by Anne Conley
Her pupils dilated at those words. Reaching for her water glass, she drank long and deep, as if she were suddenly parched.
Zane almost took the words back. Instead, he continued. “But I don’t want to just fuck you.”
The sommelier chose that moment to approach their table.
“Would you like a bottle of wine?”
Lettie simply nodded. The red flush he’d admired at her apartment was back, and Zane was insanely jealous of the man who got to stand over her and peek at her cleavage pinkened by his words. Zane chose a bottle, and the staff member scurried off.
He managed to impress her with his understanding of the intricacies of wine tasting. Well, he wasn’t sure if she was impressed or shocked. He didn’t let people know he had money. Not immediately anyway.
But Lettie wasn’t just anybody, and he was pulling out all the stops. When the wine was poured, their food ordered, and they were alone again, she opened the conversation.
“Okay, so you’re rich or something?”
He smiled, glad to get this out of the way and hoping for a little quid pro quo. He’d give a little, maybe she’d give a little, and then he could figure out why she was so awesome.
“Not really. My parents are.” He sipped his wine, enjoying the fruity crispness, even though he preferred beer. “When my brothers and I moved out and started living on our own, they helped out by buying us all houses, what they called starter homes, but you’ve seen my house. It’s fucking massive for this area, if you’re not a tourist.” She nodded her agreement. “They’re hopeful we will have huge families. My folks are from big families, wanted big families for themselves and for all of us. They just want to be surrounded by grandbabies.”
“Do your brothers have families?” Lettie’s words sounded choked, and he hoped this wasn’t a deal breaker for her. He wanted kids, but not now. Eventually though.
“Most of them are working on it.” Zane shrugged, hoping for indifference, but the butterflies in his belly said differently.
“What about you? What do you want?”
Hoping he wasn’t about to ruin anything, Zane went for honesty. “I want kids. I don’t have a particular number in mind, but I came from a big family, obviously, and I think just one or two kids would be lonely. There’s just nothing like having to fight off four or five brothers for your morning shower,” he said with a chuckle, attempting to lighten things up. Turn things around. “What about you? What’s your family like?”
Her hands fell to the table, lying flat on either side of her bread plate. “Mom left when I was four, and Dad’s been in prison since I was twelve. I lived with my grandparents until Grandpa died, and then I moved out and started doing my own thing.” She looked squarely at him, as if daring him to judge her.
He couldn’t imagine that sort of life but didn’t feel sorry for her—much. He was trying to wrap his head around such a solitary existence though. Moving out on his own had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, not because he was suddenly responsible for himself but because he was so damn lonely. That’s probably why he fucked around so much. But this was something completely different.
“You pity me, don’t you?” Lettie’s voice had a hard edge to it, and he knew he had to tread lightly now.
“No, I don’t. I may feel some pity for the child you were, the one who lost both parents, but mostly I just can’t imagine it. I’m trying to wrap my head around it.” He reached for her hand again, and this time she put her palm in his.
Entwining their fingers, Zane rubbed her hand with his thumb. Her fingers were dainty, her nails short, but they looked strong. The warmth of her hand flowed up his arm, and he knew there was something about this girl.
“Why Pamona Gulch? What brought you here?”
She sighed, flipping their hands over as she took a sip of her wine. The waiter chose that moment to bring over the appetizer—a grilled asparagus bruschetta—and she picked one up, still holding his hand.
“I was transferred from Gainesville, Florida. I had an ugly breakup and needed to get as far away as possible.”
Lettie was back to not looking at him, choosing to focus on her meal. She was still holding his hand, and he took that as a good sign. He didn’t want to ask this question but couldn’t stop it from spilling forth.
“What was his first kiss like?”
“It was careless, sloppy. He was a selfish kisser, much like he was in real life.” She was looking at him now. The entire dinner, she’d vacillated between daring him to challenge her to not looking at him. Right now was the daring look.
Zane wasn’t about to do that. He was too busy trying to imagine what she meant.
“Did he hurt you? Like, how did you get attached to someone who was selfish like that?”
She chewed slowly, clearly thinking about her answer. He took the opportunity to eat a bit, too, but didn’t taste anything, too intent on her answer. If she’d been with a man who was so obviously wrong for her, why was she so intent on pushing him away when he could see they were so damn right for each other?
“Not physically, no. In retrospect, I think he was trying to be psychologically abusive, demeaning me and being all jealous and stuff, but he mostly just racked up a bunch of debt in my name and ruined my credit.” She shrugged.
“Did you love him?”
“What does that even mean? If it means did I do too much for him? Then the answer is yes. He was needy, and I fulfilled his needs because I thought that’s what girlfriends do.”
Zane saw the need to retreat from the topic. She was getting angry, and he couldn’t tell who the anger was directed toward. But her voice was shriller, and her body had tensed like she was ready to flee at any moment.
“I see now why you like animals so damn much.” With Zane’s attempt to lighten the mood, she laughed, so he declared it a success.
