Half Empty (First Wives, #2)(37)

“Yes, but I’m not so redneck that I don’t enjoy wine once in a while.”

She doubted that.

“I do. I’ve even been wine tasting.”

“Oh, really? Where?”

“Uhm . . .” He blinked. “Napa.”

“What wine did you like the best?” she quizzed.

“Expensive.” He lifted the bottle of wine. “So if I spend a lot on the bottle, it’s got to be good, right?”

“Not really, but that’s okay. There might be something I can teach you.” Wade making an effort to please her placed several coins in his goodwill jar.

“I like the sound of that.” He handed her a glass and poured one for himself.

“To first dates.”

“First dates after we’ve shared private planes and hotels in disaster zones together.” She clicked her glass to his.

She sipped and lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “This is actually pretty good.”

Wade puffed out his chest.

“See, expensive equals good.”

Trina lifted the bottle to see the label and bit her lip. “Wade?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you consider expensive?”

He looked away. “I don’t want to tell you what I spent. Ruins the whole feeling I’m trying to create.”

She stopped him with a glare.

He shuffled his feet. “Wanna eat?”

“Wade?”

“A couple hundred dollars, I think,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

She placed the bottle down, sipped the wine. “If you paid two hundred dollars for this bottle of wine, I’d be careful of anyone trying to sell you beachfront property in Kansas.”

“There isn’t beachfro—” His charming smile fell. “Jeb said it was good,” he confessed.

She started to interrupt but he kept going.

“But I have been wine tasting, in San Francisco . . . which is technically Napa . . . ish.”

Damn, he was charming. Like a kid wiping his mouth clean of chocolate after being caught in the cookie jar.

It felt fabulous to have someone care enough to try so hard.

“Don’t hold it against me. I wanted to impress you.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Really?” He stopped shuffling.

“I am. I don’t know why you’re trying so hard.”

He put the glass of wine down. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been busting my nuts just to get you here. Now that you are, I don’t want to blow it with the wrong wine or my mom doing her best iceberg interpretation.”

She set her wine next to his. “You can’t control your mother or how she’s acting, and if you don’t know about wine, it isn’t a deal breaker. I’m here, whether I should or shouldn’t be.”

“You definitely should be.”

Again with the charm.

He stared, his gaze moving to her lips.

Would he . . .

Wouldn’t he . . .

“We should eat.” He looked away.

Her heart dropped. “Or you could kiss me.”

Apparently Wade didn’t have to be told twice.

Two steps and he pulled her into his arms and didn’t give her a chance to say she was kidding. Not that she was.

His lips were on hers like an exclamation point, his hand to the back of her head. It was as if he was shocked to be there, until he wrapped his arm around her waist and softened his hold.

With every ounce of breath, he moved into their kiss and let her know that this was something he was good at. It wasn’t wine, it wasn’t controlling his mother . . . it was seduction.

He moved slowly, like there wasn’t a care in the world other than letting her feel their lips mingle, his tongue ask permission and then take possession. He was smooth, unhurried as he sparked fire under her skin.

This was good, probably too good.

He changed his angle, explored deeper.

And he held her. As if he never wanted to let her go.

She wasn’t sure how long they kissed or if the lack of oxygen broke it off or the sound of a distant animal brought them around. But when Wade’s lips left hers, he’d left a little of himself behind.

“Wow,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

“I’m happy to hear you say that.” His eyes peered into hers. “I want to take this slow, and I’ve never wanted to take anything like this slow before in my life.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

He took a conscious step back and pulled out her chair. “Let’s eat.”



He couldn’t sleep.

The memory of her lips, the taste of her heart . . . and she was one door away.

“No.”

He had to say the word out loud to stop him from walking the few steps to her room. Wade Thomas was good at a number of things . . . singing, charmin’, seducing . . . and making older women wish they could turn back the clock . . . but he sucked at waiting. Holding back for Trina put him, and his body, in the most uncomfortable position he’d been in for a mighty long time.

What kind of masochist was he that he welcomed the feeling? If it wasn’t pitch-black outside, he’d saddle up Black Star and take the stallion for a ride. He probably wouldn’t survive it, but it would match the burning he felt all over.