Heated Rush - Leslie Kelly [22]
“But I’m not going to do it. I barely know you and I just don’t do the sex-with-strangers thing.”
Undeterred, he offered her a cocky grin. “So how long does it take until we’re not strangers anymore? Second date? Third?”
Men. Typical. But part of her couldn’t help but be flattered by his determination. Hiding her amusement, she pretended to think about it. “Hmm…third at least.”
He nodded, then tapped his index finger in the air, as if doing mental calculations.
“Three’s right after two,” she said, her tone dry.
He didn’t stop. “I know that, céadsearc. I’m just tryin’ to figure out whether we can fit three dates in between now and this Saturday.”
“It is only Tuesday,” she said, not sure whether to laugh at his playfulness or give in to shivers of delight at his utter determination to have her.
“What about last night? Having a drink together counts.”
She shook her head and smiled sweetly. “I didn’t have a drink, remember? Miss Double-D didn’t offer me one.”
He frowned deeply. “Oh, yeah.”
“Besides, I don’t think a drink would have made the cut as a real date.” She was enjoying this—setting him up—though he hadn’t realized what she was getting at.
Then he got it. Looking concerned, he asked, “This one counts, right?”
“Well, I don’t know…It’s not exactly dinner.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Sean spun around, caught their waitress’s eye and said, “Be a love and bring us two of whatever’s first on your dinner menu.”
The woman frowned. “We don’t have a dinner menu. Just appetizers and finger foods.”
Her mouth twitching as she tried to contain a smile, Annie murmured, “Too bad.”
“Bring one of each of those, then,” Sean told the woman. Once she’d gone, he turned to meet Annie’s eye. “It’s dinnertime, and even if it’s naught but a bit of cheese on a cracker, I’m counting anything you put in your mouth.”
The way his stare zoned in on her lips, Annie suddenly thought of a number of things she’d like to put there. Starting with his tongue. And moving on down his body to the many varied and interesting parts she couldn’t see beneath the table.
“All right,” she admitted, amusement now tempered with a very thick layer of physical awareness. “This is number one.”
Nodding in agreement, he lifted his drink in salute. “Brilliant. Two to go.”
She lifted her wineglass as well, watching him over the rim of it. Wondering if he could take a little torment as good as he could give it, she murmured, “But I’m busy tomorrow night, and Friday I have to work late.”
“Thursday then.” He grew serious. “Let me take you out on the intimate dinner date I had offered at the auction.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she insisted. “I know I put you on the spot about the weekend. I don’t expect you to really take me out to some fancy restaurant, too.”
“I want to.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “If for no other reason than the chance to see you in that pretty yellow dress again.”
She stared at their hands on the wooden bar table, noting the coolness of his skin, the elegance of his fingers, the perfect manicure, the expensive-looking watch.
How he managed it on a paramedic’s salary, she didn’t know. He looked like some rich, foreign prince. Judging by some of the things he’d said about his family, she had to wonder if he came from money, and merely chose to do something none of them had ever expected. As she had.
Then she glanced down at her clothes—the uniform shirt, the spit-up stain, the finger paint—and sighed. How incredible might it be to actually throw off the identity she wore here in Chicago—the nice, nurturing, small-town girl who took care of rich people’s kids—and become a worthy companion to this worldly, sensual man?
“Say yes,” he insisted, realizing she was waffling. “Please, Annie. I agreed to this weekend. The least you can do is join me for dinner.”
Dressing up and going out somewhere special with Sean sounded