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“You have more than you give yourself credit for. Remember, I saw the whole presentation. You’ve got good ideas and a solid presence. You did your homework. Youcancarve your place in the big conservation world and save some creatures. If I can help speed that up, I will.”
Destiny takes a long sip of her wine. “That’s a big promise, Mr. Foster.”
“Yeah, and I don’t bet on losing horses.”
“Flattering,” she says, but her eyes ignite as she looks at me again.
With a parting nod, I stand to tidy up the table and clear away our plates.
Just in time, too.
One more second with her face-to-face and I’m pretty sure my balls would be smurf-blue forever.
All the while, I feel her watching me, which doesn’t help them warm up to something resembling human coloring again.
“For the record, you’re still demanding as hell, no matter how many nice words I’ve dropped on you tonight.” I tell her.
“Ass,” she whispers, but her lips are curved and her cheeks are flushed with soft heat when I glance back.
“You don’t seem to mind.”
“You have other attributes, too,” she says, checking me out pretty obviously. “There are some benefits.”
“Yeah? Why don’t you enlighten me?” I’m enjoying making her blush to death, especially the way her eyes linger on my shoulders.
Working out has never been about attention.
I don’t lift weights in my forties and pound through miles of coastal waters so girls will get butterflies in the gym.
For me, it’s about erasing all the shit I’d rather not think about. The human brain is just another muscle, the only one you can pummel into exhaustion by running the rest of your body ragged.
But damn, when Miss Destiny looks at me with that teal sparkle, I can’t help feeling good about myself.
I fuckingwanther to feast on every inch of me.
“You’re quiet. Enjoying the view?” I ask.
“Maybe.” She drains her glass. “The wine tells me to say yes.”
I snort. “Time to open a new bottle, then.”
I half expect her to tell me I’m getting us into trouble again, crossing all the flimsy boundaries we put in place. But she just tilts her head as she looks at me and holds out her glass.
“Top me off, please.”
I grab another red blend and pop the cork, refilling her glass. She tosses it back almost in one go in a way that says she’s thirsty for far more than fermented grape juice tonight.
Damn.
A shame, but as she licks her lips, she looks up at me again. I forget all those thoughts about the quality of the wine.
“A shame,” she says, echoing my thoughts. “It’s good stuff—really good—but I wanted to get a little tipsy.”
“Why?”
A dangerous question.
“Um, so I have the nerve to finally tell you that I think you look really good in chef mode.”
