And if he kept staring, he was likely to start this off wrong.
Instead of letting himself drool over the black lace, the pale skin he could see gleaming through, he met Keelie’s eyes.
“I have a confession to make,” he said as she dropped into the seat across from his. “I’m compulsively early for almost everything and I can’t smell coffee without bolting back a cup almost immediately.”
“Hmmm.” She lifted a brow and then leaned in, eying his cup. “You’re not done bolting.”
“Yeah, well.” He took the cup, drained it, and put it down. “That’s not my first cup, either.”
“Really?” Now she smiled and he wanted to die a little. She’d slicked her mouth with a color that hovered between red and purple and he wanted to cover that wide, mobile mouth, taste her, kiss her until she couldn’t breathe and then start all over again. “So just how early did you get here?”
He made a show of checking his watch, calculating the time. “Maybe a little before ten thirty.” An hour early.
“That compulsive, huh?”
He shrugged. “I’ve got business in town anyway and I needed to read the paper.” He tapped his hand on the one spread out in front of him. “I had to leave the loft to find a paper.”
“Yes. You would have to leave the loft . . . even when Zach lived there, I doubted he had a regular paper delivery.”
Zane flashed her a grin. “Zach wouldn’t know what a regular paper delivery was.”
“Bullshit.” She shrugged and glanced around. “He gets the paper delivered to the shop. He loves the comics.”
“Point taken.” He stood up, gestured to the counter. “I’m empty. And we’re meeting for coffee. What do you drink?”
“Black. Just black.” She glanced up at him, a quick smile on her face, then looked down.
The tattoo on the curve of her neck, that large, exotic rose stood out in stark relief against the soft, pale cream of her skin and he wanted to bend down, press his mouth to her, right there, where the petals were forever frozen just before bursting into full bloom.
Slowly, she shifted her gaze to him, studying him.
Coffee.
Right.
Why in the hell had he said he wanted five minutes for a cup of coffee?
* * *
As he turned away, Keelie blew out a breath. Absently, she reached up to touch the rose inked onto her neck before focusing on the paper in front of her. The words blurred and ran together in front of her, but that was okay.
If she was staring at the paper, she wasn’t staring at Zane.
She’d stood outside on the sidewalk a good two minutes doing nothing but that before she’d come inside.
He’d been completely focused on what he was doing, that was for certain.
From the corner of her eye, she shot him a glance.
Her breath caught as she saw him looking at her.
Nerves jangled in her belly and she tried to figure out just what she was supposed to do. Smile? Nothing?
But he turned away before she could figure it out. That was a relief.
This is stupid. Brooding, she stared at the paper, eyes catching on one ad, circled in red. Why was she nervous, really? It wasn’t like she and Zane had to go through that stupid get to know you stage.
They did know each other.
He was a photographer, worked in a bar.
Although she had no idea why he did the bar thing, considering the pictures he took. She wasn’t too into photography, but she haunted the blog he updated irregularly and she’d actually joined Instagram only because he was on there. He had thousands of followers, too. Like ten thousand–plus, if not more. He’d had pictures featured by major media outlets and she’d had her breath knocked out of her more than once just by staring at the images he’d taken.
With that kind of talent, she didn’t know why he didn’t live behind his camera.
“Here you go.”
He put a cup in front of her and she looked up, caught off guard.
Blue green eyes studied her thoughtfully as she took the coffee, lifted the lid to let steam escape. “You look like you’re thinking hard.”
She shrugged, not about to tell him she was brooding about how weird this all felt, or that she didn’t understand why he spent time mixing drinks when he ought to be out trotting the globe and amazing people with the images he captured with his camera.
“Decided you’re not in the mood for coffee after all?”
There was a weird edge to his voice and she slowly lifted her eyes, met his. Normally, she couldn’t read a damn thing when it came to Zane, but just then, she thought maybe she saw something in the back of his eyes—something that might have echoed the nerves she felt.
Slowly, she lowered the coffee and leaned forward. Hooking one leg around the leg of her chair, she chewed on her lower lip, tried to figure out what to say, how to say it.
Keelie didn’t know how to do this. She was blunt. She was very often a bitch and she didn’t know, or care to learn, all the subtle ins and outs of conversation that so many people used. She’d seen subtext and polite conversation used to hide some of the ugliest of lies and that was when she’d stopped trying to be felicitous.
It was easier to just not say anything . . . or to say what she felt.
It had taken her a very long time to get to the point to where she could start speaking plainly about her feelings. Silence had been easier.
But silence wasn’t going to cut it here.
“This feels . . .” She ran her tongue around her teeth, decided that maybe she should take a little bit of care with her words. Stupid wasn’t going to win her any points here. “It feels weird, sitting here like this.”
“Yeah?” He slumped in his chair, gaze locked on her. He looked relaxed, calm.
She knew he was anything but.
“Why is that?” he asked softly.
“Because this is like . . .” She rolled her eyes and looked around. “It’s basically a date. Right?”
Now a grin tugged at his lips. “If we have to label it as something, I guess so. But I really wish you would have let me make our first date something a little better than a cup of coffee, Keelie.”
