Hot Night. Shannon McKennaЧитать онлайн книгу.
they pulled into the parking lot, but his frantic self-censorship was choking off all conversation, leaving him tongue-tied, like a nervous little boy.
He’d been tempted to fake like he was some big gourmet, but by the age of thirty-six, a guy should know better than to lie about himself to impress a woman. He wouldn’t have been able to pull it off anyhow. Chris could have, or Jamie, with their highbrow tastes in food and beer.
Then again, maybe he’d overdone it with the SpaghettiOs crack. He had a tendency to be contrary. Or so he’d been told.
Nope. Honesty was the way to go. When he got hungry, he ate whatever presented itself. It just never occurred to him to be picky.
“Here we are.” He immediately kicked himself for that scintillating conversation starter. She looked nervous, too, twiddling with the strap that barely held her dress on her body. That outfit was sexier than the one she’d worn the night before, which was saying a great deal.
He wrenched his gaze away. “Shall we?”
He headed around the van to open her door, but she’d jumped out on her own. He met her coming around the van and ran smack into her.
He steadied her. She was so warm and resiliant and soft, under the smooth fabric of her slip. Dress. Whatever the hell it was. He felt her shiver in reaction to his touch. He stared into her face, transfixed by the shiny loose locks of hair that had fallen forward to frame her chin.
Everything about her was so fine-grained and smooth, every exquisite detail. She shimmered and glowed. As if he’d captured some mythical creature in an enchanted forest, like a unicorn, and persuaded it to come to a bar and have a beer with him.
She smiled, and the gleam in her eyes broke the spell. She was all flesh-and-blood woman, with those full, sensual, gleaming lips.
He wondered how that lipstick would look smeared all over him.
“Let’s go,” he said hoarsely.
Maria’s was crowded. He spotted a booth in the back and made for it, keeping a hand on Abby’s elbow as they wove through the crush.
Abby looked around. “They’re staring at me like I have two heads.”
He couldn’t hold the words back. “It’s not your two heads they’re staring at, sweetheart.”
She gave him a narrow look. “Yeah, my super slutty dress. I know you hate it.” She slapped her purse down and slid into the booth.
“I don’t hate it.” He slid into the opposite seat. “I’d like it just fine in the privacy of my own bedroom.”
Abby looked down, drawing her lower lip between her teeth.
The waitress swung by. “What’ll it be for you folks tonight?”
“Cheeseburger deluxe, medium rare, fries and a beer,” he said.
“Just a Diet Coke for me,” Abby said.
“You got it.” The waitress plunged back into the crowd.
Zan’s eyes fastened hungrily on to Abby again. He wished he were dressed better. She started tucking up the hair that had fallen down around her face. Raising her arms did interesting things to her bosom.
She twisted a lock into place, and another tumbled down to take its place. “You’re staring,” she accused.
“That happens, when a woman with a body like yours goes out in public dressed in an incredibly expensive slip,” he observed.
“Oh, stop going on about my dress, already. You’re bugging me.” A wisp she’d just tucked slipped down again. “Damn.”
“Why don’t you just take it all down?” he suggested.
“You told me you liked it up.” She stabbed a hairpin in.
“Sure, I like it.” He glanced around. Dozens of pairs of male eyes slid innocently away. “So do eighteen other guys.”
Her lips tightened and she began plucking out pins, slapping them down onto the table. She unwound the coil, pulled it forward, and draped it over her tits. “Happy now? Am I decent?”
It only made her look that much more tousled and seductive.
Their drinks arrived, and Zan waited until the waitress was gone to reply. “You look beautiful, Abby,” he said.
“How do you know my name?”
“The stuffed shirt called you Abby when he was lecturing you about your sexual addiction and the dark shadows of your past. Besides which, it was printed on your check.”
Her cheeks reddened. “Which you still have not taken. Speaking of which, you did overcharge me! A hundred and twenty, my butt!”
“I did not overcharge you,” he said.
“You charged Reginald twenty dollars less and you didn’t even ask for his phone number!”
He laughed and picked up a hank of her hair, shifting it under the light to admire the glimmering red highlights. He caught a tantalizing whiff of her perfume. “Yeah, but Reginald called at 9:48 PM, and you called at 11:39 PM. Big difference in base rates,” he countered.
He let go of her hair. It settled, featherlight, across her wrist. He touched the soft skin of her wrist with his forefinger. Her rosy lips parted, breath quickening. She wanted him, he exulted. He could feel it. She started to say something and choked the words off as his finger slid into her cupped palm. Exploring velvety, secret inside places.
He shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden seat.
His heart hammered. She was softer than anything he’d ever touched. The waitress chose that moment to bring him his burger.
He withdrew his hand with a sigh, uncapped the ketchup and dumped some on his fries. He opened his burger, glopped some more on.
“What kind of cheese is on your burger?” Abby asked.
The question puzzled him. “Damned if I know.”
“Lift up the bun. Let me see,” she directed.
Bemused, he lifted up his ketchup-smeared bun.
“Ick,” she commented with a shudder. “That presliced processed stuff tastes like wax. Why didn’t you ask for Tillamook, or Gruyère?”
The question stank of a trap, but he could think of no way to evade it. “Never occurred to me,” he said stoically. “Never would have. Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?”
“How are the fries?”
“Don’t know yet. Help yourself,” he offered.
She plucked one from his plate, dipped it into ketchup, and popped it into her mouth. He was relieved at the approval on her face.
French fries might not be much to go on, but they were a start.
Abby was floating. The sensual heft of Zan’s jacket felt wonderful over her shoulders, even though it hung halfway down to her thighs.
They’d reached the end of the boardwalk, where the lights began to fade. Beyond the boardwalk, the warehouse district began. They’d walked the whole boardwalk, talking and laughing, and at some point, their hands had swung together and sort of just…stuck. Warmth seeking warmth. Her hand tingled joyfully in his grip.
The worst had happened. Aside from his sex appeal, she simply liked him. She liked the way he laughed, his turn of phrase, his ironic sense of humor. He was smart, honest, earthy, funny. Maybe, just maybe, she could trust herself this time.
Their strolling slowed to a stop at the end of the boardwalk.
“Should we, ah, walk back to your van?” she ventured.
“This is where I live,” he told her.
She