Luck Be a Lady - Cathie Linz [55]
“Thanks.” Feeling a blush coming on, she said, “Do you want something to drink? I’ve got a nice Merlot from Argentina.”
“Do you have any beer?”
“Yes.” She escaped to the kitchen and cooled her hot cheeks with the air from the fridge. There was absolutely no reason for her face to be turning red. It’s not like he’d said anything suggestive or anything.
We’re just sharing a pizza, that’s it. No big deal. So get back out there and act normal.
She brought two beer glasses to the table along with two bottles. “I realize that Southsiders drink their beer straight from the can and Northsiders drink it from the bottle, but here we drink it from a glass. Deal with it.”
He tilted the bottle to read the label. “Goose Island.”
“I suppose you have something against microbreweries as well?”
“You suppose wrong. And what do you mean by ‘as well?’ What else am I supposed to have something against?”
“Me.”
“If I had something against you, I wouldn’t be sitting here eating with you.”
She gave him an unconvinced look. “Come on. It’s free pizza.”
“I can pay for it.” He put his fork down and went to reach in his back pocket.
She put a hand on his arm. His skin was warm to the touch. “Put your wallet away. You’re an invited guest. Myinvited guest. So eat. Would you like another piece?” Without waiting for an answer, she served him another large slice of the pizza so thick no one would eat it without a fork and knife.
“You’re nervous,” he noted. “Why?”
“I told you. I talked to my dad and it didn’t go very well.”
“He admitted that he paid off your mother to stay away? What else did he say? Did he give you any idea where she was?”
“No. He wants me to just trust that he did what he did to protect me and to leave it at that.”
“But you can’t do that.”
Megan shook her head.
“So you need my help locating your mother.”
“It would be appreciated.”
“And you’ll reward me with . . . pizza?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“What if I want something else?” he said.
“Like what?”
“Like . . . you.”
“Me?” she squeaked.
He nodded and grinned at her expression. Gazing deep into her eyes, he said, “You making me . . . a home-cooked meal.”
“How do you know I’m a good cook?”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“I knew it.”
She wondered what else he knew about her, but was afraid to ask. He’d already told her back in Last Resort the details he remembered about their time together. But now they were back in Chicago, back to reality. Yet the chemistry between them was as strong as ever.
“So is it a deal?” he said.
She wanted to kiss him so badly, she couldn’t speak.
He misunderstood her silence for reluctance. “Forget it. You don’t really have to cook for me.”
“I want to,” she said huskily.
“You do?”
She nodded. He was staring at her mouth as intently as she was staring at his.
He reached out to touch her lower lip with his thumb. “You had some tomato sauce there ...”
Instead of sitting across from him, she’d made the unknowing decision to sit beside him. She thought it was so they could both face the view out her living room windows. Now she knew that wasn’t the real reason. The reason was so she could be closer to him. So that he could reach her and she could reach him.
She licked her lips.
He groaned and moved in to kiss her. He paused millimeters from her mouth. “Stop me if you don’t want this.”
“I want,” she murmured.
“Me too.”
He started out kissing her gently, as if to reward her for her positive reply. He tasted as good as the pizza. Better.
One kiss turned into ten. Somehow his tie and his shirt were undone and she ended up on his lap as he turned in his chair to face her. Her knees bracketed his hips and his fingers slid through her hair as he tugged her closer to intensify their kiss. His tongue play was unbelievably seductive.
He slid both hands into her hair to brace her as the kiss intensified. She looped her arms around his neck. He nipped her bottom lip. His hunger for her was mirrored by hers for him. She lowered her hand to his bare chest beneath his open shirt and ended up banging her elbow on the edge