Neanderthal Seeks Human(34)

My frowned deepened, “No, I’m not-”

His words were somewhat garbled as he spoke between chewing, “You’re an information tease.”

“What?!”

“Or maybe you don’t really know the origin and you’re just making things up to impress me-” he took another bite.

“I am not! It originates from the late industrial revolution, in the late 19th and early 20th century. Apartments were all built with the same floor plan, in similar design so one tenant’s bedroom was under another’s. Therefore it was normal to hear an upstairs neighbor removing his or her shoes and hearing one shoe hit the floor, then the other, when they undressed at night.”

“I wonder what else they heard.” His gaze held mine, seemed to burn with a new intensity.

“I suppose anything that was loud enough.”

He gave me a full grin followed by a deep, rolling belly laugh. I liked the sound of his laugh and reluctantly smiled in response, fighting warring feelings: pleased that I’d made him laugh but concerned that I was being laughed at. The latter feeling eclipsed the former and I frowned, glancing at my lap and picking self-consciously at the cover of my book again. I could feel the heat of a blush spreading up my neck.

The intensity of my reaction to him continued to confound me.

It wasn’t just his good looks, which verged on angles-singing-up-on-high-miraculous. Not anymore. If he’d been a jerk or a moron my reaction would have cooled and normalized. Inopportunely, he was not a jerk and he was most definitely not a moron. He was thoughtful and clever and confident and the most adroitly sexy guy I’d ever met and I didn’t like to think he was laughing at me.

I heard his laugh falter abruptly before he said, “Hey, Janie- look at me.” I lifted my chin but couldn’t quite manage to meet his eyes. A hint of a grin was still on his face as he said, “I was just teasing you.”

I forced a small laugh and shrugged, “I know. I uh-” I looked at my watch purposefully, “I have to get back to the office, my lunch is over.”

His grin faded. After a moment he cleared his throat, “You still haven’t told me how the job is going.”

“It’s great but I don’t want to be late getting back.”

He swallowed and pushed his sandwich to the side, “Don’t worry about being late. I’ll give Carlos a call.”

“Don’t do that-”

“I don’t mind.”

“But I do.”

He watched me for several moments and, despite the thunderous beating of my heart, I silently endured his perusal. I felt too hot, too self-aware, too everything. When I finally met his gaze I noted that his face had settled into an impassive mask but, as ever, his blue eyes seemed to burn with intensity. At last, he stood. I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding. As I moved to stand he reached out his hand and grabbed mine to help me from the booth.

“Listen,” He cleared his throat again, holding my hand and, thereby, holding me in place, “over the next week you’ll be going out with me on a couple of stops. It’s part of your training.”

I opened my mouth in surprise. A little pang of pleasure-pain twisted in my chest as I thought of spending more time with him. Finally, pulling together enough of my wits to form words, I stuttered, “Wh- what kind of stops?”

“I’ll be taking you to meet some of the corporate clients.”

“Steven didn’t mention anything about it in his training schedule.”

“He must have forgotten.”

“That doesn’t seem likely.”

Quinn lifted his eyebrows in challenge, “Is there some reason you don’t want to go?”

“We won’t be taking your motorcycle, will we?”

“No, we’ll be taking a company car.”

“Oh. Ok.” I looked down at our hands, still linked together from him helping me out of the booth. His hand was very large; mine was small in comparison. It was a strange sensation to feel that any part of my body was small. Jon’s hands were the same size as mine.

Quinn must’ve noticed my gaze because he abruptly let my hand drop and reached over to the bench where his coat lay across my purse. He moved his jacket to the side and picked up my bag. He seemed to study it for a few brief moments before he handed it to me.

“Thanks.” I took the offered purse but made no move to leave; instead I gave him a small, closed lipped smile and shifted under the weight of his steady gaze.

“You’re welcome. And thanks for letting me interrupt your lunch.”

I shrugged, “Oh, no problem. Feel free to interrupt anytime.”

“Really? Anytime?” The corner of his mouth hooked to the side and he dipped his chin as though to force me to meet his gaze more fully. “That’s a dangerous thing to say if you don’t mean it. I might interpret that to include lunch, dinner, and breakfast.”