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Under the table I squeeze my knees together, a useless attempt to erase a flutter of excitement.
“Ahoy there!” A stubby glass filled with ice cubes bobbing in pink liquid lands in front of me.
I pluck the lemon slice from the rim, flick it on the table, and drain every last drop in four swift gulps. There’s not as much of a burn in my throat as there should be but it’ll do.
Conner whistles. “Wouldn’t want to face you in a drinking contest.”
I shake the glass, now empty except for the ice cubes. “Their shit is watered down. But you’re right. You wouldn’t want to compete with me. There’s nothing I can’t swallow, Conner.”
That slip was no accident. I know full well what I’m implying.
So does he. He stirs in his chair and turns his head to the side. I’d say his cock just turned to steel and he needs a few seconds to deal with it.
Triumph washes over me. For once Conner Wiseman is at a loss for words.
When he recovers, his eyes slide back to my face and he inspects me for a moment before withdrawing a thick money clip from his pocket. He drops a stack of high bills in the center of the table and stands. “Come on.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Weare leaving.”
I cross my legs and haul my purse into my lap. “I’m pretty comfortable right here. I just might have another drink.”
With one hand he gruffly shoves the table two feet to the right and looms over me. “Plenty to drink at my house. You’ll be a lot more comfortable there.”
Our eyes clash. His leg brushes my knee. Deliberately, I’m sure.
I can hold anyone’s gaze without flinching, even when I have to tilt my head back to see him. “Thought I remembered you declaring that sex is off the table.”
“You just saw me move the fucking table.” He extends his hand, a chivalrous move that’s at odds with the fire burning in his eyes.
“Doesn’t matter where you put the table, Wiseman. You’re not getting any tonight.”
Even as I say this, I slide my palm into his and allow him to pull me to my feet.
He smiles and leads me to the door.
Chapter9
Haven
Amazingly, Conner’s house is not some tricked out castle of a bachelor den. I would expect the cave of an NFL king to sit alone on a high hill and include exotic trappings such as gold plated pool tables and cavernous theater rooms.
But no, Conner lives in an ordinary one story sprawling ranch in the cozy depths of a serene neighborhood. It’s the kind of place where daylight summons high energy moms wheeling jogging strollers while kids on training wheels pedal beside them. But right now the orderly streets are tranquil and homey with recycling bins neatly crouched at the curb. The street lamps emit a soft white ambient light that’s unknown to east side streets where the lighting is either garishly fluorescent or dangerously non existent.
“Tess is my decorator,” Conner says as he tosses his keys on the coffee table. “Used her realtor superpowers to find this place and then helped me pick out furniture.”
Tess has a taste for white wood and deep cushioned seating. Spot of bright color pop from couch pillows and wall art. The effect is pleasant and inviting. A yellow playpen waits in the corner, evidence that a baby lives here.
A frame in the center of a nearby end table catches my eye and I bend low for a closer look. “Did Micah draw this?”
The pencil sketch is simple. Two kids, a boy and a girl, exchange a small flower. A sweet scene that manages to be humble and poignant.
Conner flicks on a kitchen light and glances over. “Yup. Talented, isn’t he?”
I find it difficult to look away from the framed sketch. The longer I stare, the more I’m drawn into the scene. I suppose that’s the mark of an effective artist. “I knew he designed his own ink but I’ve never seen any of his other work.”
“It’s Micah and Tess in the picture,” Conner says. “Well, them as they were a long time ago.”
