“Some kinda party goin’ on in there?” The blond jerked his chin in the direction of the courtyard and the town house beyond and smirked.
“Nope.” Was the guy trying to proposition him? The historic district had a vibrant gay community, and it was well known that people sometimes trolled the quieter lanes and parks looking for a casual hookup. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been approached. And after all, Jack was standing in the lane, barefoot and dressed only in a towel.
“See ya,” Jack said, and he motored back inside, being careful to lock and padlock the gate behind him. The Lexus rolled on down the lane, and he went inside to get dressed.
While he was grilling the steaks, Cara put the potatoes in the oven and threw together a salad, slicing fat, ripe red tomatoes she’d bought at the Saturday farmers’ market in Forsyth Park, and crumbling locally made goat cheese into a vinaigrette dressing. She went out to the garden to snip some dill and chives from her herb patch, and handed Jack a cold Moon River.
He gave her an appreciative kiss, and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You smell nice,” he murmured, nuzzling her hair.
“So do you. Hey—did you use my shampoo and conditioner?”
“Sure. If that’s a problem, next time, I’ll bring my own.”
“What makes you think there’s gonna be a next time?” She stifled a giggle.
He ran his hands up under her T-shirt. “There will be. You can’t get enough of me, right? You’re insatiable, right?”
Cara pushed him away lightly. “Don’t burn my steak, wise guy.”
The mosquitoes and gnats swarmed the garden right at dusk, so they ate at the dining-room table, moving the box fans from the bedroom into the living area.
Jack sipped the last of the wine she’d poured him, and pushed back from the table.
“That was great,” he said. “I guess I could cook if I took the trouble, but living alone, hell, most of the time when I get home from work, I have a microwave burrito or something like that. Having a real steak, and salad, all of it, that’s a treat.” He turned and flipped a bit of steak to Shaz, who had spent the past hour crouched by his feet, hoping for a treat.
“The books say you shouldn’t give dogs table scraps,” Cara said. She looked down at Poppy, who’d also been hanging around, hoping for a handout.
“You always go by what the books say?”
“No. But Poppy’s breeder said the same thing.”
He grunted something noncommittal, then sighed. “I’ll get these dishes cleaned up, then I better get on down the road. Early day out at Cabin Creek tomorrow.”
She nodded, and helped carry their dishes into the kitchen. He ran soapy water in her sink, carefully washed and rinsed everything while she dried. When the kitchen was cleaned up, he whistled for Shaz.
“Let’s go girl,” he called. The dog stood slowly.
Cara followed them downstairs. “Oh. I almost forgot. Your clothes.” She moved toward the washer-dryer, but Jack caught her by the hand. “Why don’t I leave ’em here? You know, just in case?”
“You mean for next time? You’re not very subtle, you know.” She put her arms around his neck and kissed him.
“Subtle no. Smooth yes.” He kissed her deeply and sighed.
“Hmm?” Cara inhaled his scent, and halfway wished he’d stay.
“Today was fun,” Jack said. “I mean it. It wasn’t like work at all. We make a good team, you know. And then dinner was awesome—the only time I get a real Sunday dinner is if I drop by my mom’s house.”
Cara raised one amused eyebrow. “And before dinner?”
“I was pretty amazing, wasn’t I?”
She swatted his arm.
“Okay. You were amazing too.”
She grinned. “Wait’ll you get the bill.”
31
