irritated him. He wanted to know what she’d been about to say.
She dug around in her bag. “Want another peppermint patty?”
“A diversion?” he asked.
“A sweet one,” she said.
He took the candy and narrowed his eyes at her. She was an odd one. Nice skin, he thought, and he could tell since any makeup she may have been wearing would have washed away. Her hair was trying to puff up from the humidity. Her eyelashes were long and black, her eyes true blue behind the red frames of her glasses. He wondered why she wore those glasses.
“Would you please not look at me?”
He felt a frisson of amusement. “Why not?”
“Because this is not how I want the hotshot vice president Marc Waterson to remember me.”
Curious, he studied her. “How is it that you want the hotshot vice president Marc Waterson to remember you?
“Pulled together, a terrific performer, someone you’d want to promote.”
His lips twisted at her lack of pretense. She laid all her stuff on the table. He leaned toward her. “Everyone has an off day every now and then.”
“Maybe,” she conceded. “But you make it look like you never do.”
He was surprised she noticed. “If that was flattery,” he began.
“It wasn’t,” she said before he could finish.
He felt a kick of something in his gut. Her directness unsettled him. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. Maybe it was a good thing that she wore glasses. Her eyes looked as if they could burn steel.
“There’s the tow truck,” she said, and he allowed the distraction.
After they followed the tow truck and car to the garage, she put her keys and information in the drop box and gave directions to her apartment.
He heard a little moaning sound at one point.
“What was that?” he asked, slowing.
“Nothing. Just me being silly. Take the next left.”
Marc didn’t like his questions not being answered. He pulled to the side of the road and stopped the car. “What?” he demanded. “You made a sound like a mewling cat.”
She groaned. “Couldn’t you have just ignored it?”
“It was distinctive,” he said, thinking there’d been something oddly sexual about the sound she’d made.
She covered her face. “We passed Chick Fil-A.”
“And?” he prompted, waiting for an explanation.
“Chick Fil-A is my favorite fast-food place.”
“If you’re hungry, why didn’t you just say so?” he asked and made a U-turn.
“Because you really don’t need—”
“Already on my way.”
“You’ve already done too much.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Yeah, but I bet Chick Fil-A isn’t your favorite.”
How would she know? “Okay, which do you think is my favorite?”
He felt her gaze on her for a long moment. “You’re big on delivered pizza, but if you’re forced to stop for fast food, you go for Arby’s.”
He stared at her as he pulled into the drive-through lane. “How do you know?”
“Just a lucky guess. I get these gut feelings every now and then. I’ll take an eight-piece chicken tender meal with waffle fries and a coke. And Polynesian sauce.”
He repeated the order, and they drove through. He paid and she put money in the center dash. “You’re a little anal about the paying thing, aren’t you?”
“Well, this isn’t a date.”
No it wasn’t, he thought, and wondered why he’d found this evening so much more interesting than last night.
She gave him the rest of the directions to her apartment and he stopped in front of it. “Thank you very much, Mr. Waterson,” she said, her face and tone serious.
“Marc,” he corrected and couldn’t resist the urge to fix the strand of her hair that was awry. She gave a quick little intake of breath, and he glanced at her mouth. Poufy and pink, it looked soft. And kissable.
Hell, where had that thought come from? He pulled back. “You’re welcome. Let me know when you find out what’s wrong with your car. Do you need a ride to work tomorrow?”
She shook her head quickly. “I have a neighbor who won’t mind at all. Thanks, though.” She dug into her purse and placed two peppermint patties in his hand. “Maybe these will hold you until you order your pizza.”
“Or stop by Arby’s,” he said. “You’re welcome.”
“G’night,” she said, and got out of the car. He watched her dash through the rain to the steps and disappear. Spooky woman, he thought. Not that pretty. Blatantly ambitious. He wondered what her body looked like. He didn’t think he’d ever noticed.
THE NEXT EVENING Jenny tossed another couple of spices into the chicken creole she and the Zatarains were making tonight. Stella had already gone home with her mother, so Jenny had decided to treat herself to her favorite boxed dinner.
A knock sounded on the door and she felt her mouth stretch into a half smile despite her bummed mood. Chad again.
He opened the door and gave a wolf whistle. “Look at her. She’s got legs!”
Jenny laughed and rolled her eyes. “What did you think I used for walking? Stilts?”
“You keep them covered up in jeans and slacks so much I’d forgotten,” he said and snatched the spoon from her to take a taste of the creole. “It needs something. Heat. It needs more heat.” He opened her cabinet and grabbed hot pepper seasoning.
“Would you like to join me for dinner?” she asked as he took over the cooking. Chad was a lovable combination of mooch and faithful friend. He never forgot her birthday and he’d brought brownies and sat with her through three viewings of the movie Oklahoma while Jenny had recovered from a disappointing love affair.
“Yes, I would. Charming of you to ask. Do you have any good bread, or are you still on that disgusting South Beach diet?”
“I brought home some fresh sourdough.”
He smiled in approval. “Very good.”
“Paul’s still on graveyard shift?” she asked.
He
