Teagan took Harley’s hand. “Maybe we already have.”
Chapter 17
A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to
stop speech when words become superfluous.
—Ingrid Bergman
Colin walked into Lover’s Point Bistro, wondering why the hell he was there. After work, he’d found a note stuck to his front windshield. Written on an electricity bill envelope and scribbled in crayon, it was from Teagan, asking him to meet her after work.
Yes, they’d shared a fuck-tastic kiss—that she’d initiated. But since that night on her back deck, she’d gone radio silent and Colin wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Oh, he knew how he felt about the kiss and his new lease on life. He could already feel his confidence surging. And he hoped like hell Teagan wanted to be a part of his Get Your Mojo Back plan.
The fact that this wasn’t some order-at-the-window kind of establishment and more of a fine dining restaurant gave him hope.
Perched atop a thirty-foot cliff overlooking whitecapped waters, the restaurant offered panoramic views of the Pacific. It was also the kind of place people came for a romantic evening. A date, even.
If memory served, when a woman asked a man to show up to a candlelit restaurant with a wine cellar, it usually implied a date with a capital D. But it had been so long since he’d actually had dinner with a woman, he wasn’t sure if he’d gotten his signals crossed. To be safe, he’d settled on dark jeans and a blue button-up. It looked casual but the shoes made it date appropriate.
If that’s what this was.
Damn, he really hoped it was. It had been a week, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her lips and the way her body fit so perfectly against his. Then there were her eyes—he could look into those amber pools forever.
Colin had no clue as to where Teagan stood. She’d been upset and a little off balance after Lily’s fall. She’d said she wanted to take things slow, thenshe’dkissedhim. And, damn, what a kiss it was. First, she’d been tentative, as if judging where he stood on the topic of locking lips. So he’d shown her his exact stance on the subject.
He wanted her.
Badly. Hard stop.
And not just a benefit kind of situation like he’d had with other women. Oh, no. He wanted to wake up next to her, something they’d never experienced.
Back in the day, they’d had to sneak around, get creative. He could still remember every moment of those days, but he’d always wanted more. He wasn’t talking about sex—they were compatible as hell in that department—but the kind of intimacy that came from late-night talks and early morning kisses. That really wasn’t under the umbrella of mojo, but he’d come up with the plan, so he got to make the rules.
Nerves prickled the back of his neck as he scanned the restaurant. She’d said she was sitting on the outdoor terrace, and there she was, exactly where she promised she’d be, waiting in case he could make it. As if he’d miss this. The whole setup felt a little like one of those Cary Grant movies his mom used to make him watch.
She was at the far end of the terrace, at a table beside the railing, staring out on the ocean. She looked beautiful. The sinking sun cast a golden glow on her face and highlighted the paler strands of her blond hair. The rhythmic sounds of the waves crashing on the cliffs below set a more-than-friends tone. Then there were the cocktails, two to be exact. Martini glasses, not his usual go-to—he was more of a beer guy—but he’d take it since cocktails at five were the universal, grand-slam sign that he was walking into an impending date.
Except for her outfit choice. Faded jean skirt, a teal tank, which hadI POSSESS NICE BUNSwith the company logo printed on it, and tennies. To top off the absolutely, positively not-a-date ensemble, she had a smudge of flour on her cheek and a sprinkle of crumbs in her hair as if she’d just come from the kitchen.
Well hell, that was a hit and a miss. Maybe he was more out of practice than he thought. It had been more than a hot minute since he’d been in the game. Then again, he’d never been all that skilled at games. He liked it honest and real, with consistent follow-through.
“Hey,” he said, approaching the table, thankful he’d left the flowers he’d brought in the car in case of this exact scenario.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” she said, looking relieved.
Oh, he wouldn’t miss this for the world. Teagan was more complicated than a nuclear reactor, holding everything so close to her chest it was nearly impossible to read her. Which made her all the more interesting.
“Sorry I’m late. The clinic was understaffed so I had to work a little overtime.” He’d made it home thirty minutes before the time specified in her dinner invitation. Had Ronnie cost him tonight, he’d have pummeled the guy. Luckily, Colin had been relieved by one of the other vets on call.
“That’s okay,” she said, standing to give him a closer-than-friends hug, then a gentle kiss—on the lips. “I’m just happy you made it.”
If he’d been happy before, now he was giddy as hell.
“Drinks before five? Better be careful, Bianchi, or you’ll have every single guy in town lining up to buy you a second round.”
She rested her arms on the table and leaned forward. “It wouldn’t be so bad, if it were the right guy.”
He nearly raised his hand. Crumbs or not, she was stunning. And smart and sexy and a whole lot of other things that made him stupid. Then there was her tank with a neckline made to drive a man crazy in that sophisticated flirty way, a scoop neck low enough to give him an inspiring view of mouthwatering cleavage.
