Read Online I Dream of Danger by Lisa Marie Rice - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa Marie Rice
Tags: Romance
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his mind on that, not on his dick.
Shit.
Everyone in the Rangers and the guys he’d talked to in Delta knew him as serious and utterly focused. No one would believe he couldn’t control himself, keep his dick down. But it was already up, very, very happy to see her. Elle smiled. “Did Jenny have you sign? I’ll call her later with my credit card info.”
Well, that made him angry. It was better being mad at her than unable to resist her. Easier.
“Fuck that,” he said, his voice harsher than he wanted. “Did you think I’d let you pay for this meal?” He looked out over the huge dinner table. She hadn’t managed to sell the table, obviously. Not too many people nowadays needed tables that could fit dinner parties of eighteen. The food filled half of it. Jenny had gone overboard and the bill Nick had paid wouldn’t cover half of it. Jenny’s way of helping Elle while salvaging her pride.
Elle’s head tilted to the side, pale blond hair covering one shoulder. She frowned. “Why are you mad? Why shouldn’t I pay for it?”
“Because you don’t have any fucking money, is why!” He had trouble keeping his voice down, keeping his emotions in check. “I’m not going to have you pay for my fucking meal!”
Elle just watched him, head still tilted, as if he were some kind of scientific specimen. Her expression didn’t change at his vehemence. She lifted her hands, patted the air, calming down the lunatic.
“Okay, okay. You probably don’t believe this, but I actually have the money to cover the meal, but I’ll accept your gift. Thank you.”
Well, hell. He was all ready to fight it, fight her , dissipate some of this tension. And then she turned reasonable on him.
Fuck.
He drew in a deep breath. Grabbed for some control. “The food is still warm. We should set the table and eat. Unless you want to just eat out of the containers?”
“No. We’ll eat like normal human beings.” Elle smiled and walked to a huge glass-fronted cabinet, which he remembered from when he lived here. They hadn’t sold that either. It was enormous and elaborate and he imagined it wouldn’t fit the life of modern families. It was the kind of piece of furniture people had a century ago when families were huge. The breakfront was still filled with the plates he remembered—fine bone china with a rose pattern and gilt edges. The service was probably not easily salable either—there were hundreds of pieces.
Elle set the table as the maid used to—with a huge platter serving as a mat, plate, bowl, tons of forks and knives and spoons. Two glasses each. The wine her friend sent went on a silver wine-bottle thingy.
She’d grown up with good wines. The judge had enjoyed his wine and had a famous wine cellar. That would be gone, he imagined.
Elle sighed as she sat down. Nick poured a finger of wine in her crystal glass and some in his. He swirled and smelled and tasted. The judge had taught him about wine and this one was superb.
“Merlot. French. 2011, which was a very good year.” Elle smiled happily at him as she put down the glass and attacked the food. “Bon appétit.”
The family equivalent of grace. Elle’s mother had been half French.
“Bon appétit.” Nick smiled back, his earlier edginess and bad temper gone. It was absolutely impossible not to smile at Elle. From the pale, lost waif he’d seen at the cemetery, she’d changed into a woman with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.
That was him. It made him uneasy to realize that he was the one who’d made her happy. Good sex did that, he knew. And though it was her first time, she seemed to have enjoyed it. It was physiological. Sex raised blood pressure, got the circulation moving. If nothing else it was a great physical and psychological release.
Sex was good for you, made you smile.
So that was it. That was all it was. Decent sex on a sad day for her. For him, too. The judge had saved his life. He’d been a good man and now he was dead.
Elle
Shit.
Everyone in the Rangers and the guys he’d talked to in Delta knew him as serious and utterly focused. No one would believe he couldn’t control himself, keep his dick down. But it was already up, very, very happy to see her. Elle smiled. “Did Jenny have you sign? I’ll call her later with my credit card info.”
Well, that made him angry. It was better being mad at her than unable to resist her. Easier.
“Fuck that,” he said, his voice harsher than he wanted. “Did you think I’d let you pay for this meal?” He looked out over the huge dinner table. She hadn’t managed to sell the table, obviously. Not too many people nowadays needed tables that could fit dinner parties of eighteen. The food filled half of it. Jenny had gone overboard and the bill Nick had paid wouldn’t cover half of it. Jenny’s way of helping Elle while salvaging her pride.
Elle’s head tilted to the side, pale blond hair covering one shoulder. She frowned. “Why are you mad? Why shouldn’t I pay for it?”
“Because you don’t have any fucking money, is why!” He had trouble keeping his voice down, keeping his emotions in check. “I’m not going to have you pay for my fucking meal!”
Elle just watched him, head still tilted, as if he were some kind of scientific specimen. Her expression didn’t change at his vehemence. She lifted her hands, patted the air, calming down the lunatic.
“Okay, okay. You probably don’t believe this, but I actually have the money to cover the meal, but I’ll accept your gift. Thank you.”
Well, hell. He was all ready to fight it, fight her , dissipate some of this tension. And then she turned reasonable on him.
Fuck.
He drew in a deep breath. Grabbed for some control. “The food is still warm. We should set the table and eat. Unless you want to just eat out of the containers?”
“No. We’ll eat like normal human beings.” Elle smiled and walked to a huge glass-fronted cabinet, which he remembered from when he lived here. They hadn’t sold that either. It was enormous and elaborate and he imagined it wouldn’t fit the life of modern families. It was the kind of piece of furniture people had a century ago when families were huge. The breakfront was still filled with the plates he remembered—fine bone china with a rose pattern and gilt edges. The service was probably not easily salable either—there were hundreds of pieces.
Elle set the table as the maid used to—with a huge platter serving as a mat, plate, bowl, tons of forks and knives and spoons. Two glasses each. The wine her friend sent went on a silver wine-bottle thingy.
She’d grown up with good wines. The judge had enjoyed his wine and had a famous wine cellar. That would be gone, he imagined.
Elle sighed as she sat down. Nick poured a finger of wine in her crystal glass and some in his. He swirled and smelled and tasted. The judge had taught him about wine and this one was superb.
“Merlot. French. 2011, which was a very good year.” Elle smiled happily at him as she put down the glass and attacked the food. “Bon appétit.”
The family equivalent of grace. Elle’s mother had been half French.
“Bon appétit.” Nick smiled back, his earlier edginess and bad temper gone. It was absolutely impossible not to smile at Elle. From the pale, lost waif he’d seen at the cemetery, she’d changed into a woman with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.
That was him. It made him uneasy to realize that he was the one who’d made her happy. Good sex did that, he knew. And though it was her first time, she seemed to have enjoyed it. It was physiological. Sex raised blood pressure, got the circulation moving. If nothing else it was a great physical and psychological release.
Sex was good for you, made you smile.
So that was it. That was all it was. Decent sex on a sad day for her. For him, too. The judge had saved his life. He’d been a good man and now he was dead.
Elle
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