half the lasagna she’d served him still on his plate, his salad and bread left untouched? Damn, he hated her cooking. Then again, she hadn’t eaten much either. Between Luke’s tightlipped, withdrawn attitude and the nervousness rolling though her stomach, she’d lost her appetite.
Disgusted with how horrible the evening had progressed, Jenna dropped her napkin on the table. “Thanks,” she said and reached for the wine glass. “Care for some dessert?”
He darted his narrowed gaze to the top of her head. Again. From the moment he’d walked through the door, he’d repeatedly stared at her hair. Maybe he didn’t like all the thick curls she’d spent forty minutes perfecting. Normally, she left her hair straight or in a ponytail. But tonight, she’d wanted to glam herself up for him. She’d spent hours in front of the mirror, poofing and teasing her hair. Applied more make-up than she’d normally wear, and selected the raciest, sexiest outfit she could find. All of the primping part of her lame-brained plan of seduction.
“No thanks. I’m stuffed.” He drifted his eyes to her head again. “You, ah, look…different tonight. The hair, right?” He reached for his glass. “It looks…nice,” he added, then chugged his wine.
Nice? Damn it, he hated her hair too.
“Thanks,” she said, then drained her own wine glass.
Thanks, the weather, and small talk about nothing had been all either of them could manage tonight. On top of that, everything that came out of his mouth appeared forced. Every look he gave her seemed wary, cautious, suspicious.
Silence hung between them for a moment. Fed up over the way he kept scrutinizing her hair, and tired of his piss-poor attitude, she refilled her glass, then offered him the bottle.
He glanced at his watch, then waved his hand in front of his empty glass. “I better not. It’s getting late and I still have some work to do when I go home.”
It couldn’t be more than eight thirty. What the hell was wrong with him tonight?
She panicked. Her already knotted stomach, twisted even more. He couldn’t leave. Not yet. She’d finally worked up the nerve to reveal her feelings for him. While she wasn’t ready to tell him how much she cared, she was more than ready, willing and able to show him.
“Sure, I understand,” she said, and decided to put her back up plan into action. Or should she wait until he was in a better mood? Then again, what she had in store for him might help take care of whatever bothered him. Work, she assumed. While she didn’t appreciate catching the brunt of a bad day, she also knew he was under a lot of pressure, and she’d love nothing more than to ease that pressure.
“Before you go, would you mind taking a look at that broken curtain rod I told you about?” This morning, when she’d opened her drapes, the dumb thing broke out of the wall. She’d taken a couple tips from MacGyver — duct tape was an amazing tool in a pinch — and had secured it back in place.
“Lucinda can’t seem to stop her cats from escaping, so I’ve jerry-rigged it in case she flips on her porch lights during the middle of the night.” She batted her lashes, going for fun and flirty. But a clump of mascara dropped into her left eye. Crap, too many years out of practice and she’d lost the ability to flirt. “I think it will hold,” she continued with renewed determination, and blinked the irritation away. “But I’d hate to have the thing come crashing down during the middle of the night.”
He cracked a smile, one of only a few he’d offered her all night, and stared at her left eye. “I don’t blame you. With the wattage your neighbor has, she could wake the dead.” Shoving his chair back, he gripped the handles, then paused. “Are you okay?”
Swiping a finger under her watery eye, she smiled and hoped her nose wouldn’t start running. “I’m fine. Why?”
He stood and shook his head. “Nothing. I’m sure the rod will be a simple
Disgusted with how horrible the evening had progressed, Jenna dropped her napkin on the table. “Thanks,” she said and reached for the wine glass. “Care for some dessert?”
He darted his narrowed gaze to the top of her head. Again. From the moment he’d walked through the door, he’d repeatedly stared at her hair. Maybe he didn’t like all the thick curls she’d spent forty minutes perfecting. Normally, she left her hair straight or in a ponytail. But tonight, she’d wanted to glam herself up for him. She’d spent hours in front of the mirror, poofing and teasing her hair. Applied more make-up than she’d normally wear, and selected the raciest, sexiest outfit she could find. All of the primping part of her lame-brained plan of seduction.
“No thanks. I’m stuffed.” He drifted his eyes to her head again. “You, ah, look…different tonight. The hair, right?” He reached for his glass. “It looks…nice,” he added, then chugged his wine.
Nice? Damn it, he hated her hair too.
“Thanks,” she said, then drained her own wine glass.
Thanks, the weather, and small talk about nothing had been all either of them could manage tonight. On top of that, everything that came out of his mouth appeared forced. Every look he gave her seemed wary, cautious, suspicious.
Silence hung between them for a moment. Fed up over the way he kept scrutinizing her hair, and tired of his piss-poor attitude, she refilled her glass, then offered him the bottle.
He glanced at his watch, then waved his hand in front of his empty glass. “I better not. It’s getting late and I still have some work to do when I go home.”
It couldn’t be more than eight thirty. What the hell was wrong with him tonight?
She panicked. Her already knotted stomach, twisted even more. He couldn’t leave. Not yet. She’d finally worked up the nerve to reveal her feelings for him. While she wasn’t ready to tell him how much she cared, she was more than ready, willing and able to show him.
“Sure, I understand,” she said, and decided to put her back up plan into action. Or should she wait until he was in a better mood? Then again, what she had in store for him might help take care of whatever bothered him. Work, she assumed. While she didn’t appreciate catching the brunt of a bad day, she also knew he was under a lot of pressure, and she’d love nothing more than to ease that pressure.
“Before you go, would you mind taking a look at that broken curtain rod I told you about?” This morning, when she’d opened her drapes, the dumb thing broke out of the wall. She’d taken a couple tips from MacGyver — duct tape was an amazing tool in a pinch — and had secured it back in place.
“Lucinda can’t seem to stop her cats from escaping, so I’ve jerry-rigged it in case she flips on her porch lights during the middle of the night.” She batted her lashes, going for fun and flirty. But a clump of mascara dropped into her left eye. Crap, too many years out of practice and she’d lost the ability to flirt. “I think it will hold,” she continued with renewed determination, and blinked the irritation away. “But I’d hate to have the thing come crashing down during the middle of the night.”
He cracked a smile, one of only a few he’d offered her all night, and stared at her left eye. “I don’t blame you. With the wattage your neighbor has, she could wake the dead.” Shoving his chair back, he gripped the handles, then paused. “Are you okay?”
Swiping a finger under her watery eye, she smiled and hoped her nose wouldn’t start running. “I’m fine. Why?”
He stood and shook his head. “Nothing. I’m sure the rod will be a simple
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