“We could picnic down in the cabana or by the pool instead.”
Her suggestion took him by surprise, but he wasn’t about to knock her back. “Excellent idea. It’s a date.”
“A date?” She looked at him, her plate and cup held inches from the table.
“Yep.” He quickly changed the subject. “Do you have Smithe’s address?”
“No. But I’m sure you do.” She smiled at him as she put her food down and pulled out a chair.
“Busted.” He grinned. “Although I’m sure you’ll forgive me this time.”
“I will if you explain why having lunch together is classified a date.”
“Because I asked you to lunch and you accepted.”
She laughed. “That doesn’t make it a date.”
“No. Me wanting to kiss you while we eat lunch makes it a date.”
Her smile froze, her gaze snapping up to meet his. He decided to let her think on that for a moment and forked up a bit of food.
“Better eat before it gets cold.”
He took his own advice and concentrated on eating and not giving in to the urge to lean over and kiss her.
ChapterTen
Vee breathed a sigh of relief as she dropped into the front seat of Brent’s car.
Retrieving her handbag had proved uneventful, much to Brent’s disgust.
She’d felt the tension coiling inside him as they’d stood at the door. Ready to strike at any moment, he’d bounced on his toes a couple of times, but once the door opened, he’d gone perfectly still, arms folded across his barrel of a chest and dark scowl on his face.
She hadn’t missed the step back Edward took on seeing Brent standing beside her.
Laughter spilled from her lips, filling the car, and making him look her way as he slid behind the wheel.
“Something funny?” he asked.
“You and your stand-over man impersonation.” She smiled. “Actually, it was Edward’s reaction that tickled my funny bone.”
He grinned. “He did turn a little green.”
“It was worth the inconvenience for that alone.”
“And now, to continue the entertainment portion of our day, let’s head home for our lunch date.” He started the car and put it in gear.
“What’s on the menu?” She buckled her seatbelt.
“Chicken Caesar salad, crusty bread rolls, and an assortment of cheese and fruit.”
“Sounds perfect for a hot day. Where are we picking that up from?”
“My place.” With practiced ease, he maneuvered the car into traffic.
“Your place? You have all that in your kitchen?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. Morgan isn’t the only guy you know who likes to cook. And can.”
