"Abraham." I leaned toward him, lowering my voice to just above a whisper. "Stop flirting with my niece."
"I'm not." His surprised tone almost made me believe him. Almost. "Or at least not on purpose." The open, innocent smile he'd given Tammy slipped in to something far too intimate for a family restaurant. "And I told you I like it when you call me ‘Mr. Hansom'."
"Give me a reason to."
He chuckled and slouched down in the booth. "I like a challenge."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lunch passed without incident, notwithstanding Sue continuing to slam Abraham's plates down on the table. Since he'd earned the metaphorical slap on the hands, I didn't mind in the least and if his smile was any indication, neither did he. The only moment of unpleasantness came when Sue dropped the bill on the table and Abraham and I both reached for it at the same time.
"I got it." I tried to tug the small slip of paper out of his hand, frowning when he gripped it harder. "Seriously, I got it."
"I'm the one who begged you to come to lunch so that means I pay." He leaned in, all but pressing his cheek against mine and lowering his voice to a whisper. "Please. If I let you pay, I'll be getting a phone call from my mother before we get back to the bar."
"I don't remember you being this scared of your mother when you were in high school."
"I'm not scared." He lifted his free hand, dragging his thumbnail down my jawline and over my lower lip. "I just don't want to spend the afternoon talking with my mother when I could spend it doing much more pleasurable things."
"Do you practice it? The charm and seduction?" I reached blindly for my water, fumbling for a moment before wrapping my fingers around the glass and pulling it toward me, taking a long sip before continuing. "You must because you turn it on and off so easily."
"Comes with being a bartender." He eased back, the lazy smile fading away. "Doesn't mean I'm faking it."
"Didn't say you were." But something about his unease settled me, gave me back a little of the control I felt slipping from my fingers every time he looked at me. I took another sip of water before setting the glass down, my movements steady again. "If it means so much to you, go ahead and pay. But don't think this means you're getting a home-cooked meal as a thank you."
"Do you even know how to cook?" Tammy's question broke through the intimate little bubble Abraham had managed to create and while I didn't exactly jerk away, I came damn close. Her frown was more curious than prudish and I could only be thankful she was apparently too naïve to pick up on the undercurrents between me and Abraham. "I don't think I've seen you turn on the stove one time in the last two weeks."
"First, it's a metaphor of sorts and second, why would I cook when every time I think we've finally eaten our last bit of tuna casserole I find another one in the fridge?" I shifted my attention to Conway, shaking my head and sighing. "How did you manage to get more syrup on yourself than on your waffle?"
His only response was a shrug and a sunny smile before he fastidiously wiped his doll's spotless mouth.
"It's okay, Aunt Jeannie." Dolly dipped her napkin in her water before leaning over and cleaning her brother's face, her movements quick and efficient and disturbingly mature. She balled up the used napkin and dropped it on her plate before beaming at me. "All better."
"So I see." I glanced at Abraham, still waiting patiently for me to relinquish the bill. Rolling my eyes, I dropped my hand to my lap, fiddling with my belt for a moment before dragging my purse over and digging through depths, finally locating my keys at the bottom. I pulled them out and tossed them over to Tammy, who surprised me by actually catching them. "Here. Don't get any tickets and don't wreck it. I'll be home... later."
"I can't." You would have thought I told her to go rob a bank. "I don't have a license."
"Nobody in Cotton Creek cares whether or not you have a license." The idea Sheriff Underwood might was so preposterous I couldn't hold back a snort of laughter. "Trust me, Tammy, it's fine. And if for some reason he does pull you over, tell him to call me and I'll straighten everything out."
"And if your aunt can't, I can." Abraham pulled his wallet from his inside suit pocket, tugging out a few bills and tossing them on the table before shoving his wallet back in his coat and sliding out of the booth, pulling me with him. "So, if there's a problem, call one of us. Otherwise, I'll make sure your aunt gets home at a reasonable hour."
I stayed silent until we were outside on the sidewalk, well out of anybody's earshot. "You do realize every person in there with the exception of the very young or the very naïve thinks we're going off to fuck."
"Well, they're not wrong." He slipped his sunglasses on before shooting me a blinding smile. "I mean, I thought we might have a conversation before the main event, so to speak, but I feel I made my desire to fuck you again, today, more than obvious."
I slipped on my own sunglasses and lifted my chin. "Maybe I don't like being the center of gossip."
"If that was the case you wouldn't have bought the Fisher house and you wouldn't have agreed to lunch with me not matter how much I begged you." He turned to face me, his smile dying as he lifted one hand to cup my face. "Look, I want you, which isn't something I've said to a woman in... Christ, I can't remember how long. But not if you don't want me."
"I didn't say that." Mostly because we both knew if I did, I'd be lying. I took a deep breath, holding it for long seconds before exhaling. "I've fought an uphill battle with this town my whole life. Even not being here, I've been judged by what I did or didn't accomplish. Now that I'm back, I'm going to be under the microscope again and I don't have the luxury of a good name to cover up my sins."
"I lost that particular luxury-the one of a so-called good name-a long, long time ago."
"You keep thinking that." I looped my arm through his and steered him toward the parking lot. "So, I have to ask-how does a guy with so many tattoos and hardware wind up with such a beauty of a classic car?"
"Well, it's a story which I should be able to tell in its entirety before we arrive at the bar." He opened the passenger door, trailing his fingers down my arm. "Providing you don't distract me, of course."
I shot him a smile. "I do like a challenge."
HE DIDN'T FINISH the story.
Entirely my fault.
But he'd looked so serious, talking about the restoration process for a 1969 Pontiac GTO hardtop that I hadn't been able to help myself.
To his credit, all he did at first was take a deep breath when I slid across the seat, draped my arm over the back of his seat, and rested my chin on his shoulder. His voice hitched and broke for a moment when I pressed my lips to the curve of his neck but he recovered almost instantly. He clenched his jaw and bit his lower lip when I started nibbling on his earlobe.
When I dropped my hand to his lap and squeezed his thigh, my fingertips inches from his cock, he swore and jerked the car to the side of the road. He threw the gear shift in to park, killed the engine, and then hauled me over until I was straddling him. Fisting one hand in my hair, he rasped out, "I thought I told you not to distract me."
"Not true." I leaned forward, running my tongue over his lips before drawing back. "You implied it would be detrimental to your story-telling but you didn't say I couldn't do it."
"You knew what I meant." He slipped his other hand under my dress and cupped my ass, his eyes widening slightly. "Really? You went to church like that?"
"I'm not a fan of underwear." I tugged his tie free from its knot, whipping it into the back seat. "You're not complaining, are you?"
"Yes." He pressed his fingers harder against my skin, groaning low in his throat. "No. Fuck, I don't know."
"Consider it motivation." I wiggled free from his grip, moving across the seat until I was able to lean my back against the door. Nudging his thigh with my foot, I said, "The sooner we get to the bar, the sooner you can show me all those things you didn't get to last night."
"If Sheriff Underwood pulls me over for speeding, I'm blaming you." He turned the car on and threw it in to drive, nearly fishtailing back out on to the road. Glancing at me, he said, "He might let me off with a warning. Maybe. He's a man. He understands these things."
"What things?" I dropped my other leg to the floorboard, my dress hiking higher up my thighs. There was no way he was able to see anything worth seeing but based on his muffled curse you would have thought I was as on display as a Penthouse centerfold. "Abraham?"