“So what happened that gave you a scar?” She rubbed her shoulder where his scar was, illustrating what she was talking about. “I saw it the other day when you were doing the shoot.
“You saw that, huh?” He grinned at her, unable to stop himself. A ripple of pride went through him. He’d thought she was studiously ignoring him that day, but clearly she hadn’t been.
Ducking her head, she smiled back, even if she wasn’t looking at him. “Yeah. You covered it with a tattoo, but I didn’t get a close enough look to see what it was.”
“But you were looking?”
She slapped the tabletop in frustration. “You know I was. Now, stop changing the subject. How did you get it?”
“I got a little hot being careless with my brother.” He’d fucked up is what had happened. The scar was a reminder he was human. “The tattoo was so I would remember what I did,” he admitted. “The scar was fading, and I needed to be reminded that life is short. People make mistakes, and mistakes can end things faster than a blink.”
Lettie blinked at him and opened her mouth, probably in shock at his sudden sensitivity, but whatever. He knew he would shock her soon enough.
“So what does it actually say?”
He grinned again. “Find it hot, leave it wet.”
“Oh. My. God.” Her shock transformed to humor as a smile lit her face. “It does not.”
“I’ll show you. That’s exactly what it says.”
“You are too much.”
“I’ve been told.”
All the tension from when they’d first sat down had dissipated, and they talked more. When the meal got there, they ate and talked even more. Zane found himself enraptured in almost everything she said, her mannerisms, and the way she held herself.
He really liked her.
But when dessert came and Lettie bit into the chocolate raspberry tart and moaned, he had to remind himself he wasn’t going to make any moves. Not unless she did first.
And that would be hard to do.
“So, uh … about last night …” Zane didn’t want to start a fight, but he had to know what had happened with the impromptu party the other night at his house. “Why did they come over?”
She swallowed, making a throaty noise that went straight to his dick. “Well, I had been to Mo’s earlier in the evening, trying to make friends. I took Becca with me as sort of a buffer in case it was a total bust.” The blush was back, and it wasn’t doing a damn thing to keep his cock quiet. If it could talk, it would be yelling at her to look at it. “I met Katie, and we started talking about you.” Now he knew how she’d gotten the playboy idea, but he didn’t say anything. “I guess she knew I would be Skyping with you and was trying to make you jealous of me and Hollywood. I did not instigate that, and they left almost as soon as they got there.”
“Really? So no wild orgies?” Zane tried to sound half-hearted but was pretty sure he sounded like a jealous asshole.
She barked out a laugh. “Absolutely not. She’s not my type.”
It took him a minute, but when her words registered, he did a double-take. “Oh yeah?” He lowered his voice to a threatening growl. “And Hollywood is?”
“Pretty boy? Firefighter? Too cocky for his own good?” Lettie took another bite of her tart and then pressed the tines of the fork into the crumbs like it was the most interesting thing in the restaurant. “That hasn’t been my type in the past …” She looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes. The coy look made him realize she was teasing him. “But it seems to be now.” She put the forkful of crumbs in her mouth, dragging the tines through her lips painfully slow. “At least, there’s one I’m sort of interested in who’s like that.”
Zane leaned back in his seat, crossing his ankle over his knee, trying to shift to alleviate the suddenly painful hard-on. He’d been aware of his cock’s twitchiness all damn night, but now it was full staff, ready to throw down. He brought his finger to his lips, rubbing them in pretend thought. Truth was, he wasn’t thinking much besides caveman thoughts, grunts, and monosyllabic words.
He was pretty sure tossing her over his shoulder and towing her out of this place would be a strike against him.
“Coffee?” he muttered, pleased he didn’t say something like “Blowjob?” which was more along the lines of what he was thinking.
Lettie looked over at his dessert, which was mostly finished. “You’re not going to finish your crème brûlée ?”
Zane wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to watch her enjoy another dessert, so he eagerly pushed his plate over to her.
As her plump lips closed over the spoon and it slid out of her mouth, Zane barely controlled himself. Instead, he straightened his leg and brushed his foot against hers under the table. No reason. He just wanted to touch her. He didn’t want to distract her from eating, but at the same time, he didn’t want her to forget he was here either.
Her moan at the super-rich dessert went to dark places, singing to desires unworthy of this restaurant. Zane wanted her with a need he’d never felt before. His foot was teasing him more than anything as he ran it along her shapely calf under the table. She studiously ignored it, and he didn’t know what to do with that. It was clear he didn’t affect her the way she affected him.
He didn’t care.
Lettie finished eating, set the spoon on the edge of her plate, and looked at him, her hands primly in her lap.
“You finished?” Finally, he managed to keep to himself.
“You done rubbing my leg like a cat in heat? You ready to fulfill the promise your foot has been making for the last ten minutes?” The taunt in that sexy, throaty voice of hers only made things worse, the heat inside him taking over.
He pulled out his wallet and tossed a handful of bills on the table before standing abruptly. He had to get her out of here. Zane needed to know what game she was playing. Now.
“Are we leaving?” she asked innocently, her smile teasing him as she took his arm while he marched her out of the restaurant.
