Tough Enough (Tall, Dark, and Dangerous, #2)(55)

I smile politely. “I think I’ll have the double bacon cheeseburger with fries and a side salad.”

“That’s enough protein, even for a man like you,” says the waitress, eyeing me appreciatively. I don’t think much of it. It happens a lot.

She watches me for a few seconds longer before she finally drags her eyes over to Katie. Her demeanor cools considerably, which pisses me off. I know how catty women can be, especially ones like this waitress and most of the conceited starlets I work with these days, but it rubs me the wrong way to see anybody treat Katie with anything less than kindness and respect.

“And what’ll you have?”

Katie’s small smile is the same polite, hollow gesture I’ve seen all too often. “I think I’ll have the Cobb salad. Ranch dressing, please.”

She puts her menu back in the stand, but I tack on dessert for her. “And a piece of pie.”

“What kind?” the waitress asks when she turns to me, all warm and smiley again.

I look to Katie. “The green kind?” I can’t imagine what flavor it might be. Pistachio? Key lime?

Although still small, her grin turns more genuine, this time reaching her eyes. “How do you know I like the green kind?”

I don’t answer; I simply nod to the waitress. “The green kind.”

“One piece of key lime it is.”

“With extra whipped cream,” I add before she walks off.

“The cream is the best part,” the waitress says, looking back over her shoulder.

I ignore her in favor of bringing my attention back to the fascinating creature seated across from me. Her eyes are slits as she studies me.

“How did you know about the pie?”

“The day I was in here and Victoria found me, you were eating right over there,” I say, pointing to the booth she and Mona sat in. “You were right in my line of vision. I watched you eat your whole meal, but when you got to the pie . . . Holy. Shit.”

“What?”

“That first bite you took . . . God! You slid that fork into your mouth and closed your lips around it. Your eyelids sort of fluttered shut and you pulled the fork out so slowly, like you were already enjoying the taste on your tongue. You didn’t chew for a few seconds. You just sat there with your eyes closed, the expression on your face something like it is when you slide down on my cock. Like it’s so good you wanna savor every second of it. God! Damn, it was so hot.” Despite the fact that we’re in a greasy spoon, surrounded by people, blood gushes south to bring my dick to life. I shift uncomfortably. “I’ve never wanted to be a piece of pie so bad in all my life. To feel those lips wrapped around me . . . to feel that tongue licking my skin . . . Hell, I’d do almost anything.”

Katie’s chest is rising and falling more quickly. She leans back, folding her hands together primly in front of her on the tabletop. “Well, we’ll see what the afternoon holds,” she says, avoiding my eyes. “I like more, ahem, flavors than just key lime,” she adds, reaching for her water and taking a sip. Despite her refusal to meet my eyes, despite her unaffected manner, I know she’s feeling this, too. Her hand trembles as she sets her glass back on the table.

I smile. I’m sure it looks wolfish. It feels wolfish. “I can’t wait.”

Her lips curl. Just at the corners. So demure. So deceiving. I know what lies behind it now.

And I’ve never wanted her more.





TWENTY-FIVE


Katie

I wasn’t ready for lunch to end, but the bright side is that if I don’t get to see Rogan on set, I’ll evidently see him tonight. He hasn’t yet said when, but he talks about it as if it’s a foregone conclusion.

Some feminists might take offense at that, but I don’t. I like that he makes it obvious that he wants me, that he wants to spend time with me. It’s not like I’m really man or dating savvy anymore. I mean, I had no clue that Ronnie would attempt what he did at the lake. I guess I’m to the point now where I kind of need things spelled out for me.

I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s two forty-five and I’m caught up with my work for the moment. I think of Rogan’s last words to me when he left me at my door after lunch. He had a hungry look on his face that made me ache to feel his skin against mine.

“Come to the set if you get a chance. You . . . inspire me.”

He reached out and brushed his thumb over my bottom lip, like he couldn’t not touch me anymore. He did it so quickly that I couldn’t complain, and then he was gone. My lip felt warm and tingly for at least half an hour after he left.

I don’t know why he wants me to come and watch him, but I’m inclined to go, mainly because I want to see him. A few minutes this morning and an hour at lunch isn’t enough. It seems the more I see of him, the more I want to see of him.

Throwing caution and my over-thinking ways to the wind, I lock the drawer with my purse inside and head to the other end of the complex, to the stage where Rogan is filming. I sneak in without much notice. Whether because I’ve perfected being unobtrusive or because I’m as unnoticeable as a wallflower, I don’t know, but no one seems to be attuned to me, especially not the way Rogan is.

I’m standing along the back wall, watching the part of the scene that followed what Rogan and I rehearsed. I could only assume that there would be a steam after it. I mean, the dialogue seemed to be leading up to it, but also because it’s a cable show. Liberties are taken to add some naughtier material. I knew this. I just never knew what it might feel like to watch Rogan.