Chapter 8
As Ellen walked down Boylston, in her fourth choice of outfit, two voices were warring in her head. The first said, What the hell were you thinking, saying yes to this? Once again, Ellen, you led with your libido, which you didn’t even know you still had. This is a loss of control, and it’s scary. He’s scary. Get in there, make an excuse, and get out again.
The second said, Okay, you can do this. It doesn’t matter how badly your thighs quiver when he says your name; you are in full control of your reactions, and you will not for one second show him that he’s been getting to you. You will not sigh, like you just did, and you will not think about what you could see of his legs today, of those strong, hard muscles, and the hair on his thighs...
Oh God.
She raised her chin, thought cooling thoughts, and gripped her pepper spray in her pocket. Then she saw him standing under the streetlamp outside the restaurant, his head down, hands in his pockets, and let all her breath out in a rush. Well, that just wasn’t fair.
He was wearing dark jeans and a dark green tweed jacket, and—bloody hell—another white shirt. His hair was falling over his forehead and brushing his collar as usual, and it looked even better next to the precise fit of his clothes. Ellen set her jaw against the melting feeling she was getting in her chest. Why did he have to be in a white shirt again? Why did she react to him when he was so clearly not safe?
She walked closer, and he looked up. His eyes were hidden by the shadow from the streetlight; for a split second, his face looked so forbidding she wondered if he’d thought twice about asking her out. But then he broke into a smile that was warm and genuine, and came over to meet her.
“Hi,” he said. “Thanks for coming.”
“Hello,” she answered, giving a tight smile of her own. Remember. Control.
Kane nodded, for some reason, and said, “Shall we?” Ellen let him usher her into the restaurant, and if she noticed like mad when his hand grazed her shoulder as he helped her with her coat, she gritted her teeth and ignored it. And you’re paying your half of the bill. That way it’s not a date.
As they came through the door, a man came from behind the bar greeted Kane by name, introduced himself as Joe, the owner, and led them to a table at the front, in the window. “Is this okay?” Kane said to her. “It’s a little close to the bar, but I thought you’d feel—I thought you’d prefer it.”
She did prefer it. The last thing she wanted tonight was to be in some cozy corner with him. But she hated that he knew that she had a... preference for being out in the open. You showed too much the other day; this is what comes of losing control. Anyway, surely Kane Fielding would have liked nothing better than a cozy corner booth where shoulders could touch and legs tangle under the table...
“Ellen?”
“What? Oh, yes, it’s fine.” And she sat down before he or Joe could pull out her chair. Don’t start thinking he’s considerate. He does this stuff to get to his version of the end of the evening; remember that.
The bar was noisy, with a different game on each TV and music thumping from somewhere behind her. But the public space was worth it, and when the guitar solo from Aerosmith’s “Walk on Water” pealed out of the speaker behind her head, she hardly even winced.
Joe was back with the menus and wine list. Kane indicated that Ellen take the wine list, but she hadn’t lived in Boston for four years without learning a little something about etiquette. She shook her head and said to Joe, “I’ll have a Sam Adams Oktoberfest, please.”
Kane smiled at Joe. “Beauty and brains. I’ll have the same.”
As Joe disappeared, she said, “You don’t have to keep doing that. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t.” Best to start as she meant to go on.
“Do what?” He looked completely at ease, leaning back in his chair, one elbow hooked over the back, his other hand on the table, rolling a fork between his fingers.
Stop staring at his hands. “The cheesy compliments.” Dangit. Why can’t I say one single thing to him without putting my foot in my mouth?
Still, it was a cheesy compliment.
“Hey, lady,” he drawled. “You think that was bad? I’ve been doing it so long I got the cheese and the crackers and a nice cabernet to go with ’em.”
Now, that was the Kane Fielding she’d expected. She wasn’t crazy. She glared at him, but he just said, “In fact, let’s get them all out of the way at once, ’cos, you know, I have a quota.” He began counting on his fingers. “Your hair is incredible in this light, like raw honey. That cream coat you were wearing,” he gestured behind him to the coat-check, “makes your skin glow. And you might think that shirt is loose enough to hide you, but it doesn’t; it just hints enough to drive a guy crazy. Face it, Ellen,” he finished, holding down her menu when she tried to use it to cover her face, “you’re beautiful, and any man who doesn’t tell you that several times a day is a moron.”
She was so uncomfortable. And so warm. She pulled on the menu, but his hand stayed put. “I’m not...” she began. “I’m not trying to... I’m not asking for that kind of attention.”
He ducked his head to get in her line of sight. “Why not? Own it.”
“Like you do?” she shot back. What was it with him getting under her skin like that? When had she ever thought she could stay professional around him?
He grinned. “Yeah, sure. Like I do. You can’t do anything about it, you know. I don’t care how hard you tie your hair back in the office, or how much you scowl at me.”
“Can we please talk about anything else?”
“Okay. I’m sorry.” He let go of her menu. “Something about you. Brings out the divil in me, as my useless brother-in-law would say.”
The beers came. Ellen would have liked to find out more about the useless brother-in-law, but that would imply she was interested in Kane’s private life. Which she wasn’t. She took two big gulps of her beer before she could stop herself.
