Fortune's Heirs: Reunion. Marie Ferrarella
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Especially after he’d kissed her in a manner that would have burned off a woman’s socks.
Better just to go on eating and not say anything, Gloria told herself, even though the aftereffects of his kiss were lingering a lot longer than she’d thought they would.
That was only because she’d been celibate so long. Even plain tap water tasted like sparkling wine if your thirst had gone unquenched for two years.
Trouble was, she thought, watching Jack beneath hooded eyes, she hadn’t realized she even was thirsty until she’d taken a sip.
Annoyed that she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering down a path she didn’t want it to go, she took a healthy swig of her diet soda and then leaned forward to take another slice of pizza.
At the same time that he did.
Both reaching into the box, their hands brushed against one another. It took effort not to pull back her hand. When he raised his eyes to hers, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “You lasted longer than I thought you would.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was she talking about his staying here after he’d kissed her? “Come again?”
“Painting,” she explained, picking up her slice. “I half expected you to make a U-turn at the door when I suggested you put on the coveralls and pitch in.” And I would have stayed feeling a whole lot safer if you had, she thought. “Thanks to you, we’re almost done.” She flashed a grin, pausing to take a bite of what amounted to her fourth slice. “At this rate, I’ll be ready to open in another week. The man who does the lettering is coming tomorrow.” She watched as he took another slice himself.
Jack raised a brow in mock surprise. “You mean, you’re not going to do that yourself, too?” Where was she putting all this food? he wondered. So far, the woman had consumed more than his last three dates put together and she looked fantastic doing it.
Careful, buddy, he warned himself. You’re on dangerous ground here. You start admiring the way a woman eats, you’re lost.
Gloria shook her head and laughed. “No way. I’ve got terrible handwriting. No one would know what the name of the store was.”
He was vaguely aware of nodding in response, hardly hearing what she was saying. His attention was riveted to the way her mouth moved as she spoke. To the way she breathed. Because it was warm inside, she’d unzipped her coveralls down to her waist when she’d sat at the desk. Beneath the bland garment with its paint splatters she was wearing a tank top that adhered to her like a hot-pink skin. It molded itself to her breasts, softly hinting at cleavage while it brought out the deep black of her hair.
She’d loosened her hair, as well. It was skimming along her back now like a black velvet cape.
One hand holding his slice, the other wrapped around the soda container, Jack could still feel an itch working itself across his palms.
He wanted to touch her. To run his palms along her body. He wanted to see for himself if it was as soft, as firm, as it appeared.
In a desperate attempt to mentally backpedal before he found himself in too deep, he searched for something to use as a barricade between them. Something official. “What kind of insurance are you going to be carrying?”
It took her a moment to absorb the question. He’d been looking at her with a gaze hot enough to burn away her coveralls and everything else, as well. She was grateful to talk about something as bland as insurance. Even so, she took a sip of the cold soda to quench a thirst that only partially resulted from the spicy slice of pizza she was consuming.
“Same as before,” she told him. Then, in case he hadn’t come across that when he was conducting his intrusive research into her life, she added, “I went with Gibraltar Insurance when I opened up my store in Denver.” Before he could ask, she gave him the reasons behind her choice, enumerating them on her fingers. “Reasonable rates, accessible agents. They were right there for me after the robbery.”
“Robbery?” The slice halfway to his lips, Jack stopped and looked at her incredulously. “You were robbed?”
Gloria bit her tongue, but it was too late. She should have done that before she’d said anything.
Big mistake, her mind taunted.
She shrugged as carelessly as she could, dismissing the incident, and then smiled at him prettily as she held up her thumb and forefinger barely three inches apart. “It was just a small robber.”
“Bullets are the same size no matter how tall or short the shooter,” he pointed out.
Damn, she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. “Yes,” she said patiently, “I suppose they are. But no one was hurt,” she was quick to add. “The guy who robbed us looked more scared than anything.”
“You saw his face?”
“His eyes,” Gloria corrected. “And he was terrified.” She just knew he’d had to have been driven to do what he had by awful circumstances. “If my customer hadn’t started hyperventilating just then, I think I might have had a shot at talking the robber out of what he was doing.”
Just what kind of a nutcase was his father backing? The woman was certifiably insane. “Or a chance at getting shot—”
She finished off her piece and picked up a fresh napkin, wiping her fingers. “You know, Jack, you really have to do something about that upbeat outlook of yours.”
There was nothing funny about the situation she was telling him. “I’m a realist.”
Collecting a handful of used napkins from the desk, she dumped them into the garbage can, then cocked her head, studying him. “Maybe that’s your problem.”
He resented what she was implying. “I don’t have a problem.” Other than dealing with you and these weird feelings.
Gloria looked him in the eye, sensing that he was a soul in turmoil. More or less just the way she was right now.
“Are you happy?” she suddenly challenged.
Where the hell had that come from? “Ecstatic,” he told her through clenched teeth.
Gloria laughed, the sound rippling through him like rings in a lake marking a disturbance. Which was exactly what the sound of her laughter created inside of him. One hell of a disturbance.
“All right, then maybe you don’t have a problem,” she allowed glibly.
“Thank you,” he replied icily before getting back to the topic they were both pretending to discuss with interest. “What are you paying for insurance?”
One corner of her mouth rose in a teasing, provocative smile. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?”
“A kiss is personal.” Now why the hell had he said that? He’d promised himself not to think about or make reference to what had transpired earlier. The less time spent on that, the better. It was almost as if he was doomed to repeat it.
Jack