by Lori Foster
She lifted the glass like a toast. “This works.”
At the table, he pulled out a chair for her and waited.
“Such a gentleman.”
He locked his teeth at the way she said it, which didn’t sound anywhere close to a compliment. “I have my moments.”
“I like your music.”
Well, that was something. “I prefer country,” he told her, “but if you have another preference—”
“I don’t.” She listened as she chose a chicken breast. “Who is that?”
“Keith Urban, ‘Parallel Line.’” He chose two legs, a heap of potatoes, then asked, “You like it?”
“It’s sexy.” She swayed a little in her seat. “That’s what you listen to?”
Usually his music was a little rowdier, but these lyrics were perfect for their first date. “I have a variety. A little of this, a little of that. George Strait, Brad Paisley, Sam Hunt, Chuck Wicks, Carrie Underwood—”
Her head shot up, a forkful of mashed potatoes held just before her mouth. “You listen to Carrie Underwood?”
“Course.” What, did she think he singled out male singers? “Some of hers are my favorites.” He gave it quick thought, then said, “I’ll make you a playlist. When you have a little quiet time, you can give it a listen.”
Her gaze softened even more. “Okay, I’d like that. Thanks.”
Daron made a mental note to get the music together right away. It’d give him a good excuse to see her again.
They managed a few peaceful minutes while they each ate. Every couple of bites, Maris made one of those sexy “Mmm” sounds that he somehow felt everywhere, most especially in inappropriate places.
“Good?” he asked, just to make conversation.
“Delicious.”
At least he could do something right. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I had no idea you cooked.”
So she thought he sustained himself...how? On cold cereal and her cookies? “There are probably a lot of things about me you don’t know.”
“No kidding. Like this amazing house? I love it. When you said it was small, I wasn’t sure what to expect.” She got another helping of potatoes. “But there’s enough room here for a whole family.”
Daron almost choked on his bite of tomato. He swallowed, cleared his throat and said without thinking, “It’s our first date, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
The second she froze, he knew he’d blundered. Damn it, he wanted to relax, to be natural, to be himself, able to joke, but she had him on pins and needles, worrying about how to act and what to say.
So of course he said the wrong thing.
The slight narrowing of her eyes gave fair warning to her mood. “Probably our first and only date, so you have nothing to worry about, believe me.” Her hand fisted in her napkin. “I shouldn’t have wasted my breath on the compliments. I should have known someone like you would take them wrong.”
Carefully, Daron set his fork aside. She’d been tossing barbs left and right and he’d done his best to ignore them.
No one could ignore a direct hit like that, though.
“Someone like me?” he repeated. “Tell me, Maris, what the hell does that even mean?”
Her mouth pinched, she breathed through her nose—and then she deflated with disgust. Sitting back in her seat, she muttered, “I have no idea.”
“What’s that?”
She gestured at him. “You’re so full of charm and so...well, the opposite of serious. No matter what you’re doing, it seems like you have a good time. You’re...free.”
That last word emerged as a whisper, diluting some of his annoyance. “Yeah, well, as you can see, I’m not the drunken frat boy you paint me to be.”
“I know.” Her frown seemed self-directed. “I think that bugs me most of all.”
Meaning he couldn’t win for losing?
Sitting back in his seat, Daron studied her, the averted gaze, the downturned mouth. Hell, he hadn’t invited her here tonight to make her miserable. “I like you, Maris.” That felt inadequate, so he corrected, “I more than like you.”
Her startled gaze latched on to his. Was that fear he saw?
Yeah, he thought it might be. So did Maris fear what she felt for him? It would explain a few things.
With his heart punching against his ribs, he asked, “So what would it take?”
Her tongue slipped over her lower lip, and she asked, “What do you mean?”
“What would it take for you to give me a shot?” He saw her breath stall, her gaze dart away.
Talk to me. Tell me the problem and we can work through it.
For the longest time she looked down before picking up her fork and scooping up a bite of potatoes. “You really are a good cook. No reason to let the rest of my meal go to waste.”
Of all the... Daron struggled with his frustration, but he felt like he was on to something here and he instinctively knew pushing Maris would never work. She was too independent to be verbally strong-armed, while at the same time he sensed her vulnerability. Giving her time, he followed her lead and finished eating.
When her plate was clean, she set aside her cutlery and folded her hands in her lap. Her nervous swallow seemed to signal something.
Daron gave her his complete attention.
“I grew up pretty poor.” Her gaze darted to his, and away. It took her a few more seconds, and she added, “Embarrassingly poor actually.”
Embarrassingly? The way she tensed, as if waiting for a reaction, put him on the spot. If he knew what she needed, he’d give it to her, but he wasn’t a mind reader so he said, “I grew up middle class. Dad worked at a car plant and Mom taught grade school.”
After a deep breath that seemed to ease her a little, she smiled. “That sounds really nice.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. Hell, her tension had become his own. “What did your folks do?”
“Well...” Color painted her cheeks and chest.
