“It’s only a conversation if you say wicked, naughty things back to me, beautiful,” Chad said. The nice-guy smile he’d worn for the others vanished, replaced by a don’t-tempt-me grin.
Her breasts responded to his words, tightening, hoping for a touch, a kiss—something. The need rippled through her, moving lower.
“A good listener is an important part of any conversation,” she said, smiling as if her entire body wasn’t vibrating with a foreign feeling—the need to reach for him. She folded her hands in her lap. “Just something I learned in the army.”
“Yeah, did they also teach you to take orders?”
The low growl of his voice coupled with those words—if Ms. Pixie and friends could hear him now, they’d probably faint at his feet.
“I was an officer. I gave the orders,” she said, feeling as if she was teasing a lion. But he was her lion until they convinced the town he’d shredded the reputation that drew women to him like moths to light.
“Lena, I’m listening. Any time you want to take charge.”
The way he looked at her . . . it was as potent as if he’d run his hands over her bare skin. Her heartbeat sped up and she debated ordering him to march back to his truck, drive her home, and take her to bed. And maybe this time, she’d leave the pink toy on the nightstand.
Maybe.
She raised one hand, instantly feeling something soft and furry. It was Hero, checking in, his front paws resting on the picnic bench beside her. Turning her hand over, she stroked his golden coat. Maybe she was getting ahead of herself. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t stake a claim based on one orgasm and a fake date. Chad wasn’t hers any more than he belonged to the ladies of his fan club.
“Do they drive in from other towns to see you?” she asked.
Chad leaned back, palms flat on the table. “Who?”
“I’ve met more single women tonight in small-town Oregon then I recall seeing out in Portland on a Saturday night.”
Chad shook his head. “You’re funny.”
She’d been labeled a lot of things since she returned home and left the army, but never funny.
“And no, they’re all locals. I went to high school with Delilah. Some of the other ladies you met too.” Chad stood, picking up the empty plates and pizza tray. “Did you save room for dessert? They have chocolate and vanilla soft serve.”
“Can they do a swirl?” she asked. The thought of ice cream and pizza all in one night—she was ready t
o sign up for more fake dates. “In a cone?”
“Yes, Lena. They do.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “And I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy watching you eat ice cream.”
Chapter 8
CHAD ORDERED THE ice cream and stepped to the side, glancing out the window. With the sun starting to slip behind the mountains, they had an hour or so before darkness descended on A Slice of Independence’s picnic tables—plenty of time to eat their cones before heading home. Hell, he didn’t think he could handle more than sixty minutes of curious old friends stopping by to say hello.
But Lena? She hadn’t balked at the parade of women who’d approached their table. He had an oh-shit moment when he spotted Delilah, wondering if his date would panic. Lena had remained calm. And after the parade wandered away, playful.
Through the window, he watched as she knelt in the grass beside her golden retriever, rubbing the dog’s belly. Her long hair felt forward, obscuring her face. The wanting, which had been building inside him since he knocked on her door holding the flowers and her present, rose up, pretty freaking literally. He wished he could take her back to the apartment over the barn and climb into bed with her. They could take turns giving orders, or maybe he’d let her call the shots tonight. Anything to get to the place where she screamed his name as she came, her picture-perfect body lost in pleasure.
“Chad,” Trish called from behind the counter. “Think you can stop staring at your friend long enough to take your cones?”
He turned away from the window and took the ice cream, smiling at the waitress only a few years his junior. “Thanks.”
With a cone in each hand, he headed for his date, searching for Lena through the screen door. She was still on the ground with her dog. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted three children racing through the grass. Chad frowned. They were heading for Lena, coming at her from behind. For a split second, he debated calling out to her. But then the kids rushed past.
From the doorway to the pizza place, he watched tension ripple through her body.
Hero went from blissed-out dog to protector, springing to all fours, pressing close to his owner. Her arms wrapped around the animal, her shoulders trembling, her head turning left to right as if scanning the area for the threat. He saw the moment her gaze landed on the kids. Her eyes closed and she buried her face in Hero’s soft fur.
She looked so damn alone, clutching her dog. How hard was it to move through each day knowing that the movement of innocent children playing outside might ignite old fears? It took a helluva lot, he realized, to keep pushing forward, to hold out for a future, and to maintain her witty sense of humor in the process.
Chad turned away from the door and returned to the counter. “Trish, can you hold these for a minute? And can you get me a piece of paper and a pen?”