Street Game (GhostWalkers, #8)(33)

CHAPTER 6


Kane waved a forkful of biscuits and gravy in Jaimie’s direction to emphasize his point. “That little blueberry muffin is not exactly nutritious, Little Miss Nag. And it wouldn’t fill up my big toe.”

“Chicken-fried steak, biscuits, and all that gravy ought to shoot your cholesterol level right up to the moon.” Jaimie was all righteousness. Her vivid blue gaze pinned Mack, who was trying unsuccessfully to become part of the woodwork. “And no one eats four eggs. That’s your week’s worth in one sitting. We all studied nutrition, remember?”

“You studied it and forced us to eat the most god-awful concoctions known to man,” Mack protested.

“I’m allergic to all that nutritious stuff,” Kane said soberly. “Absolutely allergic. Remember the brewer’s yeast, Mack? Didn’t she almost kill me with brewer’s yeast?”

“She killed the popcorn,” Mack remembered.

“You were smothering the popcorn in butter,” Jaimie was indignant. “Someone had to save you. Hardening of the arteries. You two are getting on in years, you know.” She smirked at them rather smugly and at the same time took a quick glance around her.

They weren’t alone. She saw Brian and Jacob having breakfast in a booth facing them just to her left. At the table nearest the door, Marc drank coffee across from Ethan, who seemed engrossed in a newspaper. She had caught a brief glimpse of Javier, looking like a teenager with his boyish good looks, and Lucas, looking like a model in a business suit, moving through the crowded street as they’d entered the restaurant.

Both Mack and Kane scowled across the table at her fiercely, hoping to intimidate her. “Getting on in what years?” Kane demanded ominously.

Jaimie broke off a small piece of blueberry muffin, unconcerned with their threatening posture—after all, she had all the boys surrounding her and presumably they were there for her protection. “It’s a fact of life. Everyone has to come to terms with aging. One should take a few precautions.”

“A few precautions sounds like an excellent idea,” Kane grumbled. “Pitching you into the ocean might be a good start.”

“I thought we might take a walk over the Golden Gate this afternoon,” Mack suggested helpfully, in complete agreement.

“You two have a disturbing penchant for violence,” she chided. “Perhaps you should see a shrink. I noticed it way back in high school. All those contact sports, football, boxing, fencing, karate.” She shook her head mournfully. “Violent.”

“We had a little vamp to protect,” Kane defended. “We had to be prepared.”

“I beg your pardon?” Icicles dripped from her voice. There was a distinctly regal look about her.

“She was never a vamp,” Mack disagreed. “But you were a beautiful innocent and every wolf for a hundred miles was stalking you.” There was a caressing note in the deep timbre of his voice. “We had to keep a close watch.”

Jaimie burst out laughing, the sound turning heads. “You’re crazy. The two of you obviously have a far different memory of our past than I do.”

The two men exchanged easy grins. “You never did see things you didn’t want to.” Kane was pleased with himself; it wasn’t easy diverting Jaimie when she was off on one of her tangents on nutrition. There was no way she hadn’t noticed the rest of the team infiltrating the restaurant to protect her. He knew she loved them all; she’d grown up with them, so she was happy to see them, but she didn’t like what they represented—violence, a way of life, the very thing she’d worked so hard to get out of. He wanted her happy, teasing, that carefree laugh and bright eyes to remain for as long as possible.

“Eat your steak, Kane,” Jaimie advised.

“Notice how she changes the subject when it gets a little hot?” Mack asked, his black gaze suggesting all sorts of wicked, sinful things.

Her stomach did that slow, familiar roll that Mack had been causing in her for far too long. She didn’t see how she was going to be able to let him live in the same house with her, seeing him every day. It wasn’t just that she found him sexy as hell; she liked him. She liked his humor and the way he could laugh at life.

“I’m eating, Mack,” she said trying to sound prim instead of desperate.

He had a gift of being able to focus just on her and no one or nothing else. He was doing it now, looking at her as if she were the only person in the world. Before, she had believed she was special and he saw no one but her. Now she knew better. She knew that focused stare was an amazing illusion. He saw everything in the restaurant, knew where every single person was seated and what they were wearing. He probably knew what they were eating.

She glanced down at her plate, suddenly not hungry again. She ached for him. Ached for their lost relationship.

He reached across the table and took her hand, his thumb sliding over the sensitive part of her wrist. “I don’t think that’s called eating.”

“Well, stop looking at me that way. There is nothing sexy about eating, and you’re looking at me like . . .” She made the mistake of looking up at him, of meeting his eyes, and just trailed off.

He smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Sure there is, the way you eat.”

He leaned toward her and brought her hand to his mouth, closing his lips around the tips of her fingers, his teeth gently nipping and scraping. Heat seared through her like a flash. All at once, the booth was far too small, the room too warm.