Fury on Fire (Devil's Rock #3)(58)

“Never?” Brendan grinned as he lifted the glass of wine to his lips.

“Well, definitely not my dad or brothers. I might have starved if I had to rely on them. My life would have consisted of eating out and grilled cheese sandwiches.” She used the side of her fork to cut into her lasagna. “Now I love a grilled cheese, just not five times a week.”

She bit into the lasagna, ignoring that the noodle sheets were a little too al dente. It could have used another twenty minutes in the oven.

He was right. He was a passable cook, but hey. He had cooked. No man had ever done that for her before. That was saying something.

Al dente noodles or not, he had made a pretty good lasagna. Definite bonus points for that even if he had apologized for the fact that the sauce wasn’t homemade. She figured most of the world bought tomato sauce in a jar. She always made sauce the way her mother did. From scratch. It was a tradition. A way to keep her mom alive.

“You get major props,” she complimented.

“I can’t lie though. I bought the tiramisu from Angelo’s.”

Her smile deepened. He really was nice—that he had even cared to do this . . . to order a tiramisu and pick it up for their date. It only took him practically two weeks to follow up with the second date.

She shoved that negative little voice aside. He had an important and demanding job. She could appreciate that.

“Well, I’m having a nice time.” And she meant it. She was having a nice time. Nice. Argh! There was that word again. It was as though something was wrong with it. Damn North and damn Wendy for putting it into her head that nice wasn’t good enough.

She stood to gather their plates.

“Let me help,” he said, rising to his feet.

They cleared the table together and he pulled the tiramisu out of her fridge.

“Hm?” She cocked her head. “Wine and tiramisu . . . or should I make coffee?” They stood in the cramped space between her island and the refrigerator. She held up the bottle of wine thoughtfully while he held the cake.

His gentle eyes looked down at her and suddenly she didn’t think he was thinking about cake. His Adam’s apple bobbed and his eyes glanced to her mouth before looking away.

He suddenly cleared his throat. “I don’t think wine can ever be a mistake . . .”

He’d changed his mind. For whatever reason. Shyness. He thought it was too soon. North’s texts flashed across her mind. Have fun. He was so smug he thought she was wasting her time with Brendan.

Resolve steeling her spine, she set the wine bottle down. He watched her movements, his head moving almost owl-like as she plucked the cake from his hands and set that on the island behind him.

“What are—” he started to say, but she cut him off. Leaning forward, she grasped his shirt and tugged him closer. His eyes widened, darting from her eyes to her lips. She inched closer. Close enough for her to press her mouth to his. To kiss him.

He responded readily enough after a fraction of hesitation. It was a good kiss. Proficient, she thought as his lips moved against hers. She’d had worse.

She winced inside. She’d had worse? Not the best method of measurement. She willed the heat, the sparks to race along her nerves. She deepened the kiss, tracing his lips with her tongue. His breathing picked up, hot air rushing from his nose to moisten her face.

His hands shifted from her back to her shoulders, as though he wasn’t sure where to put them. She grasped them herself, put his hands on the small of her back and leaned her body against the long line of his, pressing her breasts into his chest.

He worked out. There was that. Nothing soft about him and yet . . .

Sudden music blared on the air, making them jump apart. Her hands flew to her ears as Guns N’ Roses welcomed them to the jungle.

Her wild eyes went to her kitchen wall. Her framed picture of coffee mugs rattled against the wall—the shared wall.

Brendan shouted unnecessarily, with one hand over his ear and the other hand pointing to North’s place. “Your neighbor is playing music really loud!!”

North! That jerk! He was trying to ruin her date.

She nodded, murder pumping fast in her heart. “Do you want to move into the living room?” she shouted.

He nodded.

She took his hand and led him to her couch, determined that North would not wreck this night for her.

Unfortunately, the music followed them. She forced a smile. “Who doesn’t like Guns N’ Roses?” she yelled.

“What?” He held a hand up to his ears.

She tried a second time as she sank down on the couch. “Who doesn’t like Guns N’ Roses?”

“What!?” He shook his head and pointed to his ears like some elderly man trying to convey that he was hard of hearing.

Oh, never mind. She grabbed him by the shirt and leaned over him again, intent on continuing. North would not be right about this.

Suddenly a loud motor revved to life directly in front of her house.

“What the—”

The loud spray of water hit her living room with hurricane force. She squeaked and lunged off her couch. Brendan stood beside her. “Sounds like a power washer,” he shouted. “You hire someone to do your windows tonight?”

“No,” she fumed. “I did not.”

She marched to her front door over the loud screeching of Axl Rose, the roar of a power washer and water blasting her living room window. She wrenched open her door and marched outside, managing to get caught directly in the water hose’s line of fire.