Razed (Barnes Brothers #2)(34)

*

If he had his preference, this dinner would have been at someplace quiet, with soft music, even softer lights, tablecloths, and the kind of service that was pretty much invisible.

If Zane wasn’t so determined to make everything with Keelie go exactly right, he’d have no compunction, at all, about setting the scene to seduce her.

It was harder than hell to resist that urge, because he had a feeling she wouldn’t exactly resist him if he went about seducing her.

But he didn’t just want her to fall into bed with him.

He wanted her to fall in love with him.

So instead of someplace soft and quiet, they were someplace bright and loud.

The music was a Mexican pop artist, her voice throaty and appealing, but considering she was almost drowned out by the voices of children, crying babies, and chattering adults, he couldn’t really call anything about the place romantic.

Keelie studied the drink in front of her with dubious eyes and then she looked up at him.

“It’s pink.”

“Are you telling me that you’ve been in Arizona . . . how long? It’s six years, right?” He knew she’d started working for Zach six years ago—he’d actually been there the day she came back for her follow-up interview. Zach had tried to con Zane into letting her do a “trial run” sort of tattoo. The answer had been a flat hell, no. Not just because he didn’t really want another tattoo, but even just one look at her had made him understand one thing. If she went and put her hands on him for an extended length of time, it was going to cause a noticeable reaction.

She shot him a narrow look. “I moved here about a week after Zach gave me the job. So, yeah. Six years. And what does that have to do with a pink drink? I don’t do pink.”

“It’s not the pink,” he said. “It’s prickly pear. It’s like a southwest thing. Almost like . . .” He paused, trying to come up with an adequate comparison. He grinned at her. “Kind of like Kentucky and mint juleps.”

For a moment, something flashed in her eyes.

It looked like . . .

But it was gone before he could really read it.

Then she made a face at him, miming disgust. “Out of curiosity, you ever had a mint julep? I think they’re nasty. And really, that’s a Derby thing, not a Kentucky thing. If we’re going to do regional things, choose bourbon for Kentucky.”

He studied her for a moment longer, wondering what had caused that glint, that flash of . . . memory. Pain. Fear. Then he let it go. Now wasn’t the time. “Fine, fine,” he said, pretending to grumble. “So, it’s a regional thing. What bourbon is to Kentucky, this is to here. It’s a prickly pear margarita. Try it. You just might like it. Unless you hate tequila. Do you hate tequila?”

“I don’t see how anybody can hate tequila.” She shrugged and reached out, swiping a finger through the sugar-topped rim of the glass. “I . . .” She pursed her lips and then flicked him a look. “I don’t generally drink on first date. Or second dates. Maybe not even third dates.”

Then she reached out and took the glass before he could tell her she didn’t have to—

Her eyes widened at the first drink.

“Oh.” She lowered it, eyed it. Then took another sip. A husky little sigh escaped her as she took a third. “Wow. That’s . . . dangerously good.”

He remained quiet as she lowered the glass.

When she looked back up at him, her familiar smirk firmly in place, he couldn’t find it in him to smile. “Now you get to say something like I told you so,” she said.

“Told you.” He looked down at the glass in front of him.

“What . . . don’t tell me you don’t drink them,” Keelie said.

He shot her a look.

“If it’s a pink thing, I might smack you.” She leaned back, arms crossed over her chest. “You just nudged me into trying it.”

“You got a reason for—”

“Z?”

His question was interrupted, maybe for the better, by a familiar, and somewhat incredulous voice.

Looking up, he saw Zach and Abby. Smiling, he stood up, caught Abby in a tight hug, but when he turned to Zach, there was a stiffness to him that made him pause.

Zach flicked a look between him and Keelie. “We’re interrupting.”

Keelie shifted on her chair. “Of course not,” she said, her voice losing that sharp, caustic edge of humor that almost made Zane want to bite her, or kiss her. Both.

Zane had to bite back the urge to say, Yeah, you are interrupting, especially when Keelie looked at Abby. “There’s room, if you want to join us. Zane made me drink this pink thing. I don’t do pink. But it’s good.”

Abby’s eyes widened. “You’ve never had a prickly pear margarita? Keelie, what is wrong with you?”

Zane suppressed a sigh as Abby sank down into the unoccupied seat next to Keelie. Zach was a little slower to settle in the chair next to Zane’s, and his body was decidedly rigid.

“What’s up?” Zane asked, keeping his voice easy, eyes on the two women, murmuring in that way women had, already lost in conversation with each other.

“Not much.” Zach’s voice held a weird undercurrent to it.

Zane slid him a look.

Zach was staring at the table. “I didn’t know you were coming back today.”