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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Gage
I watched her as she speared a plump shrimp coated in a simple creamy garlic parmesan sauce. She placed it between her pretty lips, letting out a low moan as her eyes slid shut. Dear Jesus. I was as hard as a rock just watching this woman eat pasta.
I sincerely hoped she wasn’t my sister.
Not that we were going to start dating if she wasn’t. After all, she lived hours away from me and it was soon going to be more than that when I moved to London. Not to mention, I barely knew her when it came down to it. But to know that I lusted after my own blood relative was just plain disturbing.
“Good?” I asked, my voice emerging all choked and desperate. Damn it. Get it together, Buchanan. Maybe it would be a good idea for my blood pressure to pretend it was a given that she was my sister. In other words, totally off limits.
The irony wasn’t lost on me that I was trying to see one woman as more than a sister and wishing I could feel brotherly toward another.
Rory groaned again, wrapping fettuccini around her fork and sliding that into her mouth. She nodded as she chewed and once she’d swallowed, said, “This isn’t pasta. It’s ambrosia. My God. What did you do to this shrimp?”
“You’d like to know, wouldn’t you, Cakes?” I shook my head. “You’re going to have to pay for any other recipes you get out of me.”
She laughed. “Yeah? What’s your fee?”
Let me lick you somewhere. Anywhere.
Jesus Christ. I shoved that visual aside with violence.
I laughed and decided to change the topic from one that felt like it could veer dangerously into heavy flirting at any moment. Likely on my part, but I didn’t want to tempt myself. “So, Cakes and Ale has been in your family for generations. Did you always want to work there?”
She hesitated, bringing the napkin to the side of her lips and dabbing before answering my question. “No. It just sort of…happened that way. My mom died when I was eleven and my uncles stepped in and raised me.”
My brows shot up. “The pirate…”
She laughed and took another bite, a drop of butter lingering on her bottom lip. I glanced away from that dangerous sight. “Yes, the pirate. His name’s Cassius. Another nod to Shakespeare. He’s actually a rough-hewn grumbly old bear who’s as solid as a rock in all ways.” She smiled, and I saw the love for him in her expression. That love decreased my bitterness toward the man who’d put an end to our night of pool table play and practically chased me away from his niece. He’d been protecting her, just as he should have been.
“My other uncle’s name is Romeo, which needs no explanation.”
“And your mother?”
“Ophelia.”
“Your family really had a thing for Shakespeare.”
“Indeed.”
“And yet your mom didn’t give you a Shakespearean name. Unless Aurora is a lesser-known side character I don’t remember.”
She raised a brow. “Well acquainted with the women of Shakespearean literature, are you?”
I laughed. And God she was cute. “They don’t call me Ivy League for nothing,” I said, giving her a wink.
She pressed her lips together as she obviously held back a smile. “They. Right. No, by the time I was born, and unless she’d wanted to recycle a name, my mom was left with Hippolyta or Goneril. She made the much-appreciated decision that there’s a time to buck tradition and go a different route.”
“Ah.” I grinned. “Goneril. Hmm. Yes, that would be a tough name to carry.”
“Unless you’re a pharmaceutical drug.”
I laughed again and she smiled, taking her bottom lip between her teeth as we stared at each other. Blood rushed to the place between my legs and I adjusted myself, looking away as she dug back into her food. “So, ah, is Romeo as pirate-y as your Uncle Cassius?”
Rory made a small slurping sound as she sucked in a noodle and brought her fingers to her mouth. “No. Romeo is…the quintessential Romeo. Picture a combo of Elvis Presley and Prince Charming and you’ll have a good idea of my younger uncle.”
“Prince Charming isn’t a real person.”
