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“Sure you are. Come on…” Cupping her fingers, she waggled them in a come-hither gesture. “Hand it over. I can spot a fake ID from a mile away. Sneaking into bars is going to get you into big, big trouble, Mister…?”
“James. Tag James,” he supplied.
“Tag, huh?” Reaching out, she gave his shoulder a playful nudge. “You’re it.”
Wait… What? Was this woman hitting on him while Ally was sitting right here?
Rita thrust her ID in Ally’s general direction with a flat “Thanks, hon.” Eager blue eyes remained fastened on Tag. “Is this little cutie your daughter?”
Ally slid a hand across the table, threaded her fingers through Tag’s and pitched her voice to sweet. “Wife, actually. Thank you, Rita, for your meticulous and painstaking commitment to the law. You’re a credit to your profession.”
“Oh…” Rita drawled, her pale cheeks turning nearly as pink as her lip gloss. “Um…you’re welcome. Are you guys ready to order?”
They both asked for the special, the Mariner Plate, which consisted of deep-fried fish, clams, and shrimp with spicy slaw and french fries.
Ally turned her head and pretended to watch the game while Rita hurried off toward the kitchen. She hadn’t thought this through, because now her skin was burning at every contact point where it touched his, but she didn’t want to remove her hand in case Rita was watching. Tag’s gaze was intent on her, no doubt wondering how many shades of psycho she was.
It took all of her willpower not to squirm. Was he upset? She should probably apologize for thwarting Rita’s romantic ploy. But then the sound of his low, deep chuckle seeped into her, heating her from the inside out. She really liked his laugh.
He gave her hand a little squeeze. Her eyes felt heavy as she heaved them up to meet his. A rush of heat blasted through her at the intensity she saw there. She couldn’t blame Rita. No doubt he had women hitting on him constantly. She already knew he did. As Rankins’s most eligible bachelor, the title all but guaranteed it.
His brows shifted up along with the corners of his mouth. Eyes shining, green hues dominating, he repeated the word, “Wife?”
Subtly, she tried to extricate her fingers, but he held firm. “Stop that,” he said, “I’m holding my wife’s hand.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I do if you want to pull this off. Rita is over there telling her friends right now about the cradle robber she’s serving at table seven.”
Ally snickered and offered up a helpless shrug. “I’m sorry if I got in the way of something there. But the way she looked at me and then just dismissed me with the ‘hon’ and the ‘cutie’ and then hitting on you right in front of me? It was rude. Now you see what I was talking about earlier? I’ll tell her the truth if you want. I’ll even ask her out for you?”
“I’m not interested in her,” he said in that warm gravelly tone that melted into her like honey on toast. She managed a weak smile and tried not to think about why that statement pleased her.
“And, I assure you, I can find my own dates. But you do realize that you are probably young enough to be my daughter?”
She knew he was teasing, but for some reason, she needed to make sure he understood. “Technically, I suppose, yes. But I’m also old enough to be a paramedic, an Army veteran and the hospital liaison—as well as your wife.”
Like she’d hit a dimmer switch, his expression faded to serious. “Ah,” he said, brushing his free hand across his jaw. “Are you sure this isn’t still about our first encounter?”
Was it? She didn’t know. The way his thumb was moving over her hand made it difficult to think. She did know that she wished she hadn’t turned the look in his green-brown eyes from lazy fun to sharp and solemn. Although they probably should discuss the subject further, as they’d agreed. Face-to-face. She just wished his face, his hand, his voice and the rest of him wasn’t so…unsettling.
“I don’t know. You made that crack about the clay in the helicopter, but you never scheduled a meeting with Flynn. Are you going to give me grief going forward?”
