"It's perhaps not the most elegant thing to eat," he admitted, once he'd wiped a napkin across his face to get rid of the worst of the liquid cheese.
For the next minute or two, the conversation came to a stop as we both focused on eating. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until my nostrils caught a whiff of the delicious burger's scent. It certainly wasn't high-class, but it was grilled and fresh and hot and delicious, hitting all those primal triggers for my tongue's taste buds. I dug in with a gusto that surprised even myself.
Some men might have commented on how I wolfed down the burger, but Tanner wasn't one of them. He just smiled as he watched me eat, getting up, unbidden, to retrieve a plastic bottle of ketchup for me.
"This is so bad for me," I said as I took another big bite of the burger.
He laughed. "Trust me, you look like you could use another bite or two. And I'm just glad that you're enjoying eating it!"
"I've been talking a bunch," I said, next time my mouth was empty enough for me to talk. "What about you? How'd you end up as a writer? Sell a company and find yourself without something to fill your time? Inheritance?"
Tanner coughed, suddenly turning slightly red as he thumped his own chest. "Sorry, wasn't expecting that," he got out after a second. "Swallowed the wrong way. Anyway, I don't have nearly as interesting of a past as you. So what have you done since your husband, you know..."
"Passed away?" I finished for him. "Not much, really. I've stayed in my house, and it probably hasn't helped the rumors much. I guess I hoped that, if I didn't go out for anything, the rumors would just kind of die off on their own. But if the other night at the Poverty Ball's shown me anything, it's that they've gotten even stronger since I stopped attending social events. And I've got my lovely new nickname to revel in, too," I added with more than a touch of bitterness.
"Nickname, right." Tanner winced. "You've heard it, then?"
"The Black Widow?" I raised my eyebrows. "Right. Because of my last name, and because I might have killed my husband. So very clever of them."
"I didn't know the last name part," he said, but then shook his head. "But look, that's not what's important. You need to get past it, prove that it doesn't affect you. That's the only way to get past a rumor like this. You have to just let it slide off you, like water off a duck's back."
"Easier to say than to do," I muttered, although his words felt true and earnest.
He grinned, lifting his burger for another bite. "Tell you what. You try to not let this bring you down for the rest of the night – and, if you can manage that, I'll reward you by telling you some of the rumors that people spread about me."
"Ooh. Are they juicy?"
"Even more than this burger," he promised.
With Tanner smiling at me, those blue eyes crinkling so sexily, I couldn't keep up my own melancholy. "Deal. But now, you need to talk, so I can focus on eating!"
He nodded, still smiling, and began talking. Eating the burger, despite the strangeness of this entire date, I felt myself finally starting to truly relax, to warm up to this man who was so different from anyone else I'd known – but so right, in a way that I couldn't seem to put into words.
Chapter Seventeen
TANNER
*
God dammit. I showed up on this date fully intending on telling Helen the unpleasant, painful truth – that I wasn't rich, that I hadn't been at the Poverty Ball as a guest. I was going to come clean to her and reveal that I wasn't wealthy at all, that I really did belong here in this dive bar joint, with the everyday people like Randy. I wasn't cut out for her wealthy, high-class world at all.
But from the moment that she walked into the place, looking totally out of place and so elegant that my throat seized up and closed of its own accord, I just couldn't bring myself to tell her.
She looked amazing. She looked better than all this, like an angel descended down to Earth to walk among humans, but always outshine them. That was all I could think as my eyes darted back and forth between the simple, restrained black dress, and the brightly shining and sparkling accent pieces. Those couldn't be real diamonds hanging from her ears, could they? They were almost comically large. They had to be fake.
I got up to greet her, but my tongue stuck in my mouth, refusing to form words. I just looked at her, reached out to touch her as if I feared that she was an illusion that would drift apart into smoke from the slightest contact.
She didn't drift away. She was warm and pliant in my arms, and I suddenly couldn't think of anything but getting her back to her great big mansion, to that huge bed where I'd had her a week ago, where I could peel away these perfectly concocted layers to reveal the true her beneath.
She clearly had never eaten before at a place like I'd chosen. At first, I'd dithered over the idea of bringing her to someplace fancier (read: more expensive), but I didn't know how to conduct myself in such a setting, and if I was going to just tell her the truth, why bother trying to keep the charade going any longer? But all those plans went out the window as soon as she arrived, and I couldn't think of anything but charming her, impressing her and showing her that she deserved to be with someone like me.
Despite clearly feeling out of place, I saw Helen trust me when we went up to the counter, when she let me order for her. And although her eyes went wide when she took her first bite of her Juicy Lucy, she clearly enjoyed the food, given the gusto with which she dug into the meal.
"Now, talk," she commanded me as she lifted the burger to her mouth. "Give me a chance to listen and eat!"
This was the place where, if I had a lick of sense, I'd come clean. I'd tell her that I wasn't rich, had never been rich, that I had only been at the Poverty Ball because it was a requirement in exchange for living rent-free in his house. I opened my mouth, fighting to force the truth to come out.
It wouldn't come.
