She leaned her head against the sofa back. “I can’t begin to relate to your experiences.”
“I wouldn’t want you to. Sometimes they make it hard to sleep at night.”
She waited, but he didn’t say more. Did he have trouble sleeping? Did he pace long into the night? Lamplight highlighted the strength of his jaw. He had a well-shaped mouth, she thought dreamily. She would bet ten bucks that Detective Mark Kincaid was one fine kisser. Not that she was going to find out, but a girl could dream. She smiled at the thought of telling him kissing might make sleeping easier…or not.
“You’re not married,” she said before she could stop herself.
His eyebrows rose slightly. “No. Never have been.”
“Me, either.”
“No surprise there. You’re barely old enough to be legal.”
“I’m twenty-five.”
“A baby.”
She straightened. “You’re hardly in your dotage.”
“It’s not the miles, it’s the wear and tear.”
He smiled as he spoke. A teasing curve of lips that made her heart stutter against her ribs and her hands suddenly go damp. She had to be extra careful when she put down her glass so that it didn’t slip.
“You should smile more,” she said.
His good humor faded. “I don’t find life especially funny.”
“Maybe not, but there are still pleasant surprises. Tonight, for example. I was worried and nervous about you coming over to dinner, but it’s turned out fine. We’ve chatted more easily than I would have thought.”
“I’ll give you that,” he said. “I didn’t want to come. The way you badger me about what I eat, I was sure you were going to put tofu in something.”
“You didn’t even taste it.”
His eyes widened. “Darcy.”
He growled her name more than said it. Shivers trickled down her spine. She found herself wanting to lean toward him, press against him to see what would happen. Dangerous thoughts, she told herself. She must make sure to keep them to herself.
“It was in the mashed potatoes,” she whispered. “I would never put tofu in the stuffing.”
He laughed. She’d never heard him laugh before—not that they’d spent all that much time together. Most of their conversations had been abbreviated exchanges with her arguing about his breakfast choice.
“I’ll bet you don’t even have tofu in the house,” he said, then finished his wine.
“You’re right, but I will admit to the pleasure of watching a grown man tremble at the thought.” She rose and stretched. “There’s probably one more glass of wine in the bottle,” she said. “As you’re not driving, why don’t you finish it?”
He nodded his agreement and she walked into the dining room. The wine bottle stood on the table. She grabbed it. As she approached the sofa, she fought against the urge to slide down next to him. What would the detective say if she suddenly plopped herself down close, maybe evenonhis lap. She giggled as she pictured him leaping up in horror. The wine would spill on her sofa and she would be humiliated. It was probably best if she kept her feelings to herself.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Just my own twisted sense of humor.”
He held out his glass. She bent toward him to pour, but instead of focusing on what she was doing, she found herself staring into his green eyes. She didn’t think she’d ever known a man with green eyes before. They were actually beautiful—well shaped and fringed with long, dark lashes.
“Darcy?”
She heard him speak her name, but she couldn’t respond. Her heart thundered painfully in her chest. There was a pressure, as well, as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. She felt unbearably warm, yet her legs were trembling. If not from cold, then from what?
Mark took the wine bottle from her. She glanced down and saw she hadn’t poured any of the pale liquid. He set his glass on the table, next to the bottle, all the while keeping his gaze firmly locked with hers.
