Her smile faltered as her brows lowered. “Are you deliberately trying to scare me?”
Sighing, he stepped back and lifted his hands to the side. So far, their meeting wasn’t getting off to a good start. “Dr. Olson, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable other than to remind you—hell, any woman living alone—that you should take your personal safety very seriously.”
She remained statue still, and he wasn’t sure if she would kick him out. And truthfully, he probably deserved to be kicked out. Shit… this isn’t how I wanted things to go.
Just when he opened his mouth to offer the services of another Keeper, one who wouldn’t scare the hell out of the client, her lips curved again.
“Point well taken, Mr. Bennett,” she said, inclining her head. She reached her hand out toward him. “And please, call me Diana.”
He started to accept her handshake, then hesitated. Her fingers were long and slender, in stark contrast to his much larger and rougher hands. Firing a weapon over and over for years had created calluses, and more than a few fights had caused scarring. Once again, he spied the uncertainty on her face and hated that he had been the one to cause it.
Wrapping his hand around hers, he initially wanted to maintain the hold for two seconds. As far as he was concerned, that time defined the appropriate number of seconds for shaking a woman’s hand. But the instant her palm connected with his, and her fingers curled to grip his hand, warmth moved from their connection up his arm and settled in his chest. Before he had a chance to wonder if she felt it too, her brows dipped together as she looked down toward their hands.
The sensation didn’t stop after two seconds, and he couldn’t force his fingers to relax and let go of the grip. Instead, they stood in her living room for several long seconds as the warmth built between them.
Finally, as though both shocked, they jerked apart, and her gaze shot back up to his face.
“Well, Mr. Bennett,” she began, then cleared her throat. “Dinner is ready.” She turned and glided her hand lightly along the counter as she moved into the kitchen. “What would you like to drink? I have wine, beer, soda, and water.”
While she was a perfect hostess, gentle and inviting, Bennett once again felt ill at ease. Shooting a glance toward the table setting, he couldn’t gain any visual cues about what to drink since no glassware was already set out.
She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer in one hand and a soda in the other. Turning back, she smiled. “I’m not sure if either of these is a brand you like. I also have white wine.”
He’d normally go for a beer but wanted his wits about him while he got to know her and didn’t want to give the impression he drank on the job. “Soda is fine.”
She nodded and placed the beer back into the refrigerator. He wondered how she knew which was which but didn’t ask. He hoped that by observing her during the evening, he’d discover her level of vision.
She moved to the stove, and he sucked in a quick gasp as her hand moved toward the pot. She looked at him and smiled again. “I’m sure you’re wondering how much I can see, right?”
He lifted his arm and squeezed the back of his neck. “Yes, ma’am, I am. I need to know the specifics to provide the appropriate level of security.”
“Please,” she reminded. “Call me Diana. Do you go by Terrance?”
“Yes… um… well, most people call me Bennett.”
She kept her gaze on him. He usually hated to be the object of someone staring but found that he didn’t mind that she was, understanding she had to search more for visual cues that most people take for granted.
“I’d like to call you whatever makes you the most comfortable,” she said.
His call sign with the Rangers had been something he’d laid to rest when he separated, and since he’d been employed with LSIWC, he’d gone by Bennett. When he was a kid, he’d asked his dad where Terrance came from. His dad shrugged and said it was just a name they picked out of a baby book. With his parents, it seemed that everything was an afterthought to them, even him. But hearing his name come from Diana’s lips, he had to admit he liked the sound of it. “Terrance is fine.”
“Lovely.” Gifted with another one of her smiles, he felt as though he’d answered a test question correctly and couldn’t help but smile in return.
She turned back to the stove. “It’s easier if I serve our plates from here. You can certainly get seconds and thirds, but it makes less of a mess if I don’t put the food out on the table.”
She forked strained noodles onto the plates and then covered them with a thick, homemade marinara sauce filled with tomatoes, garlic, and chopped zucchini. He’d noticed the cutting board, knives, and the cheese grater next to the bowl of cheese that she liberally topped the meal with. The bread was buttered and toasted, and she laid thick slices on each plate. Another bowl held a salad, and she used tongs to place the veggies on the side. Turning, she handed one of the plates to him.
His mouth watered at the scents wafting through the air. He cooked out of necessity, but other than baking bread, he didn’t spend much time on it. Food was for nourishment, but with the bounty she’d plated, it was also for pleasure.
Jeannie and Carson threw cookouts and get-togethers, but not like what Diana was serving. Staring down at the full plate of food, he hesitated. This was more like a… gift.
“Is it okay, Terrance? I should have ascertained to see if you had any preferences first.”
He lifted his gaze from the delectable food to her face, now marred with a questioning expression. “It’s fine. It’s… just… yeah… fine.” He could tell by the way her smile no longer beamed that he was fucking everything up. “No, really. It’s great. It smells good, and I can’t wait to dig in.”
Her shoulders relaxed again. “Good. Then let’s eat.”
He waited until she walked to the table and set her plate down before following. He reached to pull her chair out for her, then stopped, once again uncertain what the protocol should be with someone with a visual impairment.
She pulled her chair out and sat, placing her napkin in her lap. He followed her example, and they began eating, conversation not being necessary while they devoured dinner. She ate heartily, for which he was glad, considering he was trying not to shovel the food down. He usually ate alone or with friends but hadn’t shared a meal with a woman in a long time.
The flavors exploded in his mouth, and he groaned. “This is excellent, ma’am… Diana.”
She turned her face toward him and grinned. “Thanks. Cooking isn’t a lot of fun when it’s just me. So when my uncle suggested I meet my security detail before the trip, I jumped on the excuse to fix dinner.”
Unable to keep his gaze off her gorgeous face, made even more beautiful with her eager smile, a tight ache hit his chest again. Her sweater was modest, yet the way it hung showcased her curves. Shit… this could be a fuckin’ disaster. Only one fuckin’ meal, and I’m already losing focus. And losing focus gets team members killed. Keeping his expression neutral, he offered a curt nod as he shoved his chair backward. Standing, he leaned over and snagged her now-empty plate. Taking them to the sink, he groused, his tone intentionally hard. “I’ll clean up, Dr. Olson. Then we can talk about the particulars of the trip and the necessary security precautions.”