chapter Six
After penning a note on a napkin, I asked the attendant to give it to my date. It was a brief explanation, one that I hoped seemed innocent and coy (to please Giselle’s sensibilities). I cited “female troubles” and apologized for leaving him so abruptly. I had a hunch that girly issues wouldn’t scare him off, though. There was a reason men like him were single, after all. It was because they were clueless.
All coherent thoughts fled from my mind as soon as I entered the office and saw Beau standing there in a casual gray jacket, hands tucked into his pockets. He turned and gave me that slow sensual smile, and my brain nearly fried at the sight of him.
Gorgeous. I’d never get tired of looking at the man.
His smile dimmed as I approached and his nostrils flared. “Perfume?” Then his eyes scanned my hair. “You look … nice.”
There was a ringing endorsement for a girl. Here I was with my hair and makeup done professionally, and he was looking at me as if I’d been an alien. I simply smiled and shifted on my painful but cute heels. “It’s good to see you again,” I said, then immediately felt like an idiot. It had only been half a day since I’d last seen him.
“Shall we go?” He gave me another polite smile, but it didn’t have that sexy curve that I remembered. Was something wrong? He treated me as if I’d been a stranger. I might have been okay with it once, but after daydreaming of cuddling up next to him in bed again (breathless, hot daydreams that made my legs weak), it bothered me to see him look at me like that.
He glanced over at me. “Are you hungry? We can go for drinks if you’d rather.”
But he’d gone to the trouble of making a reservation, and I didn’t want to give him any more opportunity to be irritated at me. So I gave him a bright smile in return. “Dinner is fine. I love Italian.” Too bad I’d just eaten it. Twice.
What followed was easily the most awkward date I’d ever had—which was saying something. I tried to eat like I was enjoying myself, but my stomach was already full from the previous meal and what was in my stomach was churning.
Beau was silent as he methodically ate. He had good manners, at least. Used a knife, made use of his napkin, and was polite to the waiter. It was me he ignored.
I ate a few more bites, then I couldn’t stand it any longer—the food or the silence. “What is it?”
A flare of emotion crossed his face and was just as quickly hidden. He put down his fork. “It depends. Do you not want to be here with me?”
“I’m just tired,” I admitted. “I had a long day at work.” The previous two dates had definitely felt like work. I’d had to smile and be friendly and act interested, to be “on” the entire time. I picked up my wineglass. “How was your day?”
“It was hell.”
I choked on my chardonnay. “I’m … sorry. Is something wrong?”
He ran a hand down his face. “Everything. Nothing. I’m sorry. I’m just … let’s not do this tonight, all right?” Beau folded his napkin and placed it on the table.
“Oh,” I said, feeling stupid at the hurt that bubbled up inside. “Of course.”
So much for having the grand problem of whether I should date him. It didn’t seem to be a problem after all. I should have been thrilled, relieved. Something good. But all I felt was really, really disappointed.
“Let’s get out of here,” Beau said, dumping a wad of cash on the table as he stood. He moved to pull out my chair and I could feel the frustrated emotion vibrating off of him.
What was wrong with him tonight?
Relief and sadness warred on the walk back to the office. A tiny part of me was glad that I wouldn’t have to go through another exhausting date, one less problem on my plate full of troubles. But not seeing Beau again bothered me more than I cared to admit. We’d clicked on some deeper level, and I realized suddenly that I wanted to see more of him. Maybe we could have drinks at a smoky bar to cover Sara’s scent. Something.
He needed a woman before Saturday, and if we called things off that meant he’d have to find someone else—because the heat wouldn’t take no for an answer.
We reached the dark strip mall that housed Midnight Liasons, and Beau stopped in front of the door. I knew that if he walked away now, he would walk out of my life. And this was feeling like a good-bye.
He gave me a faint smile, his eyes gleaming catlike in the moonlight. “I’m sorry, Bathsheba.”
I reached out and grabbed his lapel, stopping him before he could turn away.
He looked at me in surprise. “What is it?”
“I wanted to give you this,” I said in a breathless rush, and kissed him.
Beau’s mouth was unyielding for a split second, but then his arms went around my back, crushing me against him as his lips parted under my own, his tongue sweeping into my mouth. I had started the kiss, but it was obvious that Beau was used to being the aggressor.
And oooh, just the feeling of his tongue sweeping against mine made my toes curl in my shoes. Warmth pulsed through my body, matching the strokes of his tongue against my own, and my fingers curled deeper in his lapel as if I could pull his body closer to mine.
The kiss was dark and possessive; with each stroke of his tongue, I felt like he was claiming me for his own … and I very much wanted to be claimed. His hand twined in my hair and—
It felt like every strand was being ripped out of the back of my head. I pulled away with a screech, my hands flying to the knotted mess of sprayed curls that he’d tried to remove with his fingers. “Ow! What are you doing?”
“I was trying to touch your hair,” he said. “What the hell did you do to it? It’s all glued together. Your hair is gorgeous when it’s not done up like a poodle.”
A what? “Oh no, you did not just call me a poodle.”
He tugged on a crunchy lock. “I’m sorry, Bathsheba,” he said, the husky way he said my name like a caress. “Last night your hair was lovely. Tonight it looks like a nest and smells even worse. It’s as if you conspired with Giselle on how to make yourself unappealing.”
“Jeez. That’s the last time I try to kiss you.” Hurt, I took a step backward. He was right that I didn’t look like myself—I suspected that was part of Giselle’s master plan—but it stung to hear him say that.
His arm snaked around my waist again and he pulled me close, so close that our mouths were practically touching again. In my high heels, I was eye level to him and our gazes met. He grinned. “No, it’s not.”
I liked the way his arm lingered at my waist, his hand resting at the dip of my lower back. For a wild moment, I wished he’d rest it a bit lower.
Some virgin I was.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” he said in a low voice, and my gaze flicked to his sensual mouth, inches away from mine. “Today was … not good.”
“You can say that again,” I muttered. “What’s bothering you?”
Beau seemed to struggle for a moment, then he gave in. “It’s shifter politics. I’m not sure that you’re interested.”
I gave his lapel a little shake. “I’m interested in everything about you,” I told him, and realized it was true.
Well, shit. That was going to make things tricky.
I was rewarded with the faint curve of his sexy mouth in a half-smile, but it quickly disappeared. “It’s Savannah, the were-cougar who’s going into heat. She’s in danger.”
“What kind of danger?”
Again, the hesitation. Then he leaned forward and put his forehead against my own, our noses bumping.
“The wolves have her. They’ve kidnapped her and are going to hold her hostage until I produce another female werewolf. They’re convinced I’m hiding one from them.”