her. But that would be like entering a spider’s web and getting all tangled up and ready to be spit-roasted.
“Since this dinner is my treat,” Crystal was saying, “I have a suggestion.”
Soren dragged his attention away from his thoughts and focused on the sound of her voice.
“Soren?” She placed her hand on his arm. Her fingers, he noticed, were long and slender, with short oval nails done up in a pale pink. As far as he could tell, she wore no jewelry except the crystal between her breasts.
The thought of her breasts drove his gaze to them, to the spot he had touched. A tiny streak of red remained where he’d missed. His cock, as stiff as the table leg, twitched remembering the velvety texture of her skin. Had he been that hard during the entire dinner? Damn, the woman was messing with his mind.
“Would you like some homemade apple pie for dessert?”
“Uh, homemade?” Soren asked cautiously.
She laughed, a delicate, feminine sound. “I even make my piecrust from scratch. With real butter, and to heck with what the so-called gurus say about trans fats or carbs or whatever diet is fashionable this month.”
Oh boy. He rarely bothered with dessert, much less anything homemade. He took his meals at the pub, and while the food was hearty, dessert wasn’t on the menu. Didn’t go with beer, which was his big moneymaker. His mouth began to salivate at the thought of tart apples and cinnamon in a flaky crust, warm and fragrant from the oven. He’d have to dig way down deep in his memory to remember when he’d last had fresh apple pie.
“Sure. I could go for a piece of pie.” He tossed his napkin onto his empty plate and pushed back his chair. Reaching for his wallet, he looked around for the waitress.
“Uh-uh. It’s my treat, remember?” Crystal stood as well, digging into her handbag. “The auction. I paid for the privilege of buying you dinner, remember?” She pulled out a credit card, in the process dropping a folded bill to the floor.
He knelt down to retrieve it for her. And came face to face with her navel. He could visualize himself licking that navel, thrusting his tongue inside it, nipping at the edges of it.
A string of four-letter words dammed up behind his clenched teeth. What had they put into that margarita to make him think like that? He didn’t even like women.
He felt her hand on his shoulder. He looked up. She looked down at him with a tender expression.
Maybe he was so screwed up that he’d dreamed it, but he could have sworn she mouthed a soundless
“Later”.
* * * * *
Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered if Soren could hear it. Tonight , she thought. It would happen tonight.
Touching the remote mounted on her visor, Crystal waited for the garage door to lift then drove the Beetle inside. The overhead lights came on and the door descended behind them. With a hitch in her breath, she turned to Soren. “Ready?”
She unlatched her door, triggering the car’s interior light, which illuminated half of his face. He looked slightly stunned. She wondered how often he drank margaritas. Admittedly, those portions at the restaurant were at least a double, even with all the ice. She’d left half of hers in the glass.
Well, he’d follow or he wouldn’t. If he didn’t, he’d be locked in the garage overnight. She made sure of that by stowing the remote in her purse. Fishing for her keys, she unlocked the inner door, flicked on some lights and waited in the hallway. With relief she saw him get out and close the door. Still, she thought he dragged his feet like a man going to the gallows as he climbed the two steps to the house level.
“Just flick that dead bolt and engage the chain, would you?” she tossed off casually as she headed—at a slow pace, to be sure he wouldn’t run back out—into the living-dining room. “I’ll get a pot of coffee started.”
Her seduction skills were practically nonexistent, Crystal fretted. She’d always expected that The
“Since this dinner is my treat,” Crystal was saying, “I have a suggestion.”
Soren dragged his attention away from his thoughts and focused on the sound of her voice.
“Soren?” She placed her hand on his arm. Her fingers, he noticed, were long and slender, with short oval nails done up in a pale pink. As far as he could tell, she wore no jewelry except the crystal between her breasts.
The thought of her breasts drove his gaze to them, to the spot he had touched. A tiny streak of red remained where he’d missed. His cock, as stiff as the table leg, twitched remembering the velvety texture of her skin. Had he been that hard during the entire dinner? Damn, the woman was messing with his mind.
“Would you like some homemade apple pie for dessert?”
“Uh, homemade?” Soren asked cautiously.
She laughed, a delicate, feminine sound. “I even make my piecrust from scratch. With real butter, and to heck with what the so-called gurus say about trans fats or carbs or whatever diet is fashionable this month.”
Oh boy. He rarely bothered with dessert, much less anything homemade. He took his meals at the pub, and while the food was hearty, dessert wasn’t on the menu. Didn’t go with beer, which was his big moneymaker. His mouth began to salivate at the thought of tart apples and cinnamon in a flaky crust, warm and fragrant from the oven. He’d have to dig way down deep in his memory to remember when he’d last had fresh apple pie.
“Sure. I could go for a piece of pie.” He tossed his napkin onto his empty plate and pushed back his chair. Reaching for his wallet, he looked around for the waitress.
“Uh-uh. It’s my treat, remember?” Crystal stood as well, digging into her handbag. “The auction. I paid for the privilege of buying you dinner, remember?” She pulled out a credit card, in the process dropping a folded bill to the floor.
He knelt down to retrieve it for her. And came face to face with her navel. He could visualize himself licking that navel, thrusting his tongue inside it, nipping at the edges of it.
A string of four-letter words dammed up behind his clenched teeth. What had they put into that margarita to make him think like that? He didn’t even like women.
He felt her hand on his shoulder. He looked up. She looked down at him with a tender expression.
Maybe he was so screwed up that he’d dreamed it, but he could have sworn she mouthed a soundless
“Later”.
* * * * *
Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered if Soren could hear it. Tonight , she thought. It would happen tonight.
Touching the remote mounted on her visor, Crystal waited for the garage door to lift then drove the Beetle inside. The overhead lights came on and the door descended behind them. With a hitch in her breath, she turned to Soren. “Ready?”
She unlatched her door, triggering the car’s interior light, which illuminated half of his face. He looked slightly stunned. She wondered how often he drank margaritas. Admittedly, those portions at the restaurant were at least a double, even with all the ice. She’d left half of hers in the glass.
Well, he’d follow or he wouldn’t. If he didn’t, he’d be locked in the garage overnight. She made sure of that by stowing the remote in her purse. Fishing for her keys, she unlocked the inner door, flicked on some lights and waited in the hallway. With relief she saw him get out and close the door. Still, she thought he dragged his feet like a man going to the gallows as he climbed the two steps to the house level.
“Just flick that dead bolt and engage the chain, would you?” she tossed off casually as she headed—at a slow pace, to be sure he wouldn’t run back out—into the living-dining room. “I’ll get a pot of coffee started.”
Her seduction skills were practically nonexistent, Crystal fretted. She’d always expected that The
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