I kissed him on the cheek, leaving a crimson imprint. "Well, I'll have to ask him to kiss me first, and I don't plan on doing that."
"Bullshit." He grabbed my elbow gently. "But don't give him your heart. You're always so open and bold, but just this once, try to stay guarded. I don't want you moping about, snotting on my shoulder, demanding I watch chick flicks with you, and being a miserable tyrant." Though his words were delivered in a stern tone, his brown eyes were warm and carried more than a little concern.
I leaned my head on his chest. "You're the only man who has my heart. Don't worry." Even as I said the words, I doubted them. Wash had a hold on me. It was one I hadn't been able to shake from the first moment I saw him at that trial when I was in law school. I got a glimpse of him, heard his voice, and something sort of clicked inside me. And ever since then, I'd been making my way to him one way or another.
"Keep it that way. Love is for idiots. Now get your ass to the living room. Two hours is almost up."
I did as told, my ass barely hitting the sofa cushion before there was a knock at the door. I stood to get it, but Terrell hissed and went for it instead. He'd changed while I was in the shower, now wearing skinny jeans and a tight black T-shirt. He must have had a date tonight, too.
I sat and crossed my legs at my ankles, just like my mother taught me. Inside, I was a tumult. I tried to shake it off, to swat the butterflies out of my stomach like a crazed entomologist with a net. It did no good. This was somehow worse than waiting for my prom date.
"Terrell." Wash's deep, rich voice washed over me.
"Come on in." Terrell stepped back.
My breath stopped. I was legally dead for a few seconds. Wash was clean-shaven, his hair slightly tousled despite his obvious efforts at smoothing it. He wore a simple white button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of blue jeans that highlighted his trim waist and muscled legs. My body warmed and caught fire. I looked him up and down as if he were a centerfold. I couldn't stop. Stop, Caroline. Stop!
I knew it was over for me. But the nail in the coffin was his smile. It was full-on pleasure as he watched me stand and walk to him. Full dimples, no smirk, only joy. His lips were a sinful bow, and his dimples begged to be kissed. The way he looked at me-I had never felt so beautiful. No one had ever looked at me with such unfettered admiration. I basked in it.
The silence stretched as we stared at each other and Terrell looked at anything but us. It was cute, really, after all the debauchery I'd witnessed Terrell commit in bars and restaurants and once at church, for him to be uncomfortable at a little eye-fucking.
"Well, have her home by midnight." Terrell forced a laugh.
Wash's eyebrows rose, and Terrell dropped his gaze to his shoes.
"Oh, he's just kidding. I can stay out all night."
The smirk was back, but I was close enough to get his scent. It must have been his soap. My synapses started firing in an off rhythm, and it showed. "I . . . I mean. I mean, I didn't mean that I will be with you all night or anything. I just meant . . ." What had I meant?
"Come on. I got reservations." He held out his arm, his eyes twinkling.
Grateful for the reprieve from making sounds with my mouth that were dumb, I took his arm.
"Later, Terrell."
"Later." He gave me a quick pat on the ass and closed the door behind us.
"I feel like I just met your father." Wash laughed.
I looked up into his eyes, the sparkle not dimmed by the low lights of the hallway. I'd finally gotten him where I wanted him from the first moment I'd seen him.
"Terrell is far stricter than my father. So you did well."
"Good to know I pass muster."
"Oh, I didn't say you passed, Mr. Granade. I said you did well." I returned his smirk.
"Wash. Call me Wash. I should have told you that a while ago."
"Okay, Wash." I thrilled at being given permission to call him by his given name.
We took the elevator, the air between us bubbling with possibility as we descended to street level. He opened the car door for me, and I slipped in.
"You look beautiful, by the way." He drove toward the French Quarter.
"Thank you." I tried to tamp down my stupid smile, but my lips were having none of it. "Where's the reservation?"
"It's a surprise."
I glanced at him, the streetlamps giving his angled face an even dreamier quality. I had the impulse to reach out and run my hand along his jaw. I didn't. The butterflies were warring with each other in my stomach. It was a brutal contest, given the way I was unsure whether I wanted to hurl from nerves or float away on the joy of being so near a man that took up so much of my mental landscape.