Any Time, Any Place(35)

The waiter swallowed, scratching notes in his pad. "Yes, of course. Umm, do you want to order any appetizers?"

"Not yet. The red berry sangria. Do you use Cabernet or Merlot? Is the base made with blackberries or currants or another berry-the menu doesn't seem to specify?"

"I, umm, let me get the bartender to check on this."

"Thank you, you're being so helpful." Raven gave him a knee-buckling smile that caused the poor guy's brain to short-circuit. He just stared at her, happy to be basking in the compliment. "Once those questions are answered, I can make my decision on a cocktail. In the meantime, can you bring me an order of crab cakes-is the aioli sauce house-made?"




 

 

Relief crossed his features. "Yes!"

"Wonderful. I'll also have a shrimp cocktail. What about the sauce for that?"

He scrunched up his face. "House-made, too."

"Excellent. And water, please."

Dalton lifted his finger. "One Raging Bitch and a bucket of oysters. That's it for me."

"Thank you, sir."

The waiter hurried away. Dalton shook his head slowly and gave a long sigh.

"What?" Her voice dripped with accusation. "Do you have a problem with me making sure I get what I like?"

He leaned in and growled. "No, darlin'. I'm a big advocate of you getting exactly what you like. Any time. Any place."

This time, he was prepared for the lightning-quick heat that surged between them. She stiffened as if trying to fight it but didn't drop her gaze. He was kinda crazy about her. "Glad to hear it. 'Cause what I want is a good cocktail that surprises me. Right here. Right now."

"You just let me know if there's anything else you want, and I'll make sure you get it."

She snorted.

The bartender came over, and Dalton watched while she peppered him with knowledgeable questions, and he looked like he had no idea he'd be grilled with a bartending final exam. Finally she seemed satisfied, and he asked her what she'd like to drink.

"All of them."

The bartender stared at her. "You'd like three cocktails?"

"Yes. Oh, and throw in a champagne cocktail, please."

"Well, we don't have those on the menu."

She cocked her head in challenge. "Then make one yourself and surprise me. You can do that, right?"

He stuttered, nodded, and left as quickly as the waiter had.

Dalton tapped his finger on the table. "I'm assuming you don't come here much?" he asked.

"No. I think they're overpriced and too crowded, but it's probably a good time to test out their food and drinks."

His lip twitched. "You know they'll probably put your picture up like a most wanted sign and refuse you future entry?"

Her smile was nasty and he loved every part of it. "I don't think they're smart enough."

He laughed. "I like your style."

He kept up casual chatter until the waiter returned with a platter full of cocktails and Dalton's sole beer. She lined all the cocktails up before her and began a series of taste tests. Closing her eyes, she let each flavor linger on her tongue and then slowly slide down her throat. Depending on the result, her face revealed either a slight frown, a pucker of her lips, or a serene satisfaction. Dalton's jeans tightened around his growing erection, imagining how those lips would wrap around his own anatomy. Imagining how he'd dive deep into her and wrest that expression of sublime pleasure just for him. 

"Sweet Hot Chris is so much better," she declared, popping her eyes open. Her fingers clasped the stem of the champagne cocktail glass.

"That sounds pornographic. A former lover?" he asked. He tried to act nonchalant, but the image of her with another guy bothered him, which was completely ridiculous and out of character.

"Oh, I wish." She sighed, licking her lips. "I named it on behalf of all the Chrises. Chris Pine, Chris Pratt, Chris Hemsworth, Chris Evans . . ."

"Ah, I get it. But I don't think they're the marrying kind."

Her dark eyes filled with laughter at his pointed jab. "I can make an exception," she drawled.

He swept his gaze over her body, then settled back on her face. He didn't need to see her nipples tightening under her thin tank or smell her arousal. It was becoming the norm between them-the underlying heat simmering every minute. "Good to know."

She was saved from responding by the delivery of their food. He dove into the sharp scent and taste of oysters, squeezing lemon and enjoying the salty flavor. "So, I've been dying to ask you a question."

"No, I won't sleep with you."

"What if we got married?" She choked on her crab cake, and Dalton laughed. Oh, her face was priceless and worth the impulse. "Is that a no?"