A Cowboy in Manhattan(38)
His muscle contracted under her touch, and it was all he could do to hold himself still.
She tipped her chin and met his gaze. “I admire you. There are days when I wish I could tell the world to go to hell and back it up with brute strength.”
The urge to haul her into his arms was so powerful, that he had either to move away or give in. He used retrieving the next pancake as an excuse. “Hungry?”
Her hesitation lasted only a split second. “Starving.”
“Bring the plates,” he instructed. “And some forks.” He transferred the pancakes and the bottle of maple syrup to the small table near the center of the room. He moved the oil lamp to make room for the dishes, and its light bounced off the scars that had been gouged into the wooden tabletop over many long years of use.
She joined him, taking one of the two chairs that weren’t being used as clothing racks.
He sat down and pulled in his chair. “It’s not exactly the Ritz.”
She gave an exaggerated pout. “You mean no caviar and champagne?”
Using his fork, he transferred two of the pancakes to her plate, then he pushed the bottle of syrup her way. “And the wine pairings leave something to be desired.”
She blinked at him over the soft yellow lamplight. “You surprise me when you do that.”
“Do what?” Deciding it didn’t make sense to use up another plate, he moved his clean one back to the counter and shifted the serving platter with the remaining two pancakes in front of him.
She watched his movements until he sat down. “When you talk about wine pairings and Dior.”
“You are such a snob.”
“I’m not,” she protested, hand resting on her fork, showing no signs of getting started on the meal.
Since she wasn’t using the syrup, he poured some of it on his own pancakes then pushed it back to her.
“You’ve spent your entire life on a ranch in Colorado,” she elaborated.
He cut into the tender pancake. “Do you honestly think you’re making it better?”
“Okay. How do you know about wine pairings?”
He reached across the table and drizzled the syrup on her pancakes. No sense in letting the things get cold. “How do you know about wine pairings?”
“Fine restaurants, parties, I read a little.”
He gave a chuckle. “Me, too.”
“But—”
“I’ve been to Denver and Seattle, even as far as L.A. I once toured a vineyard in the Napa Valley. Get over it and eat your pancakes.”
She ignored his instruction. “Really? You toured a vineyard?”
“Surprised they let me in?” He took a bite. He wasn’t about to sit here and starve waiting for her.
“You’re twisting my words.”
“I don’t need to twist them to make you sound like a snob, princess. You’re doing that all by yourself.”
“You surprised me.” To her credit, she did sound contrite.
“Apparently,” he allowed.
She glanced down at her plate then inhaled deeply. “These really do smell great.”
“Taste them. They’re pretty good.”
She cut tentatively into one with her fork. “It’s been years since I’ve had maple syrup.”
“Welcome to the wild side.”
“I probably don’t need two.”
“You probably do.”
She lifted her fork to her mouth. “Here we go.”
He couldn’t believe she was making such a production out of it. But finally, she took a bite, chewed and swallowed.
“Oh, my,” she breathed. Her eyes sparkled and her red lips turned up in a beautiful smile.
Reed instantly lost his appetite for anything but her.
“Good?” he managed in a slightly strangled voice.
“Ambrosia.” She consumed another bite. “Who needs wine pairings anyway.”
“You like it on the wild side?” He didn’t intend it, but his tone turned the question into a double entendre.
She glanced up. Her expression stilled. Her gaze darkened. “Yes.”
Reed’s fork slipped from his fingertips, and his hands clenched into fists. Though his brain screamed no, his desire shouted it down. He gave in to his desire.
“Come here,” he commanded.
Her expression turned serious. She rose on her bare feet, moving toward him, draped in that boxy, oversize T-shirt. Her hair was stringy and wet, makeup smudged around her eyes, yet she still managed to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.