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1
CADY WAS GLAD she was running late. It gave her time to recover from the hotter-than-hell man sitting at the table across the restaurant, waiting for her. Bianca had said he was good-looking. Good-looking? She and Bianca needed to have a serious talk. This man was meant for getting naked and savoring long lazy days in bed. Or long, sleepless nights in bed...in the shower...on the couch...in the car.
She trailed behind the server to the table, giving herself time to appreciate her date. Broad shoulders. Strong jaw with just the right amount of stubble. Black hair. “Patton?” she held her hand out, unable to deny the slight purr in her voice.
His pale eyes were unexpected beneath his thick eyebrows and inky-black hair. But, pow, they packed a punch—and left a not-so-subtle fire pulsing through her veins.
He stood, towering over her five-foot-two-inch frame. “Cady?”
She nodded, arching a brow. “Guilty.” Her brain was filled with all sorts of delectable possibilities.
The corner of his mouth cocked up, and he took her hand in his, shaking it once. His hand was rough, warm and huge. His fingers wrapped around hers, strong but controlled. She couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on her body, uncontrolled.
She sat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said, smiling at him.
He didn’t smile back. “No problem,” he murmured, sitting across from her.
“Good evening, I’ll be your server this evening,” their waiter gushed. She took the offered menu, using the opportunity to subtly assess the delicious surprise that was her date.
A quick glance told her he was doing the same thing. But, unlike her, he wasn’t trying to be subtle about it. He was staring; his pale blue eyes inspected her with a meticulousness that bordered on rudeness.
“We have a lovely house red this evening,” the server offered enthusiastically.
“I’d like a Whiskey Special, extra olives.” She smiled up at their server and he smiled back. He was good-looking. If Bianca were here, she could explain the difference to her. Questionable manners or not, her date was in another class altogether.
“I’ll have a beer.” Patton’s voice was all gravel and rasp, sending delightful shivers along her spine.
Cady looked at Patton and tucked the same strand of hair behind her ear.
The serv
er excused himself and left them with the menus.
“Who did this to you?” she asked, scanning the menu without looking up.
“What?” he asked, clearly confused by her question.
“Who set you up?” She looked at him, grinning. “Friend or family?”
He gave her a lopsided grin in return. “Family.” His gaze held hers. “You?”
“Friend.”
His gaze wandered along her neck to the shoulder peeking out of her black sweater. “More pressure that way.”
“Really?” Why did it feel as though he was touching her? She shivered.
“You’re stuck with family.” His eyes returned to her face. “Friends are optional.”
“Ouch,” she laughed. “Not this one, not really.”
He sat the menu aside, but his steely gaze never left her face. She stared right back, exploring the strong jaw and razor-sharp features. He wasn’t pretty-boy-handsome, he was...overwhelming.
“Know what you want?”
He smiled—revealing a dimple. “For dinner?”
She was going to need a cold shower soon. “Isn’t that what we’re talking about?” She swallowed.
“Sure.” He sat back in his chair, resting one hand on the table. He stared at her shoulder again.
