That's Amore! - Janelle Denison [85]
She played dumb. "I don't understand."
He lifted his hand, an intimate look in his eye as he raised his fingers to her mouth. She gasped, having no idea what he intended, until he brushed something off the corner of her lips. "Whipped cream mouth," he explained.
And wobbly, jelly legs, she mentally replied.
"Thanks."
He eyed her cup. "You looked like you were enjoying your drink so much, I might have to try one."
"They're sinful. The real reason I come here."
"The books are just in the way, huh?" he asked with a knowing grin. He'd obviously been watching her raptly concentrating on the shelves.
"Okay, I confess. I'm a reader, too. Hopelessly addicted to violence and mystery and sci fi and sex." She instantly stiffened, feeling her face grow hot. "I mean, uh, I like genre novels. Romance. Not sex."
"You don't like sex?"
Oh, somebody just shoot me now and put me out of my misery.
He put one hand up, palm out, and shook his head. "Forget it, don't answer that. I don't think I wanna know."
She could take his words two ways. Either he was so completely uninterested in her that he frankly didn't care if she liked sleeping alone or with ten people at once. Or else he was so interested, he wanted to steer the conversation away from such a dangerous topic.
She voted for what was behind door number two. Then she mentally kicked herself for caring. "What about you? Why are you here on a Friday night?" Swallowing hard, she added, "Where's Maria?"
He shrugged in visible resignation. "Dentist appointment."
Odd. It was eight o'clock on a Friday night. Her skepticism obviously showed.
"I know, I know. But apparently her dentist keeps evening hours for working patients."
"So her dentist has as pathetic and boring a life as I do, I guess, huh?" she asked.
"You calling me pathetic and boring?"
Eyes widening, she shook her head. "No. You're fiancée-less due to dentistry. There's a difference."
Oh, how she wished he was fiancée-less, period. Because she was enjoying this playful conversation with this man. And would have enjoyed nothing more than curling up on the sofa in the nearest reading area, chatting for hours with him about anything and everything. What they liked to read, to drink. The best flavors of Frappuccino. Heavy desks and big Italian families.
Whether or not she liked sex.
"So how about you tell me what flavor to order, and I'll get you a refill?" he asked, looking at her nearly empty cup. "Then we can sit down and talk more about books and gore and sci fi and other things you like to read. Or maybe we could go to the martial arts area and see whether bony knuckles really are a good substitute for karate."
The dimples flashed and she almost smiled back, liking the gentle, playful way he teased. Then she lifted her hand and fisted it, waving it threateningly at him. "You calling my knuckles bony?"
He reached out and took her hand, oh lord, he took her hand, and heat sparked and for a second, time stopped again.
She loosened her fist, letting him extend her fingers, so he could scrape the pad of his thumb up and down on her pinky. A simple, innocent touch—but one which sent a reaction spiraling through Rachel's whole body.
Luke's eyes grew darker and the moment stretched on. Then, finally, he said in a huskier voice, "You do have bony knuckles."
God, how could he make her laugh when she was so incredibly aroused? She tugged her fingers away, almost mournful at the loss of physical contact. Then she strove to return to their casual, playful interaction, as if that intense connection created by nothing more than his fingers on her own had never happened at all.
"Hmm," she said with an exaggerated frown, "maybe we should go to the self-help area so you can learn the difference between a hammer and a wrench."
He drew a hand to his chest. "Ouch. Now you're questioning my manly prowess?"
Uh, no, she would never do that. Because she had no doubt of the man's prowess … he merely had to touch her fingers and she was ready to leap on him. "Just your construction abilities."
"I'll