“Yes. I’m taking you home, unless you want something else.”
She was torturing him, and his previous promise was an all-new fresh hell.
“I think I do.” His insides leapt at her words, and he very nearly choked on nothing before he was able to school himself.
They were outside the doors, the summer evening a bit cool. Spinning her around, Zane put his hands on her shoulders, telling himself this was chaste. He was being good.
“What do you want, Lettie?”
“You said you don’t wine and dine women. That when you fuck, you fuck. I’m curious what would happen to a woman you do wine and dine. What happens next?” She blinked and swallowed, the column of her elegant neck working tantalizingly. “If you could have your way, do you fuck?”
“Seriously?” His voice sounded funny to his own ears. She nodded, clearly having zero idea what seeing her lips form that word was doing to him. “You want to fuck?” God, that sounded crass, but she didn’t even flinch at his words.
She stood there, resolutely watching him, giving him that slow nod. Offering his arm once again, she took it. The gesture was as innocent as he could make it, but the way her fingers curled around his bicep and stroked lightly had all the blood in his head rushing south, dimming his vision.
“Then, by all means, let’s go fuck.”
Just breathe, motherfucker, and don’t screw this up.
Chapter Eight
What the hell am I getting into?
Lettie would love to say she was messing with Zane, trying to see how far he would take this “Let’s go fuck” business, but in actuality, she wanted it. She hadn’t had good sex in a long time, and everything about Zane screamed he knew what he was doing. She didn’t want to be a conquest, but she was a big girl. She knew what the stakes here were. She could do this and walk away in the morning.
Lettie believed it was genetically ingrained for the man to say and do what was necessary to procreate with the female. It was a phenomenon that crossed species. Apes brought prospective mates food, as did birds. Just because it involved food and words didn’t mean Zane didn’t want to toss her on the pavement outside the restaurant and have his way with her. Men had a drive to make babies, to fuck as many women as possible, it was innate, and they couldn’t help it. They were engineered that way.
Sure, he said all the right things, but men had been telling her all the right things to get into her pants for years. She was under no illusions this would be different, no matter how serious he seemed. He probably even thought he was serious. She couldn’t fault him for that. After all, he was just a man. Men did things differently.
And she was dying to see just how different he would be.
The ride to his house was silent, and the air inside his truck was thick with anticipation as Zane silently maneuvered the streets of the small town. When he finally pulled up in front of his house and turned off the truck, she was a wreck and had almost chickened out at least four times.
But she hadn’t. Lettie was going to do this. With Zane. Never mind she’d expected it to all end in a fiery disaster. As long as she knew what to expect, she wouldn’t be blindsided and end up heartbroken, right? Maybe the journey to the fiery ending would make everything worth it? Besides, the looks he was throwing her way promised some of the hottest sex she could imagine. For fuck’s sake, she needed that, had never really had it, and deserved it.
Lettie didn’t know what to expect from the sex though. She’d imagined all sorts of scenarios. Him pushing her against the front door as soon as it was closed and fucking her against the wall. On the kitchen countertops. On the hall floor. In her head, he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself and would just rip off her panties as soon as the front door was closed to the public.
But what she didn’t expect was t
he level of restraint he showed when he turned to her in the truck.
“I love the idea of you in my bed. As much as I want to do this as soon as possible, I really want the scent of us on my sheets, so we’re going to do this like civilized people. Well, I’ll try to be as civilized as a man who’s wanted to fuck you since he saw you.” Zane motioned for her to stay in her seat while he went around and opened the door for her, which was fine because she was frozen by his words. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out since she wasn’t breathing. She looked like a damn fish.
Well, that’s sexy.
Lettie managed to get out of the car, and he held her around the waist as they walked up to his house. His grip was tight, evidence of his desire, his fingers digging into her side. Instead of hurting, though, it excited her.
They paused inside the door as if Zane were ready to shove her against it and fuck her brains out right here, but a glance at Otis sleeping in his crate had him loosening his grip a bit. As he tugged her into his room, she ignored her disappointment because fucking against a door sounded hot. He turned on a lamp that emitted a soft glow. It was just enough light to see his eyes, the heat and intensity in them causing her to stop breathing when he turned to her.
“Take your dress off. If I do it, it’ll tear.” His hands were fists at his side, his jaw ticking. His stark gaze froze Lettie to the carpet, unable to process his words. “Lettie …” His voice was a warning growl, and it jerked her into motion.
She pulled the dress up, exposing the one pair of relatively sexy underwear she owned and her bare breasts. When she’d gotten the fabric over her head, Zane had his eyes closed and head tilted back to the ceiling as if praying to the sex deity. She giggled softly at the thought of a sex deity and the idea of Zane praying to him or her. But when he straightened his neck and looked at her, the giggle died in her throat.
“Your turn,” she prodded, uncomfortable yet forcing her hands to stay at her sides. She wanted to cross them over her chest but knew that would just make him tell her not to. Instead, she kept them at her thighs and clenched them into fists so hard she lost feeling in her fingertips.