Wolf at the Door

chapter Fourteen



He was fumbling with the key card and dropped it and she snatched it up and then she dropped it (most likely because his hands were pretty busy under her dress) and somehow they managed to get the damned hotel room unlocked and fell inside.

His hands were everywhere, his mouth was on hers; he was groaning and so was she. She yanked and heard his pants rip.

Careful. Careful.

So far, quite the successful first date. Hmm. I guess I’m that kind of girl now. The kind who ruthlessly seduces on a first date. Edward never had a chance . . . not that he seems to mind.

No, he didn’t seem to mind.

They had spent the evening gorging on the most overpriced seafood she’d ever had, and it was worth every penny.

The halibut: buttery and tender and flaky. His chowder (which he kindly let her taste and, when she liked it, he insisted she finish his bowl while he ordered another for himself): thick and creamy and studded with plump clams. Her seafood tower (yes! A seafood tower, what a wonderful thing!): shrimp so perfectly chilled they were bursting with plump meaty flavor, clams and mussels so fresh she could smell the ocean on them. Her second order of raw oysters: sweet and briny and luscious at the same time, and well over a dozen went down her throat.

And all the while, they played the seduction game.

“You’re still using the Sage program?” Edward asked, incredulous. “Do you drive around in a covered wagon, too?”

“It’s perfect for my needs,” she insisted. “You won’t get me to back down this time, Edward. Though I grudgingly admit you were right about the updates—keeping track of the fundraising can be difficult without it. But I need something that’ll serve organizations of different sizes. Besides, Sage is compatible with Windows and Linux and Unix.”

“But it—”

“Plus I need to manage finances for all sorts of locations; I did that back on the Cape and I want to continue doing it out here.” Snatch clam. Hold to mouth. Tilt head back. Slurp.

“Yeah, but—”

“Sorry to cut you off again, but I don’t want to get locked into only taking small business owners or only taking government work or only taking nonprofits.” She shook her empty clam at him. “That’s why it’s perfect for me.”

“What about overseas?”

“What about overseas?” She picked up another clam and sucked it down.

“That’s why you need the Epicor.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You do not have Epicor.”

“I absolutely have Epicor, and the thing is a demigod as far as I’m concerned, okay?” Edward was on his second bowl of chowder, she was glad to see. His appetite was getting stronger the more they talked.

So was hers. But not for food.

She liked how he had obviously taken some care with his wardrobe. She liked how clean he smelled. She liked his insistence on defending his workplace tools of choice. She liked his excitement and his passion and his manners. She even liked that he would not budge on the topic of who would pay for lunch.

But she had a way to make that up to him, maybe. She could insist on a second date. Or she could . . .

“I don’t believe it.”

He smirked. “Jealousy . . . tsk, tsk, Rachael.”

“No, I’ll admit it, that’s impressive. It really does everything they say?”

“It practically cooks me breakfast.”

“Maybe you’ll show me sometime?”

“Maybe I’ll show you whatever you want anytime.”

“Ah, now that’s a pledge I will hold you to.”

“Good! And my God.” He was staring at the litter of empty shells, the stack growing ever higher. But he was smiling, and even if he hadn’t been, she would know he was pleased. “You can really put it away.”

“No worries; I’m still saving room for dessert. Baked Alaska! As long as we’re obliged to spend so much money this evening, I see no use in half measures.”

“My kind of woman. Listen, you will lose your mind when you see how it handles Cloud solutions.”

“Oh my God.”

“Not to mention customers in, what, one hundred fifty countries?”

Now it was her turn to stare. “That’s amazing. I’ve always wanted to stretch, but I run a one-woman op.”

“And cheap, for what you get.”

She seized his hand, quicker and faster than she meant to, and let go when he yelped. “Sorry. Tell me more. Talk to me about supply chain management.”

So he did. And then she started to shake. She managed to force “When?” through her teeth.

“Uh . . .” He was staring again, which she didn’t mind a bit. Lust. Interest. Lust. “I can show you on my laptop—”

“When can we get out of here?”

Lust. Lust. Confusion. Excitement. “You’re not talking about my laptop, are you?”

The oyster shell she was holding suddenly broke in several pieces; in her excitement she’d squeezed too hard. “No. I’m talking about going to your place or mine and getting naked and spending the rest of the evening trying to hurt each other in various ways, with possible breaks for long showers, and maybe toast, after.” Something about discussing the latest software advancements in her field did it to her every time . . .

“You. Are. My. Hero.” He looked around and screamed, “Waitress!”