The magic words.
“My favorite.” If the rice didn’t result in extra gym time, he’d eat Chinese food every single day. Easy, fast and didn’t require more than a fork. It appealed to the time management part of his brain.
She pulled back as the frown deepened. “I don’t think of you as having a favorite food.”
“What do you imagine me doing?”
“That sounds a bit naughty.” Her hands clenched against him as she talked.
Some of the blood left his brain. “Does it?”
“You come off as the type to go out and have power dinners. Sit around with the other rich guys, smoking cigars and talking deals.”
That was about as far from how he lived his life as she could get. “Never.”
Her fingers all but massaged his muscles now. “Which part?”
He took a second to clear his throat. Tried to ignore the feel of her lower half resting against his and how her face was right there in front of him. “All of it.”
“Surely, you have friends.”
At first the conversation struck him as strange. Mundane yet weirdly personal at the same time. It took a second for his brain to catch up and for him to realize she was trying to get to know him. Not a bad plan since he was standing in her apartment and danger did seem to be knocking at the door. He just wondered if she realized it.
Not one to play games, he tested. Ignored the tension ratcheting up and dove in. “You know that in some conversations you like to highlight how different I am. In other conversations you seem to want me to be like everyone else.”
“Oh, I don’t think you’re like anyone else.” She flattened her palms and ran them across his shoulders. “I just wonder about the everyday things.”
The nerve endings kicked to life everywhere she touched. “Like?”
“I can’t see you standing over the sink, eating food out of a white container.”
That’s exactly how he did it. “Should I use a plate?”
“It’s just . . . well, the sink thing sounds like something I would do.”
Were they really talking about food? He couldn’t tell. “Maybe we have more in common than you think.”
“That’s scary.”
Yeah, no kidding. “For both of us.”
She jabbed a finger into his chest. “See, I think that was a joke.”
“I have the ability to form them now and then.” He was quickly losing the will to talk, but that was something else. Had more to do with the pounding need to strip her naked and see how all that fire inside her translated in bed.
“Now I think you’re trying to make me forget about the police and what happened tonight, which I’m still not sure was an actual ‘thing,’ but who knows.” She brushed her fingers along his jawline. “That’s sweet actually.”
He felt anything but sweet at the moment. Hot, punishingly turned on, half-ready to dunk his head in the ice cube tray. Those fit.
Despite the need growing inside him and how much he wanted her, he focused on trying to level her out. He’d never considered himself selfish when it came to women. He aimed for satisfaction and all that, but admittedly, that was sex. He did fine there. Talking? Not his strongest skill.
He tried anyway. He rubbed a hand up and down her back. “Emery, you had a scare. You are allowed to feel shaky.”
“Do you ever feel shaky?”
“Other than right now?”
“Oh, please.” She laughed, but then her hand flew to her mouth and she stepped out of his hold. Kept moving until a good three feet separated them.
This was new, or rather it was a return to their first meeting. “Problem?”
“Do you have a wife?”
He had no idea how her mind got there . . . or why. “What?”
“It just hit me.” She rubbed a hand over her forehead as she went back to walking in circles.
“My marital status?”
“Oh, my God. I’m rubbing my hands all over you.” She shook her head.
He watched her, fascinated by the amount of energy that must surge through her. She seemed to get nervous and then every muscle needed to move. The pacing started. She traveled back and forth in front of the love seat, nearly tripping over the boxes she had stacked there.
Watching her gave him a bit of a headache, but he couldn’t look away. “Any chance you could stop moving around for a second?”
“This is ridiculous.” She stared at him. “I don’t know anything about you, starting with the basics like your marital status and actual name.”
“Is it possible you’re fixating on all of this to avoid your concern about the break-in?” First, she thought he was a criminal. Then creepy, which was a term she still threw out now and then, and now married. He was quite the catch in her eyes.
He knew he should be offended, but he got it. He hadn’t exactly opened the doors and provided a wealth of information to her.
“How about a real answer?” Her eyes grew wider. “Is there a wife?”
“Not anymore.”
“Is she dead?”
What the hell? “That is quite a question.”