She looked out the window, caught a glimpse of something in the rearview mirror and looked over her shoulder. In the backseat sat a full-sized picnic basket on top of a neatly folded checkered tablecloth.
“Are we going on a picnic?” she asked.
He smiled. “Can’t keep anything from you, can I?”
“I’m a teacher,” she reminded him. “It’s my job to ruin fun.”
That got a low chuckle from him. “Well, professor, you’re about to get schooled.”
“What do you mean?”
“This isn’t any picnic. This is a Jacob Westmore picnic.”
Chapter 7
He was right. It wasn’t any picnic.
The classic red-and-white checkered picnic blanket lay strewn out on the ground. It was covered with food—a carton of berries (closed, to keep the ants out), a French baguette, a plate of Brie, spreadable chocolate. A bottle of white wine poked out of wicker basket.
“Oh my God.” Holly’s hand clasped her mouth, covering her wide smile.
“You like it?” Two minutes ago, Holly might’ve found that smug smirk on his face irritating, but right now, she had to hand it to him. He’d earned it.
“I feel like Yogi the Bear is about to appear any second.” She giggled.
“We better not stay long enough to attract him, then, huh?”
Jacob picked up a pillow and put it down on the blanket, patting it to motion for her to take a seat. She obliged, lifting the fabric of her skirt so she could fold her legs underneath her.
“Wine?” he asked.
“Please.” As he uncorked the wine and filled two plastic flutes, she hunted around in her purse and pulled out her yellow notepad. She dug out a pen and then flipped to the right page.
When she looked up, he was staring at her like she’d grown another head, holding a plastic flute in each hand. “This a job interview?” he asked.
“N-no,” she stammered, flushed, and then motioned awkwardly to her pad. “I like lists. They help me organize my thoughts. Is that annoying?”
The perplexed look didn’t leave his face, but now he broke into a smile. “No,” he said. “It’s adorable.” She tried not to blush and he took a swallow from his drink. “Alright, Miss Wright,” he said. “Fire away.”
She took her flute with a thanks and then lifted it in toast. “To new beginnings,” she said confidently.
“To you,” he said. His eyes never left hers. She put the glass to her lips and took a sip, hoping the fizzy champagne would distract her from the heat bubbling in her blood, making her lightheaded. She took a generous swallow and stole a glance at him. His eyes never left her. Made her feel naked and she set the glass down beside her, running her eyes over her questions.
“Uh…” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and then asked, “Considering the unique situation we find ourselves in, I think it’s only appropriate that we review our personal histories—”
“Wait,” he said. He reached out and took her hand—she’d been so nervous, she hadn’t realized she was chewing the end of her pen. Gently, he guided it away from her mouth. “You don’t wanna be sucking on that pen around me,” he said and winked. “I might get ideas.”
She laughed (breathlessly) and then fidgeted with her pen, keeping it in her lap. “Sorry. Old habits.” She uncrossed and crossed her legs again. His ideas were giving her ideas—thoughts about peeling that flannel shirt off his shoulders and kissing down his chest, following the lines of his muscles with her lips, until she reached that one, bulging muscle and swallowed it down. Could she crack his hard demeanor? Did he moan or would he just growl her name? Would he warn her before he came down her throat or would he hold her hair tighter?
She could feel the heat from between her legs, pulsing, and it took everything in her not to start rocking vulgarly against her calf. Her whole body felt like it was throbbing. What was this man doing to her?
Questions. Right. She had her questions. She took a breath, reined herself in, and then grounded herself in the paper in front of her.
“Have you ever been married?” she asked, proud of herself for keeping any tremors out of her voice.
He shook his head. “No. No ex-wives. No kids.”
Well, at least that cut down on the drama factor. “Why not?”
“I don’t let anyone close enough to burn me.”
She blinked. “Anyone?”
His gaze matched hers. “Not yet.” She blushed and averted her eyes. Felt there was more to the story than he was letting on. He casually changed the topic with, “You mentioned your ex.”