Almost Perfect (Fool's Gold #2)(73)
The back door of her house opened and Ethan stepped onto the patio. He had a bottle of water in each hand.
God, he looked good, she thought as she took in the faded jeans, the long legs and narrow hips. He moved with an easy masculine grace—a man comfortable in his own skin.
“Couldn’t stand the noise?” he guessed.
“They defeated me with the tile saw.”
“And here I thought you were indestructible.” He offered her a bottle, then settled across from her on the blanket.
“Not all the time.” She glanced at the house. “They’re doing great work. Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome. I have a good team.” He pointed at her computer. “How’s the book going?”
“Good. I’m finally into it enough to make the writing easier. The beginning is always a nightmare. Figuring out who everyone is, why they’re doing what they do. That sort of thing.”
“You make it sound like work,” he teased.
She mock glared at him. “Don’t make me hurt you. We both know I could.”
“I’m trembling in fear.”
They smiled at each other and she felt a quiver low in her belly.
“Are you going to keep killing me?” he asked.
“I wasn’t, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“What did I do?” he inquired, looking all innocent.
“What didn’t you do? You’re raising my son to be sexist and judgmental when it comes to women.”
Ethan stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Girls don’t have goals? Since when? I know he got that from you.”
Ethan groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that. We were talking about how important it is to set goals. To figure out what you want and just go for it.”
“And?”
He shrugged. “I might have said something about girls not being interested in anything but fashion and talking on the phone.”
“If I didn’t need my laptop, I’d throw it at you.”
“I’m sorry. It was just one of those things guys say to each other.”
“Tyler isn’t a guy. He’s a kid and he adores you. As far as he’s concerned, everything you said to him is ultimate truth.”
Ethan looked both pleased and chagrined. “Okay. You’re right. I need to think before I speak.”
She opened her mouth to say more, then closed it. “Excuse me?”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. In fact there’s a lot of things I regret. Like the injunction. I should have talked to you first. I was upset. That’s not the best time to make an important decision.”
“Well, damn. If you’re going to take responsibility and express regret, how can I keep yelling at you?”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “You’ll find a reason. Then you can kill me off in your book again.”
She smirked, raising her eyebrows. “Maybe I already did.”
He laughed, then took a drink of water. “You’re good, you know. Those books. They’re extraordinary.”
His compliment warmed her. “Thank you.”
“You have a detective you talk to?”
She nodded. “I met her at Tyler’s preschool. She was picking up her daughter and we started talking. She reads my manuscripts and tells me where I get it wrong.”
“She’s a mother?”
Liz put aside her laptop, stretched out her arm and slapped him on the shoulder. “What is it with you? Nevada is female and she’s an engineer. Why is that okay but you’re a pig about other women?”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the blanket next to him, then rolled her onto her back.
“I don’t have a problem with women,” he said leaning over her. “I said mother not woman. I never thought of a detective as having a family.”
“You wouldn’t. They usually don’t show the home life on TV.”
“Are you saying I’m shallow?” he asked with a grin. “You’re awfully arrogant for someone completely in my power.”
“You only think I’m in your power.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
They stared at each other. His mouth hovered inches from hers. She did her best not to react to the feel of his body against hers.
“What are the odds of one of my crew watching out the window?” he theorized.
“Better than fifty percent.”
“That’s what I thought, too. Damn.” He rolled off her. “Change of subject. Has being here made you late with your book?”
“I’m not too behind.”
“This summer can’t have helped with your deadline.”
“That’s true, but I tend to plan ahead. Usually I have less time to write in the summer because Tyler’s home, so I’m still okay.”
He shifted so he faced her and brushed the hair from her face. “What were you doing before you were a writer?” he asked.
“I waited on tables. Same as here. That’s what I did when I first moved to San Francisco. When I got big enough that I walked slow, I was a cashier, where I could sit during my shift. After Tyler was born, I got work at a nicer restaurant where the tips were better.”