Wound Up(52)

                “Why?”

                “Just the way it was.” He tugged at his shirt collar, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “What about you? Your mom a good cook?”

                The idea of her mother in the kitchen was so absurd she couldn’t contain the bitter laugher that sliced through the momentary silence between them. “My mom doesn’t cook.”

                Justin’s brows shot up. “At all?”

                “At all.” She skimmed her hands down her sides, an electric jolt passing through her when his gaze followed her every move. “Body by Chef Boyardee, baby.”

                “Thank you, Chef,” he said softly, gaze locked on her breasts.

                Warmth bloomed in her, feminine and decidedly sexual—and entirely unwanted. She shifted in her seat, rubbing her thighs together while she wished madly for some pithy comeback, something that would be funny and right for the moment, something that would leave her with the last word.

                He leaned forward and folded his arms on the table. “It’s so wrong, what I’m thinking. Decidedly not professional.”

                That worked.

                Justin reached out and took one of her hands, rolling it over and uncurling the fingers one by one until her palm lay face up and exposed. He gently traced a finger along her palm, first the long lines and then the short.

                Her hand spasmed. “That tickles.”

                He peered at her through heavily lidded eyes. “I really want to—”

                “Do you two care for refills?” Darcy asked, pausing at their table.

                Justin let go of Grace’s hand and casually leaned back. “We’re good, Mom.”

                “Could a mother have shown up at a worse moment on a date?” Darcy set her coffee carafe down and wiped her hand across her brow. “I apologize.”

                “It’s fine, Darcy. Truly. It’s not a date.” Grace settled her hands in her lap but couldn’t stop herself from wringing them. The urge to explain nothing untoward had been happening hovered on the tip of her tongue, but it would be a lie.

                Justin had been seducing her. Hell, if she were honest, he’d been seducing her from the moment he’d asked her to lunch. He just hadn’t realized it. How could he? How could he possibly understand what it meant to her to be part of this microcosm of normality, where love and laughter and shared meals were common? How could he even pretend to grasp what it meant to her to experience his raw affection? Things that were so normal to him were nothing less than granted wishes to her, and it put the two of them immeasurably far apart on the scale of have and have-not. He was rich in ways she’d always been poor, and, despite the building sexual haze, it stung.

                “It’s probably best we head to the bus stop. Don’t want to be late returning from lunch on day one.” Grace aimed for cheerful but knew she achieved something much closer to a morbid grin.

                “Don’t go on my account,” Darcy all but pleaded. “I’ll give you two space. Just signal if you need anything.”

                “Really, it’s fine. We have a meeting, and I want to prepare.” She nodded at Justin and forced a smile. “I’ll meet you at the office?”

                Darcy absently straightened their table. “I’d like to make this up to you. Have dinner with us Wednesday evening.”