no memory of the fact that he was supposed to be her date tonight. Well, that certainly explained a lot of things. Like being stood up. Damn, it was going to be hard to hold that against him, though she was willing to give it a try. “So I guess that the next time I make a date with a concussed guy, I should pin a note to his collar so he doesn’t forget.”
“Good plan.” His hand was next to hers on the table. He let his thumb glide over her fingers, a small, almost casual touch that sent a shudder through her. “I’m sorry I forgot our date,” he said. He was so close she could see every single hue of green in his eyes, and there were many. She could feel the warmth of his exhale at her temple. In the crowded Vets’ Hall, their nearness was no different from any other couple in the room, discussing their next bid, or laughing over a joke. But Mallory wasn’t bidding or laughing. Her heart was suddenly pounding in her throat and there were butterflies going crazy low in her belly.
“Am I on that list, Mallory?” he asked, low and husky. “Am I a Mr. Wrong?”
Oh God, she was in trouble now, because she liked the sound of her name on his lips. Too much. “Don’t get too cocky. There are others on the list.” She lifted her hand to touch the bruise on his cheek.
He caught her hand in his. “Not what I asked.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “You’re on the list. You’re at the top of the list.”
Chapter 6
What came first, woman—or the chocolate bar?
T y had no idea what the hell he thought he was doing, flirting with Mallory.
Scratch that.
He knew exactly what he was doing. He was feeling alive for the first time in six months. Possibly in four years.
She was looking at him, her sweet brown eyes lit, cheeks flushed. She was feeling alive too, he was guessing. But she probably wasn’t wondering if he still had a condom in his wallet, trying to calculate how old it might be.
But if she had a list, so did he. A short list of one, and she was it. “Why does a woman like you need a list at all?”
“Like me?”
“Pretty. Smart. Funny.”
She laughed, then shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t have a lot of time to date.”
He could understand that. Hell, it’d been a long time since he’d dated. It’d been a long dry spell without a woman at all, and she was all woman. Her dress was a deceptively modest black number that had little straps criss-crossing across her back and fell to mid-thigh, molding her curves and whetting his appetite for more. Her heels were high and strappy, emphasizing world-class legs that had been hidden beneath her scrubs. She had her hair up in some loose twist with a few tendrils falling across one temple and at the nape of her neck. Her only jewelry was a little gold necklace—no earrings, nothing to stop his mouth from nipping her throat along his way to her ear where, if he was so inclined, he’d stop to whisper promises.
He shouldn’t be inclined. Mallory Quinn was sweet, warm, and caring. She was a white picket fence and two-point-four kids. She was a diamond ring.
She was someone’s keeper.
Not his. Never his. He didn’t do keepers.
And yet in that beat, with her mouth close to his, a smile in her eyes, he…ached. He ached and yearned for something. Someone. He wanted to wrap his arms around a woman, this woman, and lose himself in her.
A woman tapped Mallory on the shoulder, the same woman from before; tall, thin, and coldly beautiful, with a tight pinch to her mouth that said she was greatly displeased about something. Or possibly constipated. She wore authority and bitchiness as easily as she wore the strand of diamonds around her neck.
Mallory glanced up and straightened, her expression going carefully blank. “Jane,” she said, in a tone that told Ty that the woman was either her boss or her executioner.
“I need a moment,” Jane said.
Boss , Ty thought.
“Absolutely.” Mallory followed Jane out of the hall and
“Good plan.” His hand was next to hers on the table. He let his thumb glide over her fingers, a small, almost casual touch that sent a shudder through her. “I’m sorry I forgot our date,” he said. He was so close she could see every single hue of green in his eyes, and there were many. She could feel the warmth of his exhale at her temple. In the crowded Vets’ Hall, their nearness was no different from any other couple in the room, discussing their next bid, or laughing over a joke. But Mallory wasn’t bidding or laughing. Her heart was suddenly pounding in her throat and there were butterflies going crazy low in her belly.
“Am I on that list, Mallory?” he asked, low and husky. “Am I a Mr. Wrong?”
Oh God, she was in trouble now, because she liked the sound of her name on his lips. Too much. “Don’t get too cocky. There are others on the list.” She lifted her hand to touch the bruise on his cheek.
He caught her hand in his. “Not what I asked.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “You’re on the list. You’re at the top of the list.”
Chapter 6
What came first, woman—or the chocolate bar?
T y had no idea what the hell he thought he was doing, flirting with Mallory.
Scratch that.
He knew exactly what he was doing. He was feeling alive for the first time in six months. Possibly in four years.
She was looking at him, her sweet brown eyes lit, cheeks flushed. She was feeling alive too, he was guessing. But she probably wasn’t wondering if he still had a condom in his wallet, trying to calculate how old it might be.
But if she had a list, so did he. A short list of one, and she was it. “Why does a woman like you need a list at all?”
“Like me?”
“Pretty. Smart. Funny.”
She laughed, then shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t have a lot of time to date.”
He could understand that. Hell, it’d been a long time since he’d dated. It’d been a long dry spell without a woman at all, and she was all woman. Her dress was a deceptively modest black number that had little straps criss-crossing across her back and fell to mid-thigh, molding her curves and whetting his appetite for more. Her heels were high and strappy, emphasizing world-class legs that had been hidden beneath her scrubs. She had her hair up in some loose twist with a few tendrils falling across one temple and at the nape of her neck. Her only jewelry was a little gold necklace—no earrings, nothing to stop his mouth from nipping her throat along his way to her ear where, if he was so inclined, he’d stop to whisper promises.
He shouldn’t be inclined. Mallory Quinn was sweet, warm, and caring. She was a white picket fence and two-point-four kids. She was a diamond ring.
She was someone’s keeper.
Not his. Never his. He didn’t do keepers.
And yet in that beat, with her mouth close to his, a smile in her eyes, he…ached. He ached and yearned for something. Someone. He wanted to wrap his arms around a woman, this woman, and lose himself in her.
A woman tapped Mallory on the shoulder, the same woman from before; tall, thin, and coldly beautiful, with a tight pinch to her mouth that said she was greatly displeased about something. Or possibly constipated. She wore authority and bitchiness as easily as she wore the strand of diamonds around her neck.
Mallory glanced up and straightened, her expression going carefully blank. “Jane,” she said, in a tone that told Ty that the woman was either her boss or her executioner.
“I need a moment,” Jane said.
Boss , Ty thought.
“Absolutely.” Mallory followed Jane out of the hall and
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