Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1)(38)

“What’s the part you never told anyone?”

“Gumshoe is still my e-mail password.” She wet her lips, positive her face was on fire. “I guess I have to change it now.”

“Nah, I won’t snoop.” A slow smile spread across his face. “Thank you.”

When had she started fidgeting? She flattened her palms on the table to stop herself. God, the way he was looking at her. Like he’d just won some fabulous prize and it was sitting on top of her head. Crazily enough, Rita thought she might be looking at him the same way. And meaning it. “Also. When I’m nervous, I like to listen to people list the daily specials. Sometimes I just do it myself with old menus.”

Jasper’s head immediately turned, obviously seeking out something to read from, but Rita stopped him with a hand on his forearm. When he stared down at her hesitant touch, Rita resisted the urge to snatch her hand back. “If you know the new eatery menu by heart already…maybe you could tell me that?”

His gaze searched hers. “I do. I came up with it myself.”

Rita felt like she was standing on the edge of a diving board, getting ready to jump. “Good. I guess, I…want to know something about you, too.”

He bent down and placed his lips on her knuckles, dampening them with a slow, open-mouthed kiss she felt right in the pit of her stomach. “Will you let me show you?”

“Oh, yeah,” she breathed.

Warm air puffed out on her hand when he laughed. “I meant the restaurant, beautiful. I want to show you my restaurant. Tonight.”

“Those were some mixed signals you were sending.”

Without warning, her chair was yanked closer by Jasper’s hand, unseen under the table, bringing her right up against him. With her whelp still hanging in the air, Jasper stamped his mouth down on hers, stirring murmurs around them from the other patrons. “Does that unmix them for you?” he asked, his voice having dropped around ten octaves.

Rita nodded, bumping their noses together. Something spun in her chest like silk, sticky but smooth. It took her a moment to decipher the sensation. Relief. They still had more. Every time she saw Jasper, it was potentially the last. But they had the whole night now. She should be excited. So why did tonight suddenly seem like way less than she needed?





Chapter Eighteen



Apart from the kitchen crew and waitstaff he’d spent the last few weeks hiring, Jasper hadn’t shown the new eatery to anyone. After the months he’d spent framing the addition, insulating the walls, carefully installing Sheetrock, sanding and lacquering the floors, with only sporadic help from local contractors, the eatery had become something of a private relic. He’d kept it sealed off from the bar, behind the plastic sheet, distracting everyone from its existence with half-price beer. Now even a man with no food-service experience knew that was no way to create excitement. It was almost as though he were trying to lower everyone’s expectations so if they were even remotely impressed he could call it a win.

By showing it to Rita, he was throwing in all his poker chips. Even before finding out she’d been raised by Miriam Clarkson—hell, trained by the woman—he’d been on the fence about giving Rita a tour of the modest fifteen-table addition. But she’d exposed parts of herself for him at dinner, and he wouldn’t take without giving. In fact, there was gnawing impatience in his stomach that grew stronger as they pulled in behind the Liquor Hole. Probably due in part to him sticking his goddamn foot into his mouth several times over the course of the evening. Going into tonight, Jasper hadn’t known the rules of dating, but he could now recite rule number one with conviction.

Don’t attempt to figure out a woman’s every insecurity, fear, and fault before the meal arrives. It was just plain bad manners.

As if that rule applied to anyone but Rita.

Jasper didn’t have an explanation for the way he’d pried without much encouragement, only that she’d sat down across from him looking shell-shocked and puffy-lipped from kissing and being her closest confidant had become his life goal. That hadn’t changed on the drive home. And it was starting to become pretty damn obvious that goal wouldn’t evaporate with the morning sunrise.

Careful to shut the driver’s-side door without alerting anyone inside the Liquor Hole to their presence, Jasper then crossed to Rita’s side, grateful when she waited for his assistance in climbing out. He caught a peek of her panties beneath the stretched red skirt as she turned, and barely checked the instinct to slam the passenger door and shove her up against it. God. He’d known his blue balls tonight would be a motherfucker, but they were shaping up to feel like ten homicidal maniac motherfuckers out for vengeance. It certainly didn’t help that Rita was definitely feeling the wine she’d drunk at dinner, making her loose-limbed and relaxed.

Lord save me.

Instead of attacking Rita’s mouth the way his brain urged, Jasper took her hand, leading her through the back entrance. He caught the screen door before it slapped the splintered wood and removed his keys, smiling when Rita rubbed her hands together vigorously.

“You’re excited.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” She tried to peer in through the glass door. “No one has eaten here yet. No bad, good, or mediocre meals. No reviews. It’s a clean slate.”

Jasper turned the key and pushed open the door, but when Rita attempted to precede him, he grabbed her wrist. “Hold on, now. If we’re doing a big reveal, we’re going to do it right. Close your eyes.”