And really, could I blame it? I'd been so long without a date, much less without meeting someone like Helen. Even now, in just a few minutes of talking together, she'd charmed me completely. She was so complex, so real, in a way like almost no one else I'd ever met. I wanted to just talk with her for hours, uncover her every secret, find a way to make all of them better. I wanted to do my best to soothe those wounds that I knew she carried inside her, to make them better and to convince her that she was just as amazing as she looked in my eyes.
So instead of telling her the truth, I talked about my book. I took the easy way out, the coward's retreat.
"After I got home on Sunday, I sat down to write, intending on just putting down a couple ideas briefly, no more than a few minutes," I told her as she attacked her burger with a gusto that I found strangely sexy. Why was watching a woman devour a big meal so much of a turn-on? "And next thing I knew, nearly six hours had flown by, and I'd written a quarter of an entire novel!"
"That's incredible!" Her eyes danced brightly, full of intelligence and locked on me. It was strange, I realized, to know that her entire attention was on me. It made me sit up straighter, feel almost like I had to perform as my best self for her.
"Yeah – more than twenty thousand words! I couldn't believe it, myself. All those ideas from that first night, that I talked about with you out on the balcony of the Stone mansion – they didn't fade at all. They just poured onto the page, and it was all my fingers could do to keep up with them!"
"That's amazing to hear." Her eyes looked softly at me, with such warmth that I felt like I could march naked through a snowstorm without feeling a thing. "Although I don't think that I had anything to do with that."
"You did," I insisted. "You're my muse. This proves it, more than anything else. And that's why I'm super nervous about this date – because I need it to go well so that I can get my next burst of inspiration for my novel!"
She laughed. "You don't seem nervous at all!"
"You can't see under the table. My knees are banging together so heavily that there's a chance they might both be broken by the time I stand up after dinner."
She tilted her head a little to the side, and I distantly thought to myself that, if I ever found out who started spreading rumors about this incredible woman, I'd punch them in the face. Hiding such a beautiful, passionate smile like that from the world was a crime that ought to be a felony.
"This date is going well so far," she finally said softly. "You haven't screwed it up yet."
"Give me time, and I can make it happen. I'm the master of ruining dates." I cast about for another anecdote to share. Thankfully, I had plenty of them. "One time, I ruined a date by exposing her on live television."
"What?"
I groaned, settling back in my chair as I recalled the embarrassing event. "I took her to the county fair. She really was feeling hot and heavy about the date, so I suggested that we go on the Ferris wheel – it was one of those really nice ones with the fully enclosed cabins."
"I'm already scared to hear the ending of this story," Helen winced, although she also leaned forward, clearly interested despite her words.
"It's not great. So we're in this wheel, and she just stands up and peels off her shirt. And she was pretty hefty up there, too. But the whole thing started rocking, and next thing I know, she's screaming as she falls! I lunge for her to try and catch her, and I keep her from falling out of the Ferris wheel cabin – but she hits the door open, and the front half of her is dangling out into space!"
"Oh no!" Helen clapped a hand to her mouth, even as giggles escaped. "And she was..."
"Totally topless, yeah. On display for every fair-goer to see. And worst of all, there was a local news crew down there, doing a report on the fair, and the cameraman happened to point his camera up when he heard the shrieking..."
"Oh my god. I'd be so embarrassed." Helen's cheeks flamed scarlet at the thought of it happening, but she still laughed along with me. "I'm guessing that you didn't get another date after that from her?"
"I still say that I was the hero of that tale, for keeping her from falling out until the operator could bring the wheel around so that we were back on the ground," I said. "She, for some reason, didn't see it that way."
The rest of the evening passed by in a blur, filled with easy conversation and laughs from both of us. So much for being an ice queen – Helen was incredibly easy to talk to, once we'd both loosened up a bit! Randy didn't have a liquor license for his burger bar, but there was a comfortable bar, The Local, just down the street. We wandered down there, found a table, and continued talking.
I felt like I was on cloud nine with Helen. Every time I glanced at her, found her eyes looking so directly at me, I simultaneously felt like the strongest and best man in the world, but also like I absolutely had to be my absolute best self. If I slipped up, if I saw disappointment in her gaze, it would crush me.
She was perfect. Smart, witty, funny, and passionate. She dazzled me in conversation without even seeming to try, and then grew embarrassed and shy when I complimented her, her pale cheeks lighting up with blush as she looked down at her drink. "I'm not anything special," she murmured at one point.
I couldn't let that stand. "Bullshit," I countered, reaching forward across the distance between our bar stools to take both her hands, hold them in mine. "You are the most special person I've ever met. Don't you dare say anything different."
She looked back at me, not pulling her hands out of mine. I felt the air between us suddenly thicken, sparking as if charged with a billion volts of static electricity. I couldn't look away from those big, dark eyes of hers, those soft lips that still glistened with the last hint of her cocktail. I distantly wondered if she'd taste like the maraschino cherry that came as a garnish in her drink.
Ah, the hell with it. Might as well find out.
I leaned forward, found her lips just as pliant and yielding as I'd hoped. She immediately opened up to me, sliding closer and threatening to slip right off her stool. To avoid accidentally depositing her on the ground (and yes, a date had ended that way in my past), I drew her into my lap. The warmth of her thighs cut right through that thin little black dress of hers, soaking into my jeans and my lap.
