Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(36)
He walked to her, laughing. “Don’t think so.”
“Is this some macho thing?,” she huffed. “Because—”
“Easy, now.” He put up his hand. “No, I don’t like ridin’ bitch, but it’s not that. I won’t fit in that bitty cage of yours. I could wear that thing like a shoe.”
She drove a pale blue, late-model Beetle. He had a point. But then what? She huffed again and crossed her arms, frustrated. She looked good. He thought she looked good. She didn’t want to change.
“I’ll go back and get my truck. Take me twenty minutes.”
She didn’t want that, either. Well, at least he’d seen her in the skirt. “No, no. I’ll change. I’ll just run back and put some jeans on instead.”
“Sure?”
She nodded, and he mirrored the gesture. But when she started to turn back toward her office and the apartment beyond it, he caught her hand. She loved the feeling of his huge hand enfolding her much smaller one.
“Hold up. It’s a good skirt. Can I…?” He put his other hand on her hip and met her eyes.
Not quite sure what he planned, she cocked her head but didn’t deny him. His face gone suddenly serious, Show gripped her hips, then slid his hands back and over her ass. He hadn’t touched her so intimately since the night of Badger’s party, and the muscles between her legs got tight and hot. She swayed a little, closing her eyes, and he leaned in. “It’s a real good skirt. I’ve seen you in it before.” His voice was low, barely more than a rumble.
She blinked, surprised, and looked up to see him staring at her. Then she remembered—back in the summer, the day she’d helped him get the boxes. Oh, she liked that he remembered that. She put her hands on his chest, feeling the swell of his pecs even through his kutte, jacket, and shirt.
His eyes were serious and intent. She thought he was going to bend down and kiss her, but then he stepped back. “You should get changed.”
Derailed and breathless, Shannon took a second to get her feet under her again. She cleared her throat and nodded. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay. Hey—no high heels, either. And a warm jacket.”
It was a damn shame to change into jeans and low-heeled boots, but she made the best of it. She’d just done laundry, at least, so she had her best-fitting jeans available. Jeans were a tough fit for a woman with hips and a narrow waist, but this pair worked. She grabbed her brown leather jacket.
When she got back out to the parlor, Show was standing at the window, looking out. He didn’t seem to hear her coming, so she went to stand next to him. “Okay, ready.”
He turned and smiled. “That works, too.” With one finger, he traced the wide neckline of her sweater.
“You are somethin’ to see.”
Shannon took a step back and pulled her jacket on. He was being extra sweet and romantic tonight.
Maybe this was his way of being on a date. She liked it, but it made her nervous. He wasn’t staying over.
They weren’t going there again until he’d done whatever he needed to do to “figure his shit out.” She’d forgone shaving to make sure of it.
“I’m hungry. Wine and dine me.”
He took her hand and ushered her out of the inn.
oOo
Shannon had never been on a motorcycle before. Show handed her a helmet, told her what to do, and swung his leg over. She got on behind him and wrapped her arms around him. She definitely liked that. In fact, once she got over her nerves—she thought she’d made his first couple of turns harder, because she forgot to move with him and might have freaked out just a little—she liked it a great deal. Wrapped around him, feeling his big, muscular body against her chest and arms and legs, feeling the engine rumble through the seat…yeah, that was nice. It was quite cold, but his warm body provided a wonderful wind break, and she tipped her head against his back when the wind was too brisk on her face.
When they got to the Chop House, he stayed on and held out his arm, helping her off. After he got off and took her helmet, he took off his leather gloves and brushed her hair from her face. The parking lot was dark, but she could feel the intensity of his expression. He bent down and touched a quick kiss to her lips.
She was very glad she had not shaved. Foolproof.
The Chop House was pretty quiet; only three other tables were seated when Show and Shannon came in. Mac Evans, the realtor, with a woman Shannon had never seen before, had a booth near the door. Mayor Fosse and his wife, Margery, had a table. And Hollywood. All three of them—David, Austin, and Harrie— sitting in the one large, round, corner booth. David was facing directly out from the corner and saw Show and Shannon being led to a table. He met Shannon’s eyes and held them, long enough to feel creepy. Show must have picked up on it, too, somehow, because he stepped to her side, between her and David, and put his arm around her shoulders.
When they were seated at a booth out of sight of the Hollywood group, and Wendy, their waitress, had taken their drink orders (Shannon ordered a beer; the first time she’d been to the Chop House, she’d tried to order wine, and then a whiskey sour. It hadn’t gone well.), Show asked, “You havin’ a problem with the writer? He movin’ on you, too?”
Straight to the point. Show didn’t dance around with words. It had taken a long time to get him to talk to her, and they still weren’t talking, either of them, about anything deeply personal, but if he had a question, he asked it. If he had an observation, he made it. If he had a complaint, he lodged it. Shannon liked that.