“It’s just pizza, Sue.” He tipped his head. “I won’t pounce on you while you’re eating, I promise.”
She didn’t want to get that close to him again, but she didn’t want to look overly foolish, either. “Thank you.” She brushed past him and sat.
After trailing the backs of his fingers over her cheek, he took his own seat. “Dig in.”
“Thank you,” she said again.
He thoughtfully watched her as he ate. “You know, I just had my tongue in your mouth, so you don’t have to be so formal.”
Pepper gasped—and choked on her pizza. What was he thinking, saying something like that over dinner? Did he have no sense of propriety at all?
After a bout of wheezing, she caught her breath, looked at him, saw he was still eating while studying her reaction, and decided that no, he did not have any sense of decorum.
“It bothers you?” he asked. “Kissing me, I mean? Is that why you’re over there strangling yourself?”
“No—”
“Sure looked bothered to me.”
“I didn’t expect to discuss it over dinner!”
He ignored that. “I’m wondering,” he said, “if I mentioned how bad I want to get you naked, would you keel right over?”
Throwing the slice of pizza at him seemed like a good idea. Instead she put it back on her plate. Should she leave? Show disdain? Embarrassment?
She decided on a dose of honesty instead. “You’ll never see me naked.”
“No?” As if only mildly curious, he asked, “Why not?”
“Because I won’t allow it.”
His eyes narrowed—and his gaze went to her chest. “Too shy, huh?”
She sat back in her seat. “You don’t talk like a man who ever hopes to be successful. You’re so mocking, it’s almost an insult.”
“Don’t mean to be.” He put another gigantic slice of pizza onto his plate. “Truth is, Sue, you confound me.”
“Confound you?”
She had to wait while he devoured half the pizza. After he wiped his mouth with a napkin, he crossed his arms over the table. “You’re as interested as I am. I wasn’t the only one on the couch who wanted more.”
Since he waited, she said, “No.” She’d probably been far needier than he was. For certain, she’d been celibate longer.
“So why are you so skittish? Why the mixed messages?”
Shoot. She had been pretty inconsistent. But how could she possibly explain the past that held her back, the fears that dictated she show discretion in all things?
He saved her by reaching for her hand. “You can tell me, you know.”
No, she most definitely could not. She eyed him warily. “Tell you what?”
“If someone hurt you. If you’re just inexperienced. If you’re modest or afraid or…whatever the problem might be.”
All that? What exactly did he think? That she’d lived in a convent? That she’d been a victim of abuse? For certain she couldn’t tell him any part of the truth. Even with the passing of time, even with Morton Andrews’s club, Checkers, being in another county—distant enough that they wouldn’t run into him, close enough that Rowdy could keep tabs on him—the truth would be risky.
But she had to say something, so she looked at his big hand holding hers. “I am shy. And I am modest.” A really good liar, too.
“But you want me.”
Did she ever. Whether she should or not, whether it was wise or not.
“Sue? Whatever you tell me, it’s okay. I’m not going to start rushing you.”
Baloney. That’s all he’d done so far. She met his gaze. “Yes.”
It took several heartbeats before he repeated, “Yes…what?”
“I want you.” Let him deal with that. “Your interest has been flattering,” she added, trying to sound a little more uncertain. “But I’m not comfortable with anyone seeing me.”
His sharpened attention moved over her. “Naked, you mean?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
A heated stillness fell over him. “You don’t have anything I haven’t already seen, right?”
She almost choked again. He had no idea the surprises she kept hidden. “I’m not disfigured, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No, I wasn’t. Just making a point, that’s all. And if modesty is the only problem—”
“It’s not.” No, there were a million reasons why she shouldn’t get too involved with him, physically or otherwise.
And yet, here she sat. Having pizza. Talking.
After allowing him to kiss her into oblivion and grope her on the sofa. She put her head in her hands and fought off a groan.
Pushing his chair back from the table, his dinner forgotten, he concentrated on her. “What else?”
Because it felt as if he might pounce on her at any moment despite his promise not to rush her, Pepper left her chair and stood behind it. Judging by the look on his face, he saw it as a defensive move. She knew it was more a matter of control: around him, she had none.
Slowly, he stood.
Before he took a step toward her—and before she pounced on him—she said, “I barely know you.”
“Okay.” He held out his arms. “I’m an open book. What do you want to know?”
Why do you want me so badly? No, she couldn’t ask him anything that blunt. “Everything, I guess.”