She did taste a little like cherries, but also like sweetness and passion and lightness, an intoxicating and multi-layered taste that was deeper than the finest wine Richard Stone had in his extensive cellars. I could get drunk off her taste, wouldn't need a single drop of alcohol. My hands tightened around her waist, pulling her in close against me even as her hands slipped up to encircle my neck.
We broke apart from the kiss, only pulling an inch or so away. "Say it again," she breathed to me in the softest of whispers.
"You are special." The words rang with truth. How could they not? She was my muse, the strongest person I'd ever met. She acted like she was made of fine china, but there was steel – no, titanium – inside of her, giving her support. I didn't imagine one in a thousand people could have been through what she'd faced and come out unbroken. "You're far better than what I deserve."
"No, I'm not." She kissed me again, her tongue bumping ever so lightly against mine and briefly emptying my mind of all thoughts besides having her right here and now. "You're open and honest, like no one I've ever met before."
God, I needed her. I couldn't bear the thought of waiting even a minute more, not joining this woman and doing our best to fuse our bodies, our minds, our souls together. "I think I'm done drinking," I said, feeling her body burn against me.
"Take me home," she whispered into my ear, her breath warm and soft against the sensitive, tiny little hairs.
This had to be a dream. There was no way that I could ever have such a good date in real life. But I decided to roll with it, not question it. Maybe the soap bubble would last just a tiny little bit longer without popping.
"My truck's down the street," I said, standing up, hating to feel her slide off my lap but refusing to remove my arm from around her waist. "Did you drive?"
She shook her head, those big eyes shining. "Took a private car."
For an instant, I felt a little twinge of guilt. Helen still thought I was rich, that I only pretended to be poor so that I could fit in with the common man, for the sake of my writing. I hadn't come clean to her.
But surely, that could wait until tomorrow morning, right? Didn't I deserve just a little more happiness, a little more inspiration from this goddess of a muse, before it all came crashing down and fell apart?
"Come on." I tossed a twenty down on the bar, for the first time in my life not even caring about getting my change back. I grabbed Helen's hand, felt her eagerly come with me as I led her out into the cooler air of the evening.
I had another opportunity to have my muse, and my blood sang in my veins. In my pants, my erection strained against the fabric of my jeans, fueled by every glance of Helen, even the faint little smell of her that danced in my nostrils.
I didn't care if I broke a hundred laws, ran a dozen red-light cameras. I needed to get this woman back to her house, peel off that sexy little black dress, and make love to her. It was the only thing that drove me forward.
Still clinging to each other, trading kisses, we hurried to my truck.
Chapter Eighteen
HELEN
*
Thankfully, despite Champagne's earlier insistence that my house was filthy, Tanner didn't notice – or, at least, had the grace to not comment on it.
Truly, I don't think he did notice; if I had been coming into the mansion for the first time, I don't think I would have noticed, either. All I could think about, all I could focus on, was him.
His touch, running along the small of my back and leaving a trail of blazing fire on my skin in the wake of his fingers. His breathing, strong and steady, in contrast to my own faster and shallower breathing as I failed to keep my mind from rushing ahead to what could, hopefully would, happen next. His eyes, blue and bright, occasionally lingering on me in a way that sent a little surge of heat straight into my core. It was like taking a swallow of fiery bourbon on a cold night, a bla
ze of desire so strong that it physically warmed me, helped me fight off the chill of the cool night air.
Just as he'd said, his truck sat in a parking spot about a block away from the bar. He rushed around to stick the key in the passenger side door and open it up for me. I felt my dress riding up on my legs as I slid into the high seat, but intentionally turned to give him a flash of my upper thigh. I saw his eyes dip down, if only for a second, and knew that he'd taken the bait.
The truck started up after a couple of protests from the engine, and he pulled out. This time, he didn't need my directions to get back to my mansion. Gravel spun from underneath the truck's tires as we peeled up the long driveway towards the house.
Neither of us spoke for the entire ride back to my house. The silence between us, however, didn't feel awkward in the slightest. The entire atmosphere was charged with sexual tension, and I feared that even opening my mouth would lead to a grounding of charge, the static electricity in the air grounding itself in a lightning bolt that physically pulled our bodies together. I feared that, even if I just turned my eyes towards him, I'd lose control and leap across the center console to take him right here on the road.
Tanner brought the truck to a stop in front of the mansion's entrance, came around to hold out a hand and help me down from the passenger side. My fingers nestled on the secure muscle of his forearm, felt the heat of his body soaking in through my palm. He wordlessly walked me up to the front door, and I opened it for him.
"No lock?" His eyebrows climbed.
I shrugged. "It's a big house, but no one's ever really tried to rob me. I'm not sure what they'd steal, even. Some of the furniture and antiques are probably worth a bit, but I can't see someone breaking in to carry off a twenty-four-person dining room table set."
Looking bemused, Tanner appeared for a second like he might add a wry comment about security, but apparently decided to hold his tongue. He followed me inside.
For Love of Passion (Stone Brothers Book 4) Page 12