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A slow grin stretches across my face. "It's five minutes until seven, pretty baby."
"I can tell time, super-spy Finn Taylor," she sasses, flapping a hand in the air. "We said seven thirty."
"No, you said seven."
"I did n…" Her eyes grow wide. "Shoot. I did say seven. Why did I say seven?"
"Because you couldn't wait that extra half hour to see me again."
"If your head gets any bigger, you're going to flip that pretty bike out there," she says, batting her lashes at me. "Physics, you know."
"The head between my shoulders isn't the one I'm worried about, Scarlett Crawford from Gatsby Books," I growl, smirking at her. "It's the other one in danger over here. Your fault, by the way. Entirely your fault."
Her cheeks turn pink.
I love that color on her.
I lean forward, eager to feel the heat in them against my lips. "He gets bigger every time I look at you, pretty baby," I whisper against her skin. "You're too damn beautiful for words."
The way her breath catches might be my favorite sound.
"These are for you," I say, presenting the bouquet of flowers to her with a flourish.
"Oh, wow," she whispers, reaching out to touch a petal and then quickly pulling her hand back. "Please tell me you didn't destroy a good book to make these."
"Nope. Devin made them from that fucking bullshit book you had me reading this morning." I scowl at the memory. After reading only a handful of mafia romances, I won't pretend to be an expert on the dark romance genre, but I'm smart enough to comprehend the difference between dark romance and overt misogyny. "The words on those pages have thorns, pretty baby. So we turned them into roses."
"They're beautiful," she says, running one fingertip along the petal of one rose. "Truly, Finn."
"Good. Then at least one copy of that fucking bullshit book was good for something," I mutter, making her lips twitch. "Are you going to invite me in?"
"I guess so," she grumbles, making me smile this time. "But just so you know, I was completely serious about Aunt Ophelia wanting you to hack mahjong for her. I told her that was illegal, but she says you know people at the NSA so you can do what you want."
"I do know people at the NSA," I say, following her inside. I take a quick glance around, grinning. Ophelia's house is as colorful as she is. Bright paintings hang all over her teal walls. Bookshelves full of knickknacks and collectibles are placed at random intervals. Thick rugs in various shades of fuchsia and aqua protect original hardwood floors. Somehow, it's peaceful instead of chaotic, as if Ophelia's spirit has seeped into the very foundation of the old Victorian.
"You are a super-spy," Scarlett mumbles, carefully setting the bouquet of book roses on a table just inside the front door. She spins to face me with her hands on her wide hips. "Did you computer stalk me, Finn Taylor?"
"Did you computer stalk me, Scarlett Crawford?" I retort, arching a brow.
"Obviously." She rolls her eyes like I just asked the world's dumbest question. "All I found was your business license. What did you find?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Yes!" she cries. "That's why I asked!"
I laugh quietly, shaking my head. If she keeps being this fucking cute, there's no way I'm leaving here tonight without getting a taste of her. "I didn't computer stalk you, pretty baby," I say seriously. "What I learn about you, I'll learn from you. I want to hear all your secrets from your perfect lips, not from any computer."
"Oh." Her expression softens, and then guilt flickers across her face. "Well, now I feel like a jerk for computer stalking you."
"Don't. We both know you were only looking for pictures of me anyway."
"Was not," she mumbles, but her blush tells me that's exactly what she was doing. She may think she's fooling me, but I see her sneaking peeks at me when she thinks I'm not looking. She can't keep her eyes off me. Scarlett has it bad for me.
Thank God.
"And done," I say, pushing Ophelia's keyboard away from me after dinner. "You're now the master of mahjong. Betty LaCroix won't know what hit her."
"Oh, my stars and garters!" Ophelia crows in delight, clapping her hands together and cackling. "That old heifer will be fit to be tied at our next match!"
