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Damn.
“Hungry?” Anna asked, drawing his attention back to her face as she rummaged through the fridge.
“I could eat,” Gate agreed, giving her time to settle into his presence in her space. Whatever emotion she’d been riding at the compound was locked tight now. He just had to figure out a way through the wall she’d built to protect herself.
The woman had no idea what she did to him. Complex, mysterious, smart. She was everything that could keep his mind engaged, and didn’t that just turn him on.
Her body was a knockout punch, but her mind was lethal.
Anna set cold cuts, olives, cheese, and crackers on a board and then slid a beer across the quartz countertop. She poured wine from an already open bottle for herself.
Gate helped himself to the charcuterie, no plate in sight. “Less to clean,” he offered.
“As many dishes as the kids go through, I’m happy to skip them,” Anna said, reaching for an olive.
Gate tipped back his beer while he studied her. “You ready to finish what we started at the club?” he asked.
Anna gestured to the board, “I’d rather eat.”
“We can do both,” Gate grinned, dipping back into the food.
Anna dropped the cheese cube she’d been about to bite. “Gate….” she started, but her voice trailed off before she went any further.
Gate set his bottle on the counter, leaned in on his forearms, and looked at her. “It’s just me,” Gate said. “Why is this so hard?”
*************************
Anna
Gate’s eyes glittered as he waited for my answer.
I took another sip of wine and then set the glass down, sliding it toward the center of the island. “It’s been a long time, Gate,” I said.
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, the recessed lighting of the kitchen doing all kinds of things for the planes and angles of his face, not to mention the way his shirt stretched across the breadth of his shoulders.
“A long time for what exactly?” he asked.
I blinked back to attention. “Since we’ve been alone,” I answered.
“You nervous?”
“Not exactly the word I’d use,” I muttered.
“So what word would you use?” he pressed.
I held out a hand and started ticking off on my fingers, “Frustrated, intrigued, depressed, excited, and scared.”
Gate nodded, “That’s a lot of fingers.”
“Yeah,” I said, propping on the counter, chin to palm. “That’s a lot of fingers.”
“Of all those fingers, scared is the only one that bothers me,” Gate frowned. “What are you afraid of?”
“I don’t know whatthisis,” I waved a hand between us, “but I know you won’t settle for less than the truth. Youdeservethe truth. But the truth I have to tell you is so terrible you’ll probably never want to speak to me again, and I won’t even be able to blame you.”
“You ever known me to go back on my word?” Gate asked, his voice pitched low.
I blew out the breath of frustration because I knew he was right, “No.”
