“And I brought Outlander on Blu-Ray. I was hoping we could have dinner and watch a few episodes together.” He bounced on the heels of his feet as he awaited her decision.
Outlander? Memories swirled around her like a powerful hurricane. She’d read the bestseller in high school and had immediately fallen for Jamie, the sexy, soulful Highlander hero…just like her mother, who’d passed the book along to her, and the rest of the global population who’d read it. The book was one she turned to whenever she needed a quick fix after a crappy day. She remembered the day Blake had finally asked her about it in bed.
She’d shared the whole story with him, and then, without intending to, she poured out her fantasies about Jamie. Always keen on pleasing her, Blake jumped out of bed to claim the red plaid throw she’d bought for the downstairs couch. When he returned, it was tied around his corded waist.
They weren’t the Fraser colors, but it didn’t matter. And she didn’t even laugh when Blake uttered the worst Scottish accent imaginable. Later her laughter died completely when he kissed his way down her body and made love to her with the kind of intensity she’d always imagined between Jamie and Claire.
Jerking herself out of her reverie took effort. Her heart was drumming in her chest now, and there was a pool of lust in her belly. Blake’s gaze was hot, and she knew he was remembering it too.
“I’m only suggesting we watch the show, Nat,” he said quietly, but his body language told her a different story.
No, he wanted her to remember. His nostrils were slightly flared, and the pulse in his neck was beating strong. Despite working for Mac Maven, she wasn’t a gambling woman, but if she took the picnic basket away from his waist, she was sure she’d see evidence of his arousal.
Her breath stopped in her lungs.
“It’s a start,” he said in a gentle voice, one that told her he wouldn’t ask for more unless she wanted it.
He’d never pushed for more while he was marooned in her friend zone all those years ago. Sure, he’d looked at her with longing and lust plenty of times, but he’d always honored her wishes. She was the one who’d finally leaned in to kiss him one night as the credits to The Mirror Has Two Faces scrolled down his big-screen TV. He’d watched one of her favorite chick flicks without protest—like it was the biggest prize in the world. And that was it for her. Her control fell away, and she’d poured all the yearning and desire she’d repressed into their first kiss.
“Okay, you can stay. We can watch the first couple episodes.” She’d already watched them all, of course. And it would be safe. Jamie and Claire didn’t kiss until much later in the series, when they were married. Now that was one episode she could not watch with Blake. She’d go up in flames if she sat there watching it with him, remembering how much joy she’d always found making love with him.
At least until Kim’s diagnosis. Then, she hadn’t wanted anyone to touch her, least of all Blake, and sex had become awkward and strange between them until he’d stopped trying to comfort and reach her that way.
“Did you already eat?” she asked, not seeing his favorites in the basket.
He set it down on the kitchen island. “I got myself a Cuban sandwich and some veggies while I was there. I…ah…left them at the house. I’ll just run and get them, if that’s okay.”
So, he hadn’t assumed she’d succumb to his invitation. She felt her lips curve into a smile before she made her mouth go flat again. “I’ll grab some plates and warm up my fries.”
“Good. Great.” His head bobbed like he realized he was overdoing it. “Be right back.”
He ran off, so eager he left the back door open. Touchdown raced after him. She watched Blake through the windows. Good God, he was moving so fast he looked like he was running the option to score a touchdown.
Her heart careened in her chest, and she spun into action, crossing to the stove to flick on the broiler and set the table. No, she decided, setting the table would be too weird and date-like. Better to eat on the couch and start the show right away. That way there’d be less talking.
She wasn’t sure she could handle more talking.
When Blake returned, he wasn’t even breathing hard. Poor Touchdown headed for his water bowl and slurped greedily. Blake stood in her kitchen with his take-out bag in his hands, shifting his feet like he was unsure of himself.
Well, join the club, she wanted to say, but she ignored her own unease by checking on her sizzling French fries.
“What would you like to drink?” she asked.
“I’m good with water.”
She shut the oven and opened the cabinet to the right of the sink, but he stepped in and took the glass before she could grab it.
“You don’t need to wait on me. Keep your eyes on the fries.”
Picking up a spatula, she opened the oven again to turn them. “Yeah, I’d be heart-broken if they burned.”