“You’re wrong,” he said simply. “Emotion means passion. It means you’re alive, and you’re not sorry for it. I can take that a hell of a lot more than I can your cold distance, Raven. I can match that type of passion, too. Just try me.”
He slid his hands across the table, stopping just short of touching her fingers. Keeping his promise. Her fingers burned, curling into tight fists, seeking refuge. Fighting the need to touch his skin just once. She didn’t know why the space between them had suddenly become so intimate, but if she didn’t push back, she was lost.
The image of her father’s face floated before her.
As if she’d been dealt an icy slap, she jerked away, her voice chilling. “You know one of my most important secrets already, Dalton,” she said. “I’m looking for real, not a brief fantasy that will go up in smoke once the sun comes up. Remember that. Now, I think it’s time we got back to work.”
Frustration simmered in his aura, but he nodded, accepting the hit. “Thank you for lunch.”
“Welcome.”
He scooped up the plate and his drink, placed them in the sink, and headed to the bar.
chapter nine
Dalton came home with sore muscles and blue balls.
Striding wearily toward the Pierce mansion’s front porch, he groaned when he saw Fric and Frac hanging out waiting for him.
“So, we’re dying to hear,” Cal rumbled into the darkness. As Dalton got nearer, he saw that his oldest brother clutched a beer in one hand and had his feet propped up on an ancient, torn-up wicker table that was a complete eyesore—and one he refused to get rid of. “Did you sleep with her?”
Tristan held a glass of his expensive red wine, swishing the liquid around as if he held the secrets to the universe. His red-brown hair glinted in the moonlight, and his amber eyes reflected calm, but with a teasing glint reserved for his younger brother. “I bet yes, but Cal said no. The bartender has been your Achilles’ heel and Kryptonite rolled into one, but I said not to underestimate the power of your charm. And the dimples. What is it about dimples anyway?”
Cal snorted. “It’s a pretty-boy surfer thing. Hooks ’em in. But this one doesn’t strike me as a dimple chick.”
Dalton dropped his toolbox and sank into the third wicker rocker. “Why did I get stuck with assholes for brothers? Is there another beer out here somewhere?”
Cal passed over a bottle of his IPA. Dalton popped off the cap and took a long swallow. His brothers waited him out, like they always had. And as always, he broke. “We didn’t sleep together,” he mumbled. “For God’s sake, I just got the job. Give me some damn time.”
Cal slapped his hands together while Tristan shook his head. “Pay up,” Cal demanded. “Twenty bucks.”
“Morgan would kill you if she knew you placed bets on my sleeping with Raven.”
Cal squinted with a warning flash in his eyes. “Do you like when Morgan cooks for you, Dalton? ’Cause I can get her to stop. Watch me.”
Dalton rolled his eyes but stayed quiet. He really couldn’t afford to lose his future sister-in-law’s dinners. He had a limited amount of time left before she’d be moving into her own house, and then bye-bye shrimp and grits, and meat loaf, and pot roast. Good-bye.
“Couldn’t close?” Tristan asked curiously. He rotated his glass once more.
“I was working! You may not respect the lines of employment, but I sure do.”
Tristan and Caleb shared a look. Then burst into hysterical laughter.
Dalton brooded and drank his beer.
“Oh, please, say it again,” Cal said. “Better yet, let me record you for the next time we have an inspection problem, or a supplier problem, or anything that entails a woman who is even the slightest bit hot.”
“There haven’t been any problems in months, and I resent you not taking my professional ethics seriously. Besides, we’re getting to know each other better.”
“Yeah, we know how you want to get to know her. BTW, I found another pair of pink panties in the laundry room last week. Tell your women to take their underwear home, please. I don’t want Morgan doing their laundry.”
Dalton shook his head. “I haven’t slept with someone in a while. Must be old.”
Tristan grinned. “Yeah, last weekend, right?”
Dalton gave him the finger.
“How long is the job going to take?” Cal asked.
“Three weeks, but I convinced her to go with new booths. The place is going to look incredible. She’s being featured in Good Food and Fine Spirits magazine, so that means—”
“Pierce Brothers will have some solid, free publicity,” Cal finished.
“Exactly. She’s also doing a big grand reopening party to show off the new look.”