Blood rushed up, heating her face. She suspected that if she looked in the mirror, she’d be glowing pink just then. “Stop,” she said, narrowing her eyes. Then she shrugged. “That’s the thing. It’s a date. A first date. And we’re in a coffee shop and I don’t know what to say. It’s like . . .”
She paused, chewed on her lip. “On first dates, people spend half the time trying to get to know the other person or maybe decide if they even want to.”
“And in some cases, they kick their date in the head.” He tipped the coffee cup he held in her direction. “I hope this date ends better than your last one did.”
She made a face at him. “I think we’re safe there. But here’s the thing. We already know each other. So what do we talk about?”
“Well. We know some things.” He put the coffee down and leaned forward.
Another stupid thing—why did her pulse have to skyrocket like that when all he did was close his fingers around her hands and lift them up? Maybe the kiss he brushed against the back of her right hand could explain the skip in her pulse, but just him touching her?
“We know some things,” he said again, his gaze on her hands, his thumb rubbing back against her skin. “That doesn’t mean there’s not a lot left to learn.”
Maybe that was why she was nervous. If they got to know each other, didn’t that mean she’d have to figure out if she’d ever talk about . . . her brain shied away from the secrets, the subterfuge, the shadows that made up too much of her.
His lips brushed over her knuckles. She looked up, met his eyes.
Felt the air in her lungs die.
The way he watched her . . .
* * *
If she kept looking at him like that, it was going to cause problems, Zane decided. They were in the mi
ddle of a coffee shop. Not the ideal place for him to knock the table out of the way, pull her into his lap, and figure out how to peel those sexy, striped tights away without letting her go once he had her in his arms.
Since that wasn’t really an option, he folded the paper and tucked it to the side, taking his time with that mundane task just so he’d have a few more seconds to level out before he looked at her again.
“See, there’s the thing . . . we’ve known each other for three years, but like I said, I don’t know things I want to know.” He shot her a look.
“Like what?” She looked wary now.
“Well, the books, for one. You’re always reading. What do you like to read?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Romance.”
He scratched his jaw. “Okay.”
“What . . . no comments?”
“Keelie, have you met my mother?”
She blinked. “Well. Yeah. Half a dozen times, easy.”
“Thought so.” He nodded and leaned forward. “Up until ebook readers came out? She’d carried a giant purse just so she could have two books in her bag with her. All the time. They were always romance. Now, maybe I’d think it was silly . . .”
That glint appeared in her eyes.
He grinned at her. “Hey, I said maybe I’d think—that’s past tense. Maybe I’d think it was silly, but I’m smart. Unlike Zach.” He winked at her, watched as she settled back in the chair, some of the tension fading from her body, a smile flirting with her lips. “Now Zach had his fun poking at those books. Not when she was around. Or at least, he thought she wasn’t. He was sixteen, had a couple of friends over. He started poking at the books, had one of them and was reading it aloud. Mom walked in just as one of his friends grabbed a pillow and started to kiss it. Because, yeah, romance, pillows, and kissing just go together.”
Keelie snorted.
“Hey, we’re talking teenage boys. We don’t always think in ways of logic. So she’s standing there and the boys stopped laughing, Zach looks like he was caught with his hand in the candy jar while his friend dropped the pillow, looked back, saw Mom. I’m leaning against the wall at this point, enjoying my front row seat. Mom just picked up her book, tapped it against her hand as she looked at him, then the rest of them. She just shook her head and walked out. Dad was right behind her and he gave them all the saddest look before he said, Boys, I’m going to save you a lot of trouble. If you want to make a girl mad . . . insult what she reads.”
Zane rubbed his finger along the table, eying the business cards and bits of art tucked under the protective sheet glass. “Now the boy who’d been kissing the pillow? He started to laugh, then he said, Like I’m ever going to go out with a girl desperate enough to need romance books.”
“Oops.” Keelie pursed her lips.
“Yeah. That pissed me off. Zach started yelling at him. My dad, though, he just laughed. Told him if he thought my mother read them because she was desperate, then he was welcome to keep on thinking that. My mom graduated at the top of her class from UC Berkeley. She planned on being a lawyer—then she met my dad and fell in love with him. She had me, and she said from then on, the only thing she wanted was to be with us. But she’s a smart woman, could have done just about anything she wanted. Probably could have had anything she wanted.” He paused, and the smile that softened his face tugged at everything in her. “I guess she did have what she wanted, after all . . . she wanted us. To raise a family. That makes us pretty lucky. Anyway, she reads romance because she enjoys it—anybody who wants to challenge her on that? They do it at their own peril.”
“I didn’t know your mom went to Berkeley.” The words were soft, spoken to the coffee cup she held in her hands. Then she glanced up, shrugged. “I read a lot of stuff, but I like romance and urban fantasy the best. The bad guy gets his, you get a happy ending. There’s not enough of that in life. Why not find it in a book?”
He had a feeling there was a wealth of meaning in those words. But he didn’t push. Instead, he just leaned forward, still holding her eyes. “So . . . we’ve covered books. We’ve had five minutes . . . and then some . . . for coffee. There were a few other things I said I wanted last night.”
