Page 34 of Every Rose

“Do you?” He seemed tortured by this notion.

He turned and their gazes connected. She felt a searing connection, somehow stronger now he didn’t have his usual barriers up. She watched his face scrunch. “I don’t want to.”

She couldn’t stop the laugh that burst out of her. “Then don’t.”

“It’s like not believing in terrorism. Or earthquakes. Not believing doesn’t stop them happening.”

The engine purred quietly as she’d left the car running but he didn’t seem in a big hurry to leave. She thought about what he’d said, in vino veritas. Maybe, for him, a lot of beer followed by scotch was like truth serum. Maybe she could ask him anything and he’d have to tell her the truth. She said, “You called me an interesting woman.”

He shot her a glance. “Says who?”

“Theresa. She told me when we were shopping for bridesmaid dresses. When she discovered we know each other, she asked you about me and you said you thought I was an interesting woman.”

He might be drunk but he wasn’t stupid. “You sound pissed.”

“I’m not. I was . . . surprised, that’s all. It’s a funny thing to say about someone you work with. Makes it seem like you don’t like me very much.”

His mouth twisted. “Oh, I like you fine.” He shrugged. “But Theresa seems to have gone into the matchmaking business. She’s a nice lady but she’s got a big mouth and too much energy and I do not want her interfering in my life. I probably said that to throw her off.”

“So, you don’t think I’m interesting?”

He unclipped his seatbelt, turned to her. “I do think you’re interesting, but it’s not the first word I think of when I think about you.”

Okay, now would be a good time to back off from interrogating him. He had an intensity about him that made her realize just how small the interior of her car was and how much of the space he seemed to fill. She wanted to say something cool and smart to him, but she couldn’t think of anything cool and smart. Her words came out husky when she asked, “What is the first word you’d come up with to describe me?”

She saw a man who appealed to her in a deep, elemental way, staring at her mouth so intently her lips tingled. He said, in a low, slow voice that mesmerized her, “When I think of you, the first word that comes to mind is irresistible.” He leaned toward her, clearly telegraphing that he was planning to kiss her. She had plenty of time to stop him but for some reason she didn’t. Instead, she leaned into him and met him half way. The kiss was like him: sexy, unrestrained, not polite or groomed, but raw. Oh, my, was it raw.

He didn’t offer.

He took.

He didn’t ask.

He helped himself.

He didn’t ease her into the kiss.

He plunged ahead.

He didn’t tease a response out of her.

He forced one.

When he finally pulled away, she felt herself trembling, which seriously irked her.

He might be inebriated, but this man knew exactly what he was doing, and what he was doing to her. He resettled himself slowly. “Nice,” he said. His eyes were an open invitation for more. “Do you want to come in? Make sure I get to bed okay?”

And she was so tempted she wanted to slap herself. She wasn’t drunk. What was her excuse? “Some other time. Goodnight,” she replied.

A glint of humor crossed his eyes, big, dark eyes with mesmerizing flecks of gold embedded like hidden treasure you had to search for.

“Goodnight. And thank you for the ride.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, as prim as a Sunday school teacher.

Of course, she couldn’t help him into his home or heaven only knew what would happen, but she watched him all the way to the door. She made sure he got inside okay, and then pulled away from the curb fervently hoping that by tomorrow he’d have forgotten all about their steamy kiss.

She only wished that she could forget that kiss. But as she drove, she could still taste him. The scotch, definitely a hint of beer. And was she crazy or was that a note of hazelnut?

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