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“Enough tomarryhim?”
“Desire could develop over time.”
“Howlong have you known this guy?”
She’d already told him she met Paul years ago, clear back in culinary school, so she knew he wasn’t actually seeking an answer. “You’re saying I should’ve figured that out by now.”
“Bingo.”
“Not every relationship takes the same course.”
“I’m not suggesting that. But shouldn’t you feel more than you do?”
“You asked me how Paul and I approach our business and what we might disagree on,” she said, hoping to guide them to safer territory.
“And you said you were cautious. I take it he’s not.”
“He doesn’t even consider the possibility of failure. He’s pressing me to open another dessert diner, but I’m afraid that will spread us too thin. And if it doesn’t work...”
“You’ll be in over your head.”
“We could lose it all,” she agreed.
He put his empty glass back on the table. “I’d like to come see the diner sometime.”
She hadn’t expected that response, or his interest in general. Part of her was eager to show Brant what she’d created. It’d taken a lot of work, and she was proud of it. The other part, however, was reluctant to have him meet Paul. It was one thing to indulge in a quick fling before she committed herself to her business partner; it was another to welcome the man she’d slept with totheirrestaurant. “If you’re ever in Seattle, you’ll have to stop by.”
He chuckled. “That was a lukewarm invitation if ever I’ve heard one.”
“Paul will be there,” she pointed out as if it should be obvious.
“If you and I are just friends, what does that matter?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but couldn’t come up with a good answer. So she checked the cuckoo clock her aunt had hung on the wall after a trip to Germany—one of the few times she’d left Coyote Canyon—and said, “It’s almost eight. I’d better get the dishes done so I can make some more food for the funeral.”
He helped carry their plates into the kitchen and put the leftovers in plastic containers they crammed into the fridge with all the gelatin fruit salads.
She was standing at the sink, filling it with hot, soapy water when he came up behind her, penned her in with a hand on either side and looked at her through their reflection in the window. “Thanks for dinner,” he murmured.
Although he wasn’t actually touching her, she could feel the heat of his body and was shocked by how difficult it was not to lean back. She couldn’t remember ever wanting a man so much, which added to her shock. This was Brant! But now she knew what sex with him was like—and she couldn’t forget it. “Of course.”
“You’d like the air conditioner to remain here in the kitchen for the next few days, right?”
Just a few inches. If she leaned back that far, she knew his arms would go around her. He’d probably turn her around and kiss her. And then...
A shiver of desire rolled down her spine, but she summoned her resolve and continued to avoid contact. “Yeah. I won’t be able to go back to sorting and packing until after the funeral.”
“When’s that?”
She glanced down at his hands, remembering what it was like to feel them on her body. They were nice hands—large and masculine yet gentle when they should be. “Thursday.”
Because she didn’t respond in any way that invited him to touch her, as he’d probably hoped, he stepped back. “What time?”
After using a dish towel to dry her hands, she turned to face him. “At two. Why?”
“I was planning on attending the service.”
Her gaze fell to his lips. They had to be the best lips she’d ever seen—perfectly formed. She had to force herself to look up at his eyes. “Why? You barely knew Aunt Phoebe.”