Maris didn’t do anything half-assed, not even blushing. It intrigued him, seeing that wash of color over the tops of her breasts, her neck and cheeks.
“Mama mostly read the Bible.” She rushed on, anxious to explain. “She loved me a lot, she really did, but she also enjoyed praying. I think because Daddy tended to drink too much in between jobs, and he was usually in between...because of the drinking.”
Hoping to acknowledge that without any overt reaction showing, Daron gave a very slight nod.
“He wasn’t a drunk. I mean, not like a mean drunk who abused anyone.” Using both hands, she tucked her hair behind her ears and hunched her shoulders. “Mama said he was a functioning alcoholic, and that his own parents had been mean, is why he drank so much, but...”
This was the first time Maris had ever opened up to him and as awful as the subject matter was, he considered it a step in the right direction.
The direction that would bring her closer to him.
“That’s why you were poor?”
She nodded. “Mama spent most of her time in a rocking chair, sometimes reading the Bible aloud, sometimes reading it silently. My parents relied heavily on assistance, but they didn’t always ask for it, so there were times that we did without dinner. All my clothes were donated hand-me-downs.”
Damn. Maris deserved better. Every kid deserved better. Doing his utmost to keep any judgment from showing, Daron asked, “Donated from the church?”
She nodded. “And some neighbors. I used to wonder what it would be like to go to a store and just...buy what I wanted.”
Daron barely kept his jaw from clenching. He saw nothing wrong with people getting help when they needed it. Hell, it was as nice for the one helping as it was for the one who got the help. But it sounded like her parents could have done a lot better.
In his m
ind, there was all kinds of abuse, some worse than others, and what her parents had done to her counted. A child should be cared for in all ways, and obviously she hadn’t been.
“So, anyway,” Maris said, switching tracks. “From the time I was thirteen I knew I’d be different, because I decided it.”
“Different from them?” Or did she mean different from...him?
She answered in a roundabout way, saying, “I wanted to be my own boss.”
“Mission accomplished,” he said with a smile. “You have a hell of a business.”
She nodded. “I never wanted to...to rely on anyone for anything.”
“But you do so much for others.” Maris was one of the most generous people he’d ever met.
She snorted. “Cookies and coffee? Big deal. I wanted to support myself, to never ask anyone for anything important.”
That’s why she worked so hard? Was it also why she shied away from getting involved with him? She didn’t want to rely on him? “Determination is a powerful incentive.”
His observation earned him a bitter laugh. “Maybe. I screwed up, though, diving straight into a job instead of getting an education.” She peeked up at him. “I wanted to do that shopping, you know? And I did, but even then I was frugal. I’ve never bought music. We didn’t have it growing up, and there’s a radio in my car, so...” She shrugged. “I’ve always been frugal. I don’t how to be any other way. Heck, even this sweater is Joy’s, not mine.”
Is that why she’d asked him to pick her up there?
Or was it that she didn’t want him anywhere near her apartment? It seemed every answer with Maris led him to two more questions.
He’d be willing to bet Joy had done something with her hair, too, and all in all, it relieved him, because that meant Maris would accept help.
But maybe only from certain people.
Wishing he could hold her, wishing he could say a lot more but not wanting to bash her parents, Daron remarked, “College isn’t for everyone.”
“Maybe. But for several years it felt like I was just spinning my wheels, barely able to save any money, definitely not enough to get ahead.” She looked across the table at him. “Stability is important to me.”
“I can imagine.” He had a few bites left on his plate, but his appetite was gone. “Where are your parents now?”
“They’ve both passed, died in a house fire from smoke inhalation. I gave them the best funeral I could, but it wasn’t much.”
No way did he want to blow this by misspeaking or interrupting, so Daron only said, “I understand.”
“When I got the job at the park, I thought it’d be a part-time gig, a way to make some extra money. Then I took over Summer’s End, and things kept changing, the situation grew and now...” She pressed a fist to her chest. “Summer’s End is mine.”
And that meant it mattered, even more than he’d ever realized. Cautiously, going for honesty and hoping it was right, Daron said, “You know everyone likes you. A lot. But the foundation of that like is a ton of respect and admiration.” From him more than anyone.
“I think I resented you.” She winced. “I’ve been an awful date and I know it, but seeing everything you’ve done, it just reminds me what I haven’t been able to do yet.”
“Our experiences are night and day.” He was glad for the explanation, and the semiapologetic tone, but she needed to understand the advantages he’d had. “I’m close with my parents, always have been. They’ve given me things—” guidance, encouragement and, yes, the occasional loan when he was first starting out “—that your parents couldn’t give you. It makes a huge difference.”
“Still—”
“You might not realize it, but you’re special.” He meant that with all his heart. “The park wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Smiling a little, she played with the ends of her hair. “Are you trying to get laid?”
Grinning with her, he held up his hands. “I’m being honest, I swear.” That feminine gesture with her hair was something he’d never seen her do before because she always wore it in a ponytail. Now that he’d seen it loose, the dark blond waves trailing over her shoulders and chest, he’d always know what she looked like with it down. It’d probably plague him, but in a good way.
