“Don’t let that worry you. Beautiful women throw him off. He’ll get over it.”
She could hardly murmur a thank-you at the compliment. Most serial killers had trouble maintaining relationships with women: check.
“He seems pretty serious.”
“Always has been. He used to chide me about climbing mountains and jumping out of perfectly good airplanes. I used to chide him about spending all his free time in his room reading.”
Serial killers were often antisocial: check.
The elevator doors slid open at the lobby level, and he gestured for her to walk ahead of him. They stepped into a rhythm, walking side by side.
They ended up at a cozy café with the ubiquitous wine bottles in baskets on the tables. The maitre d’ led them to a table near the window. Adrian took her coat and gave her outfit both a questioning and appraising look.
“I know, I’m in denial.” Her sleeveless yellow dress flared midthigh. White knit tights hugged her legs, and her chunky shoes matched her dress. “February is when I start hating winter, so I put myself in a spring state of mind.”
“Aren’t you cold?”
“I’m hot-blooded. My body temperature runs a degree warmer than most people’s.” She shrugged. “My doctor said it’s not anything weird.”
“Bet you’re nice to cuddle up with on a cold night.”
She was about to sit in a most dainty way. Those words made her drop the last few inches onto her chair and nearly tip it over. “Well, I wouldn’t…know. I’ve never cuddled with myself.”
She was so not good at this flirting stuff. All those years of avoiding it had left her way out of practice. Like, she wasn’t even sure if he was flirting.
She broke off a piece of crusty bread and dipped it into the herbed oil the waiter had poured into a dish. “One of the articles I read about you said you and Owen are like brothers.”
He nodded. “He had a rough childhood. His dad took off, and his mom…well, let’s just say she wasn’t the most nurturing soul. Owen spent a lot of time at our house. We had a warm, loving home, with my stepdad and half brother and half sister. All the neighbor kids hung out there, Owen more than any of them. My mom treated him like another son. I’m seven and nine years older than my half siblings, so I’ve never been close to them. Owen was like a brother to me, then and now.”
Broken home: check. Uncaring mother: check. Oh, no. Owen’s background and temperament were sounding more and more like a textbook serial killer. Could she ask, without sounding morbid, if animals had died in heinous ways or disappeared? If Owen had wet his bed or started any fires?
Mm, probably not.
She shifted her foot and felt his shoe next to hers. Their eyes met over the contact. “I’m not playing footsies with you,” she said, then stuffed a piece of bread into her mouth before she said anything else dumb.
His mouth tilted up in a half smile, one eyebrow arched. “It’s okay if you do.”
Whoa. He’d laid that right out there. Of course, a gorgeous guy like him probably had no trouble flirting and lots of experience. Why did he have to be so perfect and so complicated at once?
She didn’t remove her foot. Neither did she move it. She glanced away, composing herself. “Your mom sounds like a great person.”
He nodded, a soft smile on his face. “She taught me what it was to be tough, to stand strong and take what life gives you. She gave me the love for classical music. I think she had dreams of me becoming a musician. I took cello lessons and played in an orchestra in high school. That was the most mundane thing I ever did. I liked it, but I didn’t love it. She was cool about my quitting music, though she didn’t like my adventures. Mostly I didn’t tell her what I did or the risks. It was better that way.”
A man who loved his mother. Could she just die right there? Except dying euphemisms were not particularly good right now.
“It’s hard to imagine you playing cello in an orchestra.” She leaned back in her chair, her fingers on her chin. “No, wait. I can see you. It’s an interesting dichotomy, rugged, outdoorsy guy among the classical instruments.” She grinned. “I like it.”
She liked him. Oh, more than liked. It was as though the energy from where their shoes touched radiated up her leg and into the rest of her body. He was the only person whose thoughts she couldn’t hear. That would be wildly appealing even if he wasn’t the kind of guy who climbed mountains and dove off cliffs and embraced life. And, most importantly, he wasn’t Kiss and Kill Cupid. Her foot shifted ever so slightly against his. But he might, very likely, probably, will be your boss.