She stuck the key in the lock, turned it, and opened the door. He held his breath, wondering what would happen next. Would it be Goodnight, Luke or Come in?
Goodnight. It had to be that. He had no business wanting to prolong the evening. He’d already won. She’d backed down. Now was the time to return to the motel and devise another way to convince her to come home.
“So…” Her soft voice trailed off as she glanced up at him. The porch light framed her face like a halo, making her blue eyes shine and her dark hair lighten to a deep caramel. “Viv cancelled the second show and I don’t plan on going to sleep yet. Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”
Say no.
“Sure.”
Idiot.
He sighed and followed her into the darkened front hall, grateful that at least there hadn’t been any sexual undertones to her offer. She really did seem to have changed her mind. As they headed inside he found himself engaging in his new favorite past time—watching her ass sway as she walked. His mouth watered at each stolen glimpse.
She flicked on the light, and a warm glow filled the living room. He looked around and absorbed the cozy atmosphere Ellie had created. All the cluttered bookshelves reminded him of how much she liked to read, and as he stepped toward her CD rack, his eyes roamed over the numerous classical titles.
Did she put on one of these CDs at night? Mozart, maybe? Did she slip into her old leotards and dance by herself?
“How do you take your coffee?” She slipped out of her sandals, kicked them aside, and then edged barefoot toward the doorway of the kitchen.
“Black.”
Her mouth tilted in a knowing smile. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”
He made himself comfortable on the plush sofa, listening to the sounds of Ellie bustling around the kitchen. She was only gone for a few moments, yet her absence bothered him. It wasn’t until she reentered the room with two steaming mugs in her hands that he relaxed again.
She handed him one of the mugs, then settled on the opposite edge of the couch. “Careful, it’s hot.”
He watched as she blew over the rim of her cup, the cool puffs of air from her mouth blending with the steam rising from the hot liquid. Then, curling her knees beneath her, she took a hesitant sip before placing the cup on the coffee table.
“What did you mean when you said ‘of course’?” he asked. “Is there something wrong with the way I drink my coffee?”
She shrugged, causing her long dark strands to cascade over her shoulders. Her hair looked silky to the touch. Luke’s fingers tingled.
“It just wasn’t surprising you drink it black,” she replied. “You know, how a person drinks their coffee tells a lot about them.”
He looked at her with interest. “Really?”
“Sure. Take Josh, for instance. He claims he likes it black, being the big strong tough guy he is.” She grinned. “But when no one’s looking, he dumps in a few sugar cubes. Tough guy hiding his soft side.”
“What does my preference say about me?”
The tip of her tongue darted out and licked the seams of her lips. “Well, black implies strength, maybe some bitterness.”
“I’m not bitter,” he interjected.
She ignored him. “It hints at stubbornness too. But look at the way you drink it. You hold the cup tightly, again implying strength, but your sips are slow, methodical almost. You like to be in control, even in the way you drink your coffee. But you swallow slowly, as if savoring the liquid, however bitter it is.”
“And what does that say?” he asked, strangely fascinated.
“I don’t know. Respect? Appreciation?”
He set down his mug and folded his hands over his lap. It was a little unnerving how she’d just pegged him completely on the basis of how he drank his coffee. Stubborn, he was that all right. Controlled? Hell, yeah. Though he’d never realized coffee could convey all that.
“What about you?” he said suddenly. “What does your drink say about you?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing?”
She gave an impish smile that lit up her whole face. “I don’t drink coffee.” She held out her cup. “See, tea.”
He rolled his eyes. “On the contrary, I bet tea says a lot about you.”
“Fine. Tell me.”
There she was again, the sassy Ellie he’d always liked. Her blue eyes glimmered with challenge and amusement and before he could stop himself he moved closer to her. His thigh grazed hers. Too close yet not close enough.
“Well, you’re gentle, soft.” He dipped his head and breathed in the aroma of her tea. “Sweet, too.”
She snorted, and the sound brought a smile to his lips. “Gentle, soft and sweet? I can’t say I’ve ever been described as that before.”
He held up his hand. “I wasn’t finished. Give me the cup.” She handed it over and he took a long sip. “See, no sugar. It’s flavored, but a little bitter. Strength.” He took another sip. “With a hint of cinnamon. Spicy.” He finally gave her back the cup.