Any Time, Any Place(29)

His lips twitched. "I've always been like that. My brothers know not to interrupt me or move a thing out of place. I have a system, and I'd never be able to work with an assistant. I like being in charge. I like dictating the terms. What I am able to do is balance that obsession with a more easygoing view of other life elements. Next."

She blinked. The rich tone of his voice washed over her in hypnotic waves. He spoke beautifully, like a highly educated nerd rather than a blue-collar worker. Not that she understood any of that class crap anyway. In her view, it was just society trying to pigeonhole people and personalities so they would be easier to manage.

She tamped down her lust, squeezing her thighs in punishment, and tried to focus. "I have a temper."

"No. You think?"

"Funny."

He flashed a grin. "So do I. I'm somewhat of a hothead."

She squinted with suspicion. He'd been nothing but laid-back with his brothers, and charming to everyone else. She couldn't even imagine him angry. "I don't believe you."

He threw back his head and laughed in delight. "Don't forget to put down suspicious on your list, too. No, really. I'm the youngest. You know the shit I've had to take in my life? My brothers know how to yank my chains, so to speak. And I always got into fights at school when I was younger." He scratched his head again, in deep thought. "Got into fights when I was older, too. Usually regarding a woman." 

"You get jealous?"

"Nah, it was the other men who got jealous of me." She couldn't even be mad at his inflated ego because she suspected he was just telling the truth. "Come on, give me one more before I go back to work."

Raven blew out a breath and considered. It was ridiculous to be enjoying this conversation so much. "Fine. I'm very emotional. I teeter-totter from high to low, and sometimes it's hard to keep a delicate balance. Drives men crazy, and not in a good way. Bet you're cool as a cucumber, Slick, with no highs or lows. Now you know all my secrets."

She'd finished with a joke wrapped in truth. She wanted to end the encounter with a flourish, go back to work, and analyze what she'd learned so far. Instead, that glittering peacock gaze drilled into hers and she was done.

Blistering blue, as hot as flame, shot at her from across the table. Her breath left her lungs, and she tried to pull back, but he wouldn't let her. No, he kept her locked in a ruthless, intimate embrace, diving into her soul and trying to steal precious artifacts she kept hidden. Her body shook, and the air crackled like the beginning of a storm.

"You're wrong," he said simply. "Emotion means passion. It means you're alive, and you're not sorry for it. I can take that a hell of a lot more than I can your cold distance, Raven. I can match that type of passion, too. Just try me."

He slid his hands across the table, stopping just short of touching her fingers. Keeping his promise. Her fingers burned, curling into tight fists, seeking refuge. Fighting the need to touch his skin just once. She didn't know why the space between them had suddenly become so intimate, but if she didn't push back, she was lost.

The image of her father's face floated before her.

As if she'd been dealt an icy slap, she jerked away, her voice chilling. "You know one of my most important secrets already, Dalton," she said. "I'm looking for real, not a brief fantasy that will go up in smoke once the sun comes up. Remember that. Now, I think it's time we got back to work."

Frustration simmered in his aura, but he nodded, accepting the hit. "Thank you for lunch."

"Welcome."

He scooped up the plate and his drink, placed them in the sink, and headed to the bar.





chapter nine




Dalton came home with sore muscles and blue balls.

Striding wearily toward the Pierce mansion's front porch, he groaned when he saw Fric and Frac hanging out waiting for him.

"So, we're dying to hear," Cal rumbled into the darkness. As Dalton got nearer, he saw that his oldest brother clutched a beer in one hand and had his feet propped up on an ancient, torn-up wicker table that was a complete eyesore-and one he refused to get rid of. "Did you sleep with her?"

Tristan held a glass of his expensive red wine, swishing the liquid around as if he held the secrets to the universe. His red-brown hair glinted in the moonlight, and his amber eyes reflected calm, but with a teasing glint reserved for his younger brother. "I bet yes, but Cal said no. The bartender has been your Achilles' heel and Kryptonite rolled into one, but I said not to underestimate the power of your charm. And the dimples. What is it about dimples anyway?"

Cal snorted. "It's a pretty-boy surfer thing. Hooks 'em in. But this one doesn't strike me as a dimple chick."