Maris said, “It feels like we’re all important to the park. We work together like a family, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” Though Daron didn’t want her thinking of him that way, not when he wanted a more intimate relationship. “I have this vision of me as a cranky old seventy-year-old unclogging the showers, tweaking the pump on the pool and tuning up the mowers.” Folding his arms on the table, he studied her. “What about you? Do you see yourself retiring from the park?”
“That wasn’t my plan in the beginning, but now, yeah, I can’t imagine ever leaving.” Making another topic switch, she patted her stomach. “I’d ask if you have dessert, but I’m stuffed.”
“Give it a few minutes and I can get us ice cream.” He hesitated, but couldn’t hold back. “I’m glad you plan to stay at the park. Whatever happens with us—”
“Nothing is happening with us.”
“I’m glad you’ll be there.”
After speaking at almost the same time, they stared at each other.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth.
It was like she’d cast out a fishing line and reeled him in. He found himself pushing back his chair, which prompted her to quickly do the same. As he circled the table, she licked her lips, her eyes tracking him—until he stopped right in front of her.
“Maris.” Her name sounded like a groan, but he was dying a little here, especially with the hungry way she looked at him. “Something is happening. You know that, right?”
Emotion seemed to coil within her, and Daron didn’t know if it was anger, or...
She grabbed him, her hands sliding over his shoulders to lock behind his neck, her body crashing against his, her mouth on his mouth, her tongue slipping past his startled lips.
Lust. That emotion was lust and he wanted to rejoice. He turned his head for a better fit, softening the onslaught so his tongue could twine with hers, so he could taste her deeply. One hand settled low on her back, the other tangled in her silky hair.
God, he could kiss her all day and it wouldn’t be enough.
Suddenly she pulled back, breathing hard, staring up at him as if dazed. “This is nuts.”
“Then let’s be nuts.” He started to pull her close again... No, wait. Rule number four. No sex on the first date. He shook his head, hoping to clear it of the pounding need. “I mean—” He cleared his throat. “Let’s be nuts enough to make out.”
Maris searched his face. “Make out?”
“Yeah, you know. Neck a little. Maybe go to second base.” He bobbed his eyebrows playfully, needing to lighten the sexual tension. “I can take it if you can.”
She blinked once, twice—then shoved him back and turned, one hand pressed to her forehead. “No, I don’t know that I can take it. I don’t feel like me. I don’t even look like me.”
He eased up behind her the same way he would with a fractious animal. “You look amazing, but you always do.” He kept his voice gentle. “Have to admit, I like seeing more of you.”
“You mean my boobs.”
Standing behind her, he rested his hands carefully on her rigid shoulders, his thumbs moving in slow circles over the base of her neck. “I’m always a fan of more skin, but the biggest difference is this.” He nuzzled against her hair. “You have fucking amazing hair.”
She turned with a purpose. “Okay, I’m convinced. I want you. You clearly want me. Let’s do this.”
Let’s do this?
She wasn’t much for romance. Or maybe that was just what she wanted him to think. He tried to sort out the ramifications of scooping her up and taking her down
the hall to his bedroom.
Her cursed list of rules danced through his brain. Tonight was supposed to be about getting closer to her, period.
“Well?” she demanded.
“Um...” Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t, so he opted for the long haul and said, “Rule number four, remember?”
Her eyes flared. “You are citing rule number four?”
“It seemed important to you.”
“Rule number four,” she repeated, musing. “Rule number four...”
Did she even remember the fucking rule? His shoulders bunched. “That’s the one where you stated no sex.”
“Thank you for reminding me.” Stepping around him, she snatched up her plate and empty bottle of tea, and headed for the kitchen.
Goddammit, this was not good. “What are you doing?”
“My share of cleanup.”
He grabbed his own plate and hustled after her. “You don’t have to do that. Let’s...talk. Maybe watch TV. I’ll clean up later.”
“Nope. It’s time for me to go.” She opened the cabinet under his sink, didn’t find what she was looking for and opened another cabinet.
“Maris.” He set his dishes on the counter. “Don’t go.”
“Where the hell is your garbage?”
Shit. Was it too late for him to agree to sex? One look at her face and he knew it most definitely was. “Son of a bitch.”
Startled, she drew back. “Are you cussing at me?”
“No, because I would never do that—just like I wouldn’t ignore your damn rules that said no sex.” He snapped open the dishwasher and practically threw in the dishes. “Frustration is the son of a bitch. Do you know, I never walk on eggshells? I’m just me, and if that’s not good enough for someone, that’s their problem. But for you, I tried.” He jammed in a pan, making the stupid thing fit, without even rinsing it.
“You know that’s not going to come clean.”
“Shows what you know. It has a pot scrubber feature.” He closed the dishwasher and turned to her, arms folded. “I want to spend time with you, Maris. A quick fuck would be great—”