Stirring Up Trouble(19)

“Are you sure? Because that George and I had a wonderful time at dinner earlier and I invited him over to—”



Lola covered her ears with her hands. “La La La. Not listening.”



Her mom grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands away. “Fine. I won’t tell you about George and you don’t have to tell me about Braden.”



She froze. “Braden?”



Her mother cupped her face in her hands. “Mmm. I could see electricity between you two and I don’t mean that metaphorically. You two are connected by something powerful. Watch and listen for the signs, Viola. Don’t lose this precious gift.”



“What are you saying?” she asked, fearing the answer.



Reina hugged her. “I think you know exactly what I’m saying. You’re his Muse.”





CHAPTER 7



Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for though speakest well of fools!



William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, act 1, scene 5



“Sleep well?” Braden asked a mussed-up Lola who walked through the front door of the restaurant, her winter coat open over Hello Kitty pajama pants and a Def Leppard T-shirt.



Not exactly dressed for the cold Michigan weather. It couldn’t be more than ten degrees out there. Someone needed to make the woman zip up her jacket and wear gloves. He peered down at her Birkenstocks and sighed. She wasn’t even wearing socks. Good thing it hadn’t snowed yet or she could lose those cute little tattooed toes.



Her bright hair was back in a low ponytail and she was wearing those librarian glasses again. The outfit should have him running in the opposite direction, but he thought the whole ensemble was sexy as hell.



Taking off her coat, she grunted an incoherent statement about his balls. At least she had her mind on the right area of his body.



He blew on his steaming hot coffee and took a tentative sip while she glowered at him, her hands on her hips. “If you have any decency in that well-formed body of yours, you’ll give me that coffee.”



He gave her a slow grin. “You like my body, huh?” He couldn’t resist the tease.



She narrowed her eyes and growled. “Coffee, Braden.”





“Here.” He handed off his extra-large mug, and she gulped it without testing the temperature.



“Mmm.” She wrapped her hand around the mug and her eyes fluttered closed just like when he’d brought her to orgasm. “So good.”



His jeans grew tight thinking about a repeat performance, wondering what he could teach her to cook today. He stepped closer. “It’s an old family recipe. I add a hint of cinnamon and sugar to the beans, then steamed milk.”



She looked up at him through sleepy eyes. “This one’s mine. You’ll have to make yourself another cup because I’m not giving it back.” She clunked the mug down, slumped on a stool, rested an elbow on top of the bar, and cradled her head in her hand.



“Rough night? Jon’s bed not comfy enough for you?” he said, failing to keep the tinge of bitterness from his voice.



Thanks to her, he hadn’t gotten more than a couple of hours sleep, and even then he’d dreamed of her on that rock in the ocean once again.



Her eyes focused on him and she hesitated. “I didn’t sleep at Jon’s. I decided to go home.”



His shoulders relaxed for the first time since she’d left the previous evening and he suddenly breathed easier. “Why?”



“Not that it’s any of your business, but . . .” She frowned and shook her head. “No, let’s just leave it at that. It’s none of your business.”



Wrong. He repressed the urge to show her exactly why it was his business and slid onto the stool next to her. “Okay, I can accept that.”



She fidgeted in her chair, her feet kicking the bar in a patterned beat. “Good.”



“I know you’re trying to avoid your mother, but you’re fortunate to have one who cares about you.” The moment the words passed his lips, he wondered what the hell had gotten into him.





She took another sip of coffee and studied him. “You don’t talk much about your parents.”



He shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. My parents divorced when my sister Rosalind was a baby. Our father took custody, but he didn’t really know what to do with us, so we were essentially raised by nannies and housekeepers. My mother spends her time trying to beat Elizabeth Taylor’s record for most marriages, and my father finds reasons to travel the world. Guess he’s not one for settling down.”



Lola looked as though she could see right through him. Her hands, still warm from holding the mug of coffee, grabbed his and squeezed. “How much older are you than your sister?”