* * *
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
And just like that, she felt her heart start to race. He was evil. He was also a hazard to the female species—why hadn’t she realized that about him already?
Grabbing her coffee, she took a sip and then another. “You said a lot of things. You didn’t ever say what you like to read, though.”
He didn’t answer.
“Well?” She shot him a look.
“You never asked.”
“You’re impossible,” she said, shaking her head. “What do you like to read?”
“See,” he said, a smile spreading across his normally serious face. “This is how we get to know each other. I ask questions. You ask questions. We maybe talk about another date.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Books.” He braced his elbows on the edge of the table and leaned forward, pretending to ponder the question. “I like urban fantasy a lot. Dark fantasy. Mysteries, suspense . . .”
Then he paused and shot her a wicked grin. “And my mom got me hooked on this one series. Fed me this line about how they were futuristic police procedurals. I got into them because the cop in them was hot.”
Keelie started to laugh. “She’s got you reading Nora Roberts, doesn’t she?”
“Absolutely not.” He waited a beat. “It’s J. D. Robb. There is a difference, you know.”
“Your brothers know you read romance?” She couldn’t stop the smirk from spreading over her face as she studied him.
“Look in Zach’s desk sometime. He used to have one of them tucked inside.”
“No way,” she said, gaping at him.
“So far, she’s hooked everybody but Seb.” He shrugged. “Seb never was much for reading. Says he spends too much time reading scripts anyway and that’s pretty much the same thing.”
Keelie wrinkled her nose. “Seb probably can’t handle reading anything that doesn’t have him as the focus. The magazines, the interviews . . . movie scripts.” Then she winced. “Shoot. I’m sorry. That’s . . .”
She sighed and looked away. “I have no brain-to-mouth filter.”
He was quiet for so long, she was almost afraid to look at him, but in the end, she made herself.
Zane was still watching her with that same faint smile, although the glint of amusement in his eyes had lessened a little. “I know my brothers, Keelie,” he said with a sigh. “Trust me, I know them—and love them—flaws and all. Seb can be a shallow bastard. He isn’t always, but . . . yeah. If the book doesn’t focus on him or relate to the job? He’s not likely to be interested.”
“He doesn’t have a focus outside of Hollywood, does he?” she asked softly.
Zane looked away, his gaze on something she couldn’t see.
When he finally looked back at her, his expression was inscrutable. “Us.” Then he shrugged. “He’s got us, and that’s more than a lot of people in that business can say, I guess. A lot of the people Zach and Abby knew growing up have already burned themselves out—they’ve already been to three funerals, and not one of them were over fifty. Seb’s got solid ties and he’s more grounded than he lets on, but he’s definitely all about Hollywood.”
Then, in a rapid-fire shift, he leaned in, stretching over the table that wasn’t much bigger than a dinner plate. “We talked books. We did some of that get to know you stuff. Now, maybe we can do something else,” he murmured in her ear.
Chills of sensation raced down her spine. Slowly, she turned her head, met his gaze. She went to speak and had to clear her throat before she could. “Okay. Sure.”
He opened his mouth, but before he could ask, she fired off a question, all but breathless with it. “So what kind of business do you have in town?”
The nerves in her eyes were so clear, and so . . . there,
he decided to let it slide. For now.
He eased back, gave her some space. “Looking for space.” He shrugged and tapped the paper. “I quit my job. Going to give the photography thing a real go. Looking to set up here.”
She blinked, her gaze blank.
He braced himself, uncertain what she might say. So far, he’d faced everything from cautious optimism to outright skepticism.
Keelie stared at him for a long moment and then a smile bowed her lips. “Well. It’s about damn time.”
The calm, easy confidence in those words hit him like a bolt. Straight to the chest. He sucked in a breath, kept it steady out of sheer force of will. “Hey, I figured I’ve screwed around long enough.”
“You made the move on your own time.” She shrugged, looking more at ease.
“That’s how I roll.” He watched as she toyed with the sleeve on her coffee cup. “Keelie?”
She shot him a look. “Yeah?”
This time, he didn’t give her a chance to prepare. He closed the distance, caught her lower lip between his teeth. “I’ve asked about two hundred times, I figure. Maybe this time you’ll say yes.”
Say yes . . . she stared at him, blood rushing, all but humming in her veins. And her mouth burned from that teasing, not-quite-kiss.
He hadn’t even asked and she was ready to say yes.
“You free for dinner tonight?”
A fist settled in her chest. She had to force the words out around it. “I think maybe we can do dinner.”
“Good. Then I can do this.”
Her heart started to stutter as he slowly, oh, so slowly, kissed her.
It absolutely wasn’t the kind of kiss he should be doing in the middle of a coffee shop, she thought. Because it was the kind of kiss that made her want, made her crave so much more.
And then, all thought ceased and all she could do was curl as close to him as she could possibly get. It really wasn’t close enough.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, she hoped she’d managed to plaster a calm look on her face as she walked with Zane into Steel Ink.
Javi glanced up and then he was on his feet, storming over to her.
“Are you okay? Why the hell didn’t you call me? What the fuck happened—”
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