smooth melodic sound of Duncan’s voice. Oh, that was good. He had that way. And I was in major need of tingles like that.
I chuckled. “Well, I do have pizza delivery on speed dial, just in case.”
“Good plan,” he said. “If nothing else, we’ll have ice cream.”
Always. “Can’t go wrong with that.”
“And I wanted to tell you to dress way down—not that you were going to wear a ball gown or something, but—”
“Damn, and I just dug it out,” I said, playing along, but my brain was ticking like mad. Dress way down? I glanced down at my towel. I was already there. Heat flushed from my neck up on the thoughts that conjured.
“Well, I have a little excursion in mind and you’ll want old clothes for it.”
Old. I blinked. “Okay, I’m intrigued.”
I could hear him smile through the phone. “Good. See you soon.”
I stared at the phone as it went black. Well, that certainly upped the interest meter. And allowed me to stop obsessing over clothes and wear my favorite faded, soft, ass-hugging, ripped-at-the-knee jeans. They weren’t ripped to be trendy, they were just that old.
Forty-five minutes later, clad in said jeans, a black tank top, and an equally ancient denim sleeveless jacket, I closed the front door behind me.
Think positive, I told myself, rounding the curve in my sidewalk. I held my head up and tossed my hair, trying to capture that sexy vibe, and captured Ian walking up my driveway instead.
Shit-damn-hell. I managed not to trip, fall, or stumble over my own feet, which was miraculous given the look of pure appreciation that burned across his face as he took me in, slow and thorough. He blew out a breath and I cursed under mine as I stopped a few feet short of him.
Ian backed up two more steps, crossing his arms over his chest as he rested against my car door. His body conveyed “casual air” at first glance, but I felt the spring-loaded energy coming off him even from that distance and saw the intensity in his eyes.
Like no time had passed.
And yet it had. Don’t let it get to you.
“Can I help you?” I said, hoping I appeared flippant and not the hot shaky mess I’d suddenly become.
I watched his gaze absorb me for the briefest of seconds, and he opened his mouth to speak, but then smiled as if to himself and shook his head.
“You look nice,” he said, his voice a little rough. His eyes panned me again, leaving little fires in their wake. Shit. “Ice cream and cowboy boots—that’s a combination.”
I glanced at the two bags in my hands. I’d worn flats to be cute and brought the boots for whatever Duncan had in mind. I tried to make that thought dirty, but looking at Ian derailed me into a flashback of a nothing-but-boots-on moment in our past and my sabotage was sabotaged.
“Yeah, well,” I said. That was profound. And my voice had gone husky like maybe my vocal chords had melted.
God, he looked amazing. I was trying really hard not to notice that and keep chanting Duncan’s name in my head, but Ian McMasters could still heat my blood. Faded jeans that hugged him about like mine did and looked so soft I could almost feel the fabric under my fingers. A light gray button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up that almost matched his eyes. Beat-up leather work boots. It was all I could do to keep a neutral expression of disinterest on my face and not drool.
“So, I’m kind of on my way somewhere,” I said, holding up the plastic bags as evidence. “So can we—”
“So what’s his name again?” he asked.
“Again?” I said. “Nice try.”
“He looks like I should know him,” Ian said with a shrug I didn’t buy for a second.
“So what if you did?” I said. “Not your business. Why are you here?”
“I just,” he began, pulling his gaze from me and looking down the street. “I guess I just wanted to clear the air.”
I felt my eyebrows raise. “Clear the air?” I said, a chuckle following close behind.
I chuckled. “Well, I do have pizza delivery on speed dial, just in case.”
“Good plan,” he said. “If nothing else, we’ll have ice cream.”
Always. “Can’t go wrong with that.”
“And I wanted to tell you to dress way down—not that you were going to wear a ball gown or something, but—”
“Damn, and I just dug it out,” I said, playing along, but my brain was ticking like mad. Dress way down? I glanced down at my towel. I was already there. Heat flushed from my neck up on the thoughts that conjured.
“Well, I have a little excursion in mind and you’ll want old clothes for it.”
Old. I blinked. “Okay, I’m intrigued.”
I could hear him smile through the phone. “Good. See you soon.”
I stared at the phone as it went black. Well, that certainly upped the interest meter. And allowed me to stop obsessing over clothes and wear my favorite faded, soft, ass-hugging, ripped-at-the-knee jeans. They weren’t ripped to be trendy, they were just that old.
Forty-five minutes later, clad in said jeans, a black tank top, and an equally ancient denim sleeveless jacket, I closed the front door behind me.
Think positive, I told myself, rounding the curve in my sidewalk. I held my head up and tossed my hair, trying to capture that sexy vibe, and captured Ian walking up my driveway instead.
Shit-damn-hell. I managed not to trip, fall, or stumble over my own feet, which was miraculous given the look of pure appreciation that burned across his face as he took me in, slow and thorough. He blew out a breath and I cursed under mine as I stopped a few feet short of him.
Ian backed up two more steps, crossing his arms over his chest as he rested against my car door. His body conveyed “casual air” at first glance, but I felt the spring-loaded energy coming off him even from that distance and saw the intensity in his eyes.
Like no time had passed.
And yet it had. Don’t let it get to you.
“Can I help you?” I said, hoping I appeared flippant and not the hot shaky mess I’d suddenly become.
I watched his gaze absorb me for the briefest of seconds, and he opened his mouth to speak, but then smiled as if to himself and shook his head.
“You look nice,” he said, his voice a little rough. His eyes panned me again, leaving little fires in their wake. Shit. “Ice cream and cowboy boots—that’s a combination.”
I glanced at the two bags in my hands. I’d worn flats to be cute and brought the boots for whatever Duncan had in mind. I tried to make that thought dirty, but looking at Ian derailed me into a flashback of a nothing-but-boots-on moment in our past and my sabotage was sabotaged.
“Yeah, well,” I said. That was profound. And my voice had gone husky like maybe my vocal chords had melted.
God, he looked amazing. I was trying really hard not to notice that and keep chanting Duncan’s name in my head, but Ian McMasters could still heat my blood. Faded jeans that hugged him about like mine did and looked so soft I could almost feel the fabric under my fingers. A light gray button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up that almost matched his eyes. Beat-up leather work boots. It was all I could do to keep a neutral expression of disinterest on my face and not drool.
“So, I’m kind of on my way somewhere,” I said, holding up the plastic bags as evidence. “So can we—”
“So what’s his name again?” he asked.
“Again?” I said. “Nice try.”
“He looks like I should know him,” Ian said with a shrug I didn’t buy for a second.
“So what if you did?” I said. “Not your business. Why are you here?”
“I just,” he began, pulling his gaze from me and looking down the street. “I guess I just wanted to clear the air.”
I felt my eyebrows raise. “Clear the air?” I said, a chuckle following close behind.
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