Blue-Eyed Devil (Travis Family #2)(48)

"That's what he told me." Hardy looked at the bottle appreciatively. "Napa. A mountain wine. I like those, especially the cabs."

"Did you ever end up going to a wine tasting?" I asked, flushing as I remembered how he had hoisted me up to the table in the wine cellar and stood between my —

"A few." Hardy set the bottle onto the counter. "I've learned a little here and there. Never got the retro-olfaction, though."

"It's very subtle. Sometimes it helps if you hold the wine in your mouth and let it warm to your body temperature . . . " As Hardy moved closer, I completely forgot what I was saying. My gaze went to the tanned skin of his throat, the damp hollow at the base of it.

"So . . ." I said, "I need to get going. I'll let you take your shower now." The idea of him naked, with hot water running over all that hard flesh, all that compressed energy, frayed my composure even further.

"You haven't seen the rest of the apartment," he said.

"I'm sure it's great."

"You should see the bedroom, at least."

I saw a dance of mischief in his eyes. He was teasing me. "No, thank you."

Hardy leaned over me, all brawn and hormones, bracing a hand on the wall. "Has anyone ever told you," he asked conversationally, "that your eyes are the exact color of Dr Pepper?"

I laughed, disarmed. "Do you get far with lines like that?"

He seemed to relish my amusement. "Far enough, with the right woman."

"I'm not the right woman."

"You and Todd . . . you been friends for a long time?" I nodded. "Since middle school."

A frown wove between his dark brows. "You ever go out with him?"

"You mean on a date? No."

His expression cleared, as if my answer confirmed something he'd been wondering about. "He's g*y, then."

"Well, no. Todd's sort of 'anything goes.' He's had relationships with men and women. He's open to any possibility, because to him the outside of a person is just packaging. It's a pretty enlightened point of view when you think about it."

"I'm not enlightened," Hardy said flatly. "I'm only interested in packaging that includes br**sts." And his gaze dipped briefly to my chest with an interest I found somewhat unwarranted, considering my lack of volume. He looked back into my eyes. "Haven, there's this thing I'm going to tomorrow night . . . they're reopening a theater —

"The Harrisburg?" The nationally renowned theater had undergone a year-long reconstruction after the subterranean level had been destroyed by flood waters. The reopening would be attended by local and national celebrities, not to mention the Texas political and social elite. "I'm going to that with Todd."

"One of my partners made a donation on behalf of our company. So I've gotten roped into it."

I got the impression that Hardy had been about to ask me to go with him. Like on a date. I felt hot and suffocated at the thought. I was not ready for a date with anyone, least of all him. "Maybe we'll see each other there." I tried to sound breezy. "But if we don't happen to cross paths . . . have a great night."

"You too."

"Okay. See you later." I turned and fumbled at the doorknob. He reached around me and grasped it. "Let me get that for you."

I waited with panicked impatience, ready to flee. But Hardy paused before opening the door.

"Haven." He waited until I turned toward him, the front of my body aligned with his, not quite touching. The awareness between us was so intense that I could almost feel the pressure of him against my skin, the hardness and weight of him. I couldn't keep from wondering what sex would be like with him, if he would crush and hurt, if he would be gentle.

And then I wondered if he had ever hit a woman.

Somehow I couldn't imagine it, those powerful hands inflicting damage on someone more vulnerable than himself, rupturing vessels, leaving bruises. But Nick had taught me that unimaginable things were possible.

When I did gather the courage to try again, it would not be with some excessively masculine creature. But maybe that was part of the attraction, knowing deep down that real feelings, real attachment, could never happen with Hardy.

I looked up into his eyes, mesmerized by the blueness. Even knowing how wrong it was, I wanted to melt into him, just flatten myself against that big, sturdy form and . . . let go. Breathe. Trust.

"Stay," he said softly, "and share the wine with me."

"You . . . you need to shower."

A slow grin crossed his mouth. "You can share the shower too."

"Right," I said darkly, while my mind filled with visions of soapy male skin and water-slicked muscles. "As if."

Hardy opened the door and let me escape. "Would have been fun," he called after me as I went down the hall.

And I had to hide a smile, not daring to look back.

After that I felt restless all night, my sleep fractured by dreams, and in the morning I woke up aching and moody. I realized that every encounter I had with Hardy Cates was beginning to feel like foreplay.

"Starlight experience" was the theme of the night, featuring singers and musicians all paying homage to the Gershwin brothers. At least five hundred people milled through the building while breezy, jazzy music filled the air. Gershwin was a perfect choice for the evening, giving it a feeling of spontaneous, thrown-together pleasures.