Page 20 of Auction Time
I gave him a pointed stare, holding his gaze, looking deep into his warm brown eyes and doing my best to focus. I’d come a long way since high school. That version of myself would have never stared a guy like him down.
“Why? Why are you cooking me dinner? Why the social visit? Why the interest? Did I pass the Coleridge Buchanan breast size test?”
“Your tits are fine, Miss Cartwright. I’m more interested in you.”
“Me?” I didn’t think the disbelief on my face could have been any more distinct.
“Think of this as my first steps to correct a past wrong.”
Now what should I do with that declaration?
“There are so many. Which past wrong are we talking about here?” I was just talking. Half playing along, half prodding to see what this guy before me was truly up to.
“You know the one I mean.” His eyes dropped to my breasts and lingered there until I cleared my throat. Heated desire filled his eyes when his gaze met mine again and I almost believed the desire was genuinely for me. “I’ve had you on the brain since getting back to good old Orange County.”
Ugh, my stupid brain and heart. Both be damned. Something weird was truly at work here. It was obvious, and yes I had to agree that this weirdness had been present since he got back.Yet, both my brain and heart were betraying me, melting at his words. As if I didn’t know who he was. Or, what he was.
If Mia were here, she’d tell me to have some kind of open mind.
What I needed though was to be on high alert. I should steer my brain at the very least back to logic and beware of this devil.
Common sense told me to do just that.
He grabbed one of the packets of chilis and smiled. “Now, do you like chili?”
“I like chili,” I answered.
I’d do dinner and tread softly. Then, like he said, see what happened next. All I wanted was my article.
It would be wise not to want anything else.
* * *
I survived two hours of him.
We were in the dining room sitting across from each other. Anyone who walked in here would have definitely mistaken us for old friends catching up over a home cooked meal.
Admittedly, he’d soothed away a lot of my concerns with that meal of his.
The man could cook, and it was a meal fit for God himself and his heavenly host. Chili vegetable cannelloni was served up to me, and I devoured it.
Aside from the meal, he too surprised me.
I’d watched him cook, while he talked about Boston and I listened. Then we ate together, and I found myself talking about writing while he listened to me.
When the meal was over, I was still talking, and he continued to listen.
It wasn’t until I realized I was just talking about me that I stopped myself from continuing. I got like that when I talked about writing, and because I was getting the chance to do this project with the magazine, I was on a damn roll.
On a roll, and I should probably bring this social visit back to business.
“So, when can we meet to talk about the article?” I asked.
He smiled at me. “Not sure yet.”
“What? What do you mean you aren’t sure? You just pick a date and we meet.”
“No, if I do that, you’ll go back to being all weird on me again. Acting like you don’t like me.”
