Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(37)

She wasn’t sure how she felt about his jealousy, which was really possessiveness, and was far out of proportion to the seriousness of what they were doing, at least so far. He’d been jealous and possessive almost before they’d known each other at all. She was surprised to find that she didn’t completely hate it.

But she had to tread carefully, because early indications suggested a tendency in him to deal with such matters with something other than diplomacy.

Still, she didn’t want to lie to him. They were figuring each other out, and she was trying to remember to stay open. She wanted to try a real connection for once, with Show, if he could make one with her. So, no fictions, no carefully crafted truths.

On the other hand, she didn’t want him leaping over the tables to rip David’s lungs out, either, and she thought he might take it ill if she actually described in any kind of detail what had happened before he’d arrived this evening. Thinking about it, she brushed her hand gingerly over the sore spot on her head. It wasn’t too bad anymore.

“He made a pass, yes. But he backed off.” Both of those statements were true and served as a fitting summary of the event, she thought.

“He doesn’t seem so backed off to me.” He sat up tall and looked over the half wall between their booth and the corner booth. “Those guys are both *s.”

“It’s handled, Show. I don’t need to be rescued.” Setting aside the fact that she’d actually used him, inflating their relationship, to extricate herself from David’s advances, that is.

A hard look passed through his eyes. “I will not let you get hurt. Period.”

Feeling like they were treading on dangerous history, she smiled and put her hand over his clenched fist. “Nobody hurt me. It’s handled. Not the first time a man’s made a pass at me. Probably won’t be the last. You don’t need to get all Rambo when it happens. Even if something starts between us.”

His brows drew together. “You don’t think something’s already started here?”

“I think you said you needed to figure things out first, and that was not much more than a week ago.

So, no, I don’t think something has already started.” Probably not true in the strictest sense—she knew she was pretty far gone over this guy already—but certainly true in the official sense.

Wendy came back then with Shannon’s beer and Show’s whiskey, straight, and two glasses of ice water.

She took their orders—Porterhouse, extra rare, for Show, and a medium rare filet for Shannon—and left.

As soon as she was clear of the table, Show picked right back up. “Do you want something to start?”

“We need to get to know each other before there’s an answer to that question.”

He drank his whiskey down and set the empty glass at the outer edge of the table. “I think that’s a bullshit way to avoid the question. What do you want?”

And now she was pissed. She knew he’d been married a long time, but he couldn’t be so rusty that he thought picking a fight was a good idea on a date—a first date, in point of fact. “What are you doing? Why am I the one on the spot here? You’re the one who freaked out when we got close. Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

He didn’t answer. For long, uncomfortable seconds, they stared at each other, and if she had had any other way to get home, Shannon would have left. But Signal Bend didn’t exactly have a cab company, and she wasn’t about to go over to the Hollywood table and ask them for a ride back.

Finally, he sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Let’s talk about something else, try to have a nice supper.”

The next ten minutes or so were awkward and quiet between them, but they got a few more rounds, and their food came, and they found a way to chat. The dinner turned out okay.

He had some things to work out, definitely. And Shannon did, too. She hoped they could. She felt fairly sure that the thing that kept him in her head so much, and that made her feel so buzzy inside when he touched her, was the ‘spark’ she’d always talked about needing and had never found. Even when he frustrated her, infuriated her, hurt her, she felt something she’d never felt before: excitement. She’d never been excited about someone. She been pleased. Flattered. Content. But not excited. Show stirred her blood.

He took her back to the inn and walked her to the door. She didn’t invite him in. But she didn’t resist when he turned her around and put her back against the door, leaning into her and claiming her mouth, his hands clutching her head and her hip, his tongue deep and hard. She could feel his erection against her belly, like a steel rod in his jeans.

The feel of his beard brushing over her cheeks and lips, of his huge body leaning into hers, his hand covering the whole back of her head. The rich, male smell of him, whiskey and leather and man. She loved it all. Her hands grasping fistfuls of his kutte, she held him close, thinking maybe not having shaved wasn’t an absolute deal-breaker.

He tore his mouth from hers with a rough growl and kissed her jaw, her neck, her shoulder, pulling her jacket and sweater away so he could suck and nibble at her skin.

“Jesus, you taste…” He didn’t finish. Instead, he stepped back. Shannon felt dizzy and disoriented.

He took her chin in his hand, his thumb over her lower lip. “You ask me what I want. You. I want to be good for you. I got some things to work out before I’m any good for anybody.”