraid to be pulled into conversation, hints at his shyness.

“This way,” the waitress says, pointing to a fancy glass table in the middle of a curved, velvet booth. A crystal chandelier hangs low above the table and the mantle just behind the booth is decorated with vases of fresh flowers and candles.

I hope those candles are battery powered. Something tells me Victoria isnotabove causing an ‘accident’ involving my hair and flames.

Gunner gestures for me to enter the booth first, his eyes cool and unaffected.

My frustration shoots up a notch. Why is he acting like nothing unusual happened?

On the highway, he casually told his mom about the kiss. Then he drove to the restaurant without saying a word to me.

Now, he’s as stoic and quiet as ever.

It’s driving me nuts.

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