Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)(26)

She broke the silence first. “I must be keeping you from going home and getting some sleep.”

He snorted. Yeah, sure. He’d forgotten what sleep meant. “Actually, my day’s just beginning. Usually, I’d be heading home by now for a shower, and then it’s right off to work again.”

She shot him a curious glance. “Another job?”

“My real job,” he explained. “I own a company that produces kites and educational toys.” He read her puzzled expression. “Yeah, I know. So what’s with the graveyard shift at a diner, right? I’m just covering for my aunt, Zia Rosa. She runs the place, but she’s not here right now, and we’re short-staffed.” He sighed. “So I’m up. Good old Bruno.”

“This is the pastry-making aunt?” she asked.

“Yeah, the very one. Taught me everything I know. She’s up in Seattle now. I don’t know for how much longer. But if it’s too much longer, I’m closing the place down, and to hell with it.”

Yeah, right. Brave words. Zia Rosa was reveling in her surrogate grandmotherhood. It helped fill the hole her brother Tony’s death had left in her life, which made it really hard to criticize her. Who was he to mess with anybody else’s coping mechanisms?

“You must be so tired,” she said.

He wasn’t, actually. That point of contact where their arms touched was glowing, shooting impulses at random through his body. He’d be lucky if he didn’t start twitching and jittering.

“You’re not talkative anymore,” she observed. “What happened?”

He smothered the howl of laughter so as not to sound psycho. “I’m nervous,” he admitted in the spirit of total honesty, since she got off on that. “Too tense. It turns that faucet right off.”

“Ah.” The wings of her pageboy swung down to veil her face for a few yards. She turned to him again. “Don’t be tense. I don’t bite.”

Like hell. He was covered with virtual tooth marks.

“What could I do that would make you relax?” she mused.

Oh, give him a f*cking break. He stopped, making her lurch and stumble, clutching his arm. “Are you setting me up?” he demanded.

“Um. I actually don’t have any ulterior—”

“Bullshit. You asked for total honesty. What do you think would relax me? Take a wild guess.”

Her bright eyes narrowed. “So, what you’re saying is, you want to just, ah, get right down to it?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” he bitched. “You keep putting a sign on my forehead that says ‘horndog *.’ This might shock you, but I genuinely am interested in you as a person. I also have a hard-on. Under normal circumstances, the hard-on wouldn’t matter. I’d take you to dinner, to the movies, strolling in the Rose Garden. I’d cook for you. Make pastry for you. We’d talk about spirituality and politics and food. I’d wait four or five dates before I even tried to kiss you. I’d let the tension build until you were ready to explode.”

“Sounds nice,” she murmured.

“Too bad!” he snapped. “Not going to happen! You’ve been yanking me around by the tail from the minute you opened your mouth! You’re the one who’s tense!”

“I see.” Her hair hid her profile. “I suppose I am.”

“You throw yourself in my path like a f*cking grenade, at four in the morning, dressed like that, and start messing with my head! I don’t know how to be with you, and I don’t want to f*ck this up. So help me out. What do you want from me, Lily? Spell it out. Don’t make me guess.”

She sucked in her lower lip. Trying not to smile, damn her. “Dressed like that?” she echoed. “How should I be dressed?”

She was jerking him around again, but he took the bait willingly enough. “A sweater,” he informed her. “Flannel-lined jeans. Wool socks, warm shoes, a hat, scarf, and a thick down parka. As a matter of fact, you should be wearing a warm house with a locked door on top of that.”

She was shivering, so he unlinked his arm from hers and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“I guess I am a little cold,” she murmured.

Well, then. He’d go for it. In the name of gallantry. Or whatever.

“Do you want to go inside?” he asked.

“You mean, to your place?”

“No, my place is across town. But my uncle’s apartment is right over the diner. I could make you a cup of tea or something.”

“And your uncle?” she asked. “I don’t want to disturb—”

“My late uncle,” he clarified. “He died last year.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” she said.

He didn’t want to get anywhere near that, so he squeezed her shoulders. “So?” he urged. “You want to go up?”

She gave him a nod. He waited for more cues. For her to say something biting. For her to change her mind, flip-flop on him.

She didn’t. They walked back the way they’d come, turning on to the side street behind the diner. Struck mute by mutual shyness.

He had an unpleasant moment as he led her up the shabby staircase, past scarred apartment doors badly in need of painting. The building was a dump, and Tony’s apartment inside was no exception.