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“Daddy what are etchings?”
Lila’s laughter erupted into a full on belly laugh behind me and even though it was at my expense, it was another gift.
Just for me.
Tara
I knew agreeing to dinner with Chris—at his house, no less—was a bad idea.
So I decided to go for my lady armor, which meant sexy jeans that hugged all the curves I hated on most days, a light green top that showed off my boobs like the national treasure Mara claimed they were, and highlighted my eyes which I lined perfectly. Never mind that it took fifteen minutes to get the lines and the wings, perfectly straight. I wore heels that were just high enough to give me a boost of confidence without worrying I might topple over at any minute.
I looked good.
I felt good.
Mostly.
I rang the doorbell and waited, reminding myself the entire time hat this was just two new friends having dinner. It didn’t matter that we’d kissed before or that there was undeniable chemistry between us. We were friends.
Nothing more.
Couldn’t be anything more, because Chris was hiding something. And because he didn’t want a real connection that could lead to more. In short, he was playing games and I refused to stick around and hope he changed his mind, because, spoiler alert, they never changed their minds.
The door opened in slow motion, at least that’s how it felt. The first thing I saw was bare feet with evenly cut toe nails that looked like they were also filed down. Well manicured, I thought which caused an unexpected smile. The door opened fully and there Chris stood, looking handsome as all get out in worn jeans that hung low on his narrow hips and a long sleeve t-shirt that did devilish things to his chest and biceps.
“Like what you see?”
I heard the laughter in his voice well before my gaze made it up his tall frame to settle on his face, and I frowned.
“Mostly. Except the clear polish on your toes.”
Chris’ smile slipped, but only a little. “I never get polish,” he insisted. “But I do enjoy getting a pedicure with my little girl. Sometimes,” he added sheepishly.
“Your secret is safe with me,” I told him sincerely and waited for him to invite me inside.
“You look…hot.” His gaze darkened as it raked over my body, up and down. Twice.
“Thanks, but you don’t have to sound quite so surprised.”
“It’s not that, hell you just took me by surprise. Or should I say those jeans took me by surprise.” I pretended that the warmth that stole through me at his words had nothing to do with him and everything with the warmth spilling from the house. I ignored the goosebumps and the way my nipples beaded under his gaze. “Come on in Tara.”
I stepped inside and nearly tripped over my own feet as his woodsy masculine scent caught me off guard.
“Leave the shoes on. Please.”
I pretended that the feeling I experienced wasn’t satisfaction at the heat and arousal I heard in his voice, but rather indifference. “Afraid my toes aren’t as pretty as yours?”
He flashed a wide grin. “You think my toes are pretty?”
I turned to look at him over my shoulder, a placating smile on my face. “Yes, Chris, you are very pretty.”
“Aw, thanks.” He brushed past me and grabbed my hand, tugging me along the long hallway towards an open door that led downstairs.
“Taking me to your dungeon already?” I smacked my lips. “I expected you to at least ease into it.”
“Smart ass. You’ll eat those words soon enough.” Chris kept hold of my hand and guided me down the narrow staircase to his basement and when he moved aside, I gasped. “Right?”
The basement was completely finished and set up as his own personal man cave, complete with a dart board, pool table and a full bar set up in one corner.
“Cornhole? I’m in awe.” It was the perfect at home bar for a guy who was the sole caregiver for a young kid. “This is like the granddaddy of man caves.”
His laugh was deep. “I’m glad you think so too. What shall I beat you at first?”
I put a hand on his bicep. “That depends, which game do you think you’re the best at?”
“Pool, of course.”
“Of course,” I parroted back and motioned for him to lead the way. “Pool it is then, big man.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
About halfway through the first game I realized that Chris wasn’t just talking smack or trying to throw me off my game, he was good. Really good. “So, what, did you grow up in a bar or something?”
He laughed and lined up another shot that sank two balls in two different pockets. “Worried?”
I shrugged. “Impressed.”
“Yeah? Wait until you see this.” Chris bent over, the muscles in his arm bunching and flexing temptingly as he lined up an impressive shot…and promptly missed it. “Dammit.”
