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“I’ve always loved this car,” he said, looking around the cabin.
“Me too. I saw it in a movie once and swore one day I’d own one.”
“You’re a bad influence. I have half a mind to do the same,” he said, giving it a little more gas than necessary.
“Don’t you have enough toys?” I asked, curious.
“Never,” he said with a wicked lilt. “Know anywhere we can get a good steak?”
I laughed audibly in the wind-filled cabin and gave him a sideways glance. “Jack, this is Texas. Drive and I’ll point.”
“Right,” he said sheepishly. I found it adorable.
Twenty minutes later, we were seated at one of my favorite steakhouses. The décor consisted of rustic metal signs hanging from every surface and exposed wood beams. Discarded peanut shells were scattered on the floors, courtesy of the small bowls on the tables set out as hors d’oeuvres. To complete the look, the walls were also adorned with longhorn skulls and various barn tools.
“I like it,” Jack said, taking a long look around in appreciation and then back to me as he scoured my body and face.
Suddenly, I was nervous. Was this a date? I’d been anything but entertaining in the last few years of my life. I was sure I was relatively boring and terrified I wouldn’t have one interesting thing to say. I was giving myself whiplash with the emotions I’d experienced in the last hour. I’d gone from a crying, emotional mess to a horny widow in mere minutes. Now I was insecure about the fact that I may not be able to hold this beautiful man’s attention.
Once we were seated, the server quickly approached us, and I ordered bourbon on ice.
“Bourbon?” Jack asked, amused.
“I drink bourbon and eat bloody steak, Jack.” I eyed our waitress. “What are you having?”
“Make that two bourbons and two beers.” He looked at me, the corners of his mouth turning up. “I might need to make sure I have more hair on my chest than you do.”
“I don’t like hairy chests,” I said, picking up my menu with a smirk.
“Great, neither do I. Your friends seem fun.”
“They are,” I shot back quickly.
“You work together?”
“Yes,” I answered as I eyed him above my menu.
He gave me a wink and pulled it down to get a clear look at me. “Let’s not cover the view.”
“For a few years,” I said, finishing my answer to his earlier question and ignoring his compliment.
“Rose, you aren’t going to speak in clipped sentences with me this whole dinner, are you?”
I had to steady my breath at the intensity of his eyes. Sex… this man exuded some sort of signal that had the back of my thighs sweating. All I saw when I looked at him were full lips taking my skin and sucking mercilessly.
“Rose?”
I was completely lost in thoughts of his mouth on me. I shivered in my seat, furious with my out of control libido. I’d gone from insecure back to horny.
Is this PMS? I quickly did a mental calculation, trying to figure out if my new insanity had anything to do with my raging hormones.
“Rose?” Jack asked again.
“No,” I countered a little too harshly. “I’m good… just as long as you know I really don’t date.”
Jack studied me, and I avoided him by shoveling peanuts into my mouth. A long silence followed as I kicked myself mentally for throwing a bucket of cold water on us both.
“Fine with me,” he said, picking up his menu without any protest. I sat stunned. There was no fight in him whatsoever. It was too easy. There was no way I’d read him all wrong. Not with the way he looked at me, not with the last few days of flirting. Did I want him to fight me?
