No heat. No fire.
No goddamned interest at all.
“So, will that be two for dinner?” the hostess asks brightly. “The wait’s about forty-five minutes in the dining room, but there are a few tables open in the bar.”
“That’ll be fine,” I say, determined to get this evening back on track. “We’ll probably stick with drinks and appetizers.” I look to her for confirmation, but she’s frowning at her phone and doesn’t look up again until we’re seated.
“The drinks here are good,” I say as the hostess leaves us with the bar menus. “I live downtown, so I’ve been coming here a lot since it opened. How about you? Been here before?”
One perfectly groomed eyebrow arches up in a way that I find incredibly sexy, despite the fact that she’s obviously annoyed. “I’ve only just arrived in town. When would I have had time?”
“Right. Good point.” Now I’m just being conciliatory, because how am I supposed to know when she moved to Austin? I read her profile and there wasn’t a single word in there about her being new to town. But my only other option is to tell her flat out that tonight is a bust, and then get the hell out of there.
Except I’m not ready to give up on her yet. Because despite our off-kilter start, there’s something intriguing about J. And I know damn well that I saw a spark of interest in her eyes. And so help me, I intend to get it back. Because, hey, who doesn’t love a challenge?
“Speaking of time,” she says. “Under the circumstances, I feel I need to be completely honest.”
“Go for it.”
“It’s just that I didn’t appreciate being kept waiting,” she says. “Punctuality is extremely important to me.”
“Me too.” That’s true, but I’m surprised she’s getting bent out of shape for a mere five minutes. Still, at least we’ve found one tiny patch of common ground. “I’m almost always early. I’d blame the traffic, but honestly I should have left the office earlier.”
I flash my most charming smile. It hasn’t failed me yet, and thankfully tonight is no exception. She relaxes a bit and leans back in her chair, her finger tracing the leather edge of the menu.
“I’m glad to hear it. You’ve seemed lackadaisical about the whole thing so far. It’s not the attitude I’m used to.”
I reach across the table and take her hand. It’s soft and warm, and my cock tightens in response to a fresh wave of lust. She may be prickly and inscrutable, but she’s also fiercely self-assured, and the combination is seriously hot.
“Sweetheart,” I say. “I may be flippant about a lot of things, but never about this.”
“Sweetheart?” She tugs her hand free of mine, and I couldn’t have gone limp faster if she’d dunked me in a barrel of ice water. “And you called me J, too? I mean, what? Are we starting a hip hop band?”
“We could,” I quip, trying to regain my balance. “PB and J. You have to admit it works.”
I laugh, because it does work. And why the hell is she griping at me, anyway? If using initials irritates her that much, she should have picked an app other than 2Nite.
“Just call me Jez,” she says. “Or Ms. Stuart if you prefer to be more formal.” She’s sitting up straight now, and I’m thinking that she couldn’t be more formal if she tried.
“Jez,” I say. “I like it.”
“It’s short for Jezebel, obviously. And of course our parents named my sister along the same theme.” She leans back, clearly expecting a response.
“Parents will do that,” I say, since I’ve got nothing else. Let’s just say that talk of parents and siblings isn’t usually par for the course on these kinds of dates.
Still, it must have been the right thing to say, because she smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that lights her whole face. And even though I don’t do full nights—not ever—I can’t help thinking that it’s the kind of smile I’d like to wake up to.
“Listen,” she says, “I know I may seem formal and demanding, and that can be a little off-putting for some people. It’s just that I take all of this very, very seriously.”
“I get that.” I mean what I say. After all, I know that I’m a nice guy, but a woman has to be careful who she goes home with.
“I’m glad you understand,” she says as the waiter comes up to take our order.
I hand the waiter my menu. “Angel’s Envy. On the rocks. And the lady will have…?”
“Club soda with lime.” She meets my eyes as the waiter walks away. “I like to keep a clear head.”
Okay, sparks or not, this woman is exasperating. “Honestly, right now, I’m thinking I should have ordered a double.”
Her mouth tightens with disapproval. “Fine. But I hope you have a clear head when it counts. I expect complete attention to detail.”
I hold her gaze for ten full seconds. And then—because at this point I have nothing to lose—I slowly let my eyes roam down. Her usually full lips, now pressed together in a thin red line. The soft curve of her jaw. The tender slope of her neck.
Her top button of her silk blouse has come open, and I can see the curve of her breasts spilling out over the cups of her pale pink bra. I pause just long enough to imagine the taste of her right there. The feel of her soft skin against my lips. And the way her bossy, severe voice will soften when she writhes beneath me and begs for more.
Slowly, I raise my eyes. “Sweetheart,” I say. “I’m all about the details.”
I watch, satisfied, as a pink stain colors her cheeks. She exhales, then swallows. “Right. Well, that’s good.”
I bite back a smile. I’m not sure what kind of game we’ve been playing, but there’s no doubt in my mind that the score is currently in my favor.
She draws a breath, and I can tell she’s trying to gather herself. “So if you’re all about the details, then you already know my problem.”
I lean back, grateful when the waiter returns with my drink, as that gives me time to think. Problem? The only problem I remember her mentioning in her profile was that she’d been working such long hours she hadn’t been properly laid in months. I’d assured her I could remedy that, and she’d promptly accepted my RFD—which is 2Nite speak for “request for date.”
“Well, you’ve been going a hundred miles an hour,” I say, and she nods, looking pleased that I remember.
“And all this drama with my sister is adding a whole new layer of insanity.”
“Your sister?”
She looks at me sharply, and I immediately, regret my words.
“I thought you’d done your homework.” There’s a challenge in her voice, but I barely notice it. I’m too mesmerized by the way her lips now close over her straw.
I shift, my jeans feeling uncomfortably snug. And honestly, what the hell? Because I can already tell this woman is bad news. Intriguing, maybe. Challenging, definitely. But way, way too much trouble.
Apparently, the parts of me below the table aren’t nearly as critical, however. But I’m going to attribute that to a general desire to get laid, and not necessarily to Jez.