this place, which she’d decided to hide at the last second . . . only to have Shane appear to (maybe) guess it anyway. If only he weren’t such a rules-breaking type with no sense of tradition, he’d have been ideal.
On the other hand, she wasn’t exactly looking for a wedding ring and a couple of rug rats. All she wanted was to forget her troubles and blow off some steam for the night. If Shane could wrangle them a quieter place to get acquainted, then maybe . . .
Yes . Nearby conversation snapped Gabriella out of her Shane-induced fantasies. By then, he’d already made it happen.
With surprising alacrity and goodwill, the people who’d been occupying the brewpub’s corner booth slid out of it. A couple of them slapped Shane on the back convivially as they left. He nodded with equal bonhomie at them, and then it was done.
Suspiciously, Gabriella looked closely at Shane, expecting to see money change hands. In her experience, cold hard cash was all that would have succeeded in this situation.
Apparently, Shane worked differently. Also, inexplicably. Because one of his hands was still holding hers, so he couldn’t have used that one to dish out a bribe. His other hand was conspicuously empty. Unless he was some kind of magician . . .
The idea kicked off a new fantasy scenario, one where Shane performed erotic sleight of hand with her body, his body, and a whole lot of private time. Dreamily, Gabriella gazed at his hand. It looked dexterous and manly and easily talented enough to make her beg him for another touch, another tickle....
Another tickle? What the heck? She wasn’t looking for a full-time boyfriend here—especially a G-rated one, straight out of a Disney film where the friskiest anyone got was a pillow fight. She couldn’t get distracted thinking about personal things like how Shane might look in the morning, where he’d grown up, and what style of pizza he liked to nosh during a football game. She didn’t need to know any of that stuff.
All Gabriella needed was to drink in the sight of his dreamy golden brown eyes, relax in the warmth of his big, strong body, and maybe kiss him senseless—or until he begged her to rip off his clothes. You know, whichever came first.
“All fixed.” With his hand on her upper arm, Shane ushered her into their now private booth. His smile invited her to stay a while. “I’m yours for the night. Let’s get personal.”
“Nah. I have a better idea,” Gabby said as she slid her nimble body into the booth Shane had liberated. She grabbed his hand and pulled him down beside her. “Let’s get crazy .”
Their bottles of Black Butte Porter clattered on the tabletop, clinking wobblingly, nearly unsettled by the energy of their coming together. Shane didn’t even have time to breathe.
One minute, he was watching Gabby put down her bottle and get into the booth, and the next he was feeling all her heat and softness and breathless enthusiasm flung right up next to him. One minute, he was imagining her long, bare legs engaged in a more intriguing activity than clambering across a sticky brewpub floor (say, wrapping around his hips as he made love to her), and the next he was almost nose-to-nose with a woman whose sheer dynamism held him transfixed. She was . . . incredible .
Feeling muddled and off balance, Shane didn’t know if he should kiss her or hug her, challenge her or congratulate her on being the first woman in eons to truly engage him. With Gabby, he felt both combative and empowered, seen and enlivened. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t care. Maybe this tangle of mixed-up emotions was what he got for ignoring the softer side of life for so long. Or maybe it was just her , making him feel this way. But for one night only, Shane wanted all of it.
He wanted the clean and the messy, the complicated and the easy. He wanted to whisper something romantic in Gabby’s ear—so conveniently exposed by her boyish haircut—and find out if he
On the other hand, she wasn’t exactly looking for a wedding ring and a couple of rug rats. All she wanted was to forget her troubles and blow off some steam for the night. If Shane could wrangle them a quieter place to get acquainted, then maybe . . .
Yes . Nearby conversation snapped Gabriella out of her Shane-induced fantasies. By then, he’d already made it happen.
With surprising alacrity and goodwill, the people who’d been occupying the brewpub’s corner booth slid out of it. A couple of them slapped Shane on the back convivially as they left. He nodded with equal bonhomie at them, and then it was done.
Suspiciously, Gabriella looked closely at Shane, expecting to see money change hands. In her experience, cold hard cash was all that would have succeeded in this situation.
Apparently, Shane worked differently. Also, inexplicably. Because one of his hands was still holding hers, so he couldn’t have used that one to dish out a bribe. His other hand was conspicuously empty. Unless he was some kind of magician . . .
The idea kicked off a new fantasy scenario, one where Shane performed erotic sleight of hand with her body, his body, and a whole lot of private time. Dreamily, Gabriella gazed at his hand. It looked dexterous and manly and easily talented enough to make her beg him for another touch, another tickle....
Another tickle? What the heck? She wasn’t looking for a full-time boyfriend here—especially a G-rated one, straight out of a Disney film where the friskiest anyone got was a pillow fight. She couldn’t get distracted thinking about personal things like how Shane might look in the morning, where he’d grown up, and what style of pizza he liked to nosh during a football game. She didn’t need to know any of that stuff.
All Gabriella needed was to drink in the sight of his dreamy golden brown eyes, relax in the warmth of his big, strong body, and maybe kiss him senseless—or until he begged her to rip off his clothes. You know, whichever came first.
“All fixed.” With his hand on her upper arm, Shane ushered her into their now private booth. His smile invited her to stay a while. “I’m yours for the night. Let’s get personal.”
“Nah. I have a better idea,” Gabby said as she slid her nimble body into the booth Shane had liberated. She grabbed his hand and pulled him down beside her. “Let’s get crazy .”
Their bottles of Black Butte Porter clattered on the tabletop, clinking wobblingly, nearly unsettled by the energy of their coming together. Shane didn’t even have time to breathe.
One minute, he was watching Gabby put down her bottle and get into the booth, and the next he was feeling all her heat and softness and breathless enthusiasm flung right up next to him. One minute, he was imagining her long, bare legs engaged in a more intriguing activity than clambering across a sticky brewpub floor (say, wrapping around his hips as he made love to her), and the next he was almost nose-to-nose with a woman whose sheer dynamism held him transfixed. She was . . . incredible .
Feeling muddled and off balance, Shane didn’t know if he should kiss her or hug her, challenge her or congratulate her on being the first woman in eons to truly engage him. With Gabby, he felt both combative and empowered, seen and enlivened. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t care. Maybe this tangle of mixed-up emotions was what he got for ignoring the softer side of life for so long. Or maybe it was just her , making him feel this way. But for one night only, Shane wanted all of it.
He wanted the clean and the messy, the complicated and the easy. He wanted to whisper something romantic in Gabby’s ear—so conveniently exposed by her boyish haircut—and find out if he
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