Rachel Gibson - I’m In No Mood For Love

“Why?” He stopped in front of her and pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. “Are you having one of your prayer circles?”

“No.” She shut the door and leaned her back against it. “I’m working.”

“Can you take an hour’s break?”

She could, but she didn’t want to spend any of her breaks with Sebastian. He smelled like crisp cold air and one of those man soaps like Irish Spring or Calvin Klein. He was acting more chipper than normal and he’d turned down his mojo, but she didn’t trust him. Now it was her turn to ask, “Why?”

“So you can come help me pick out a Christmas present for my father.”

She didn’t trust him not to try something, and she didn’t trust herself not to let him. “Wouldn’t it be easier to buy a gift in Seattle?”

“Dad’s not coming to Seattle for Christmas, and I finally found a buyer for my mother’s house. I don’t know if it’ll close in time for me to make it back here to spend it with him, so I was hoping to find something before I have to leave. You’ll help me out with this. Right?”

“Not a chance.”

He rocked back on his heels and looked down at her. “I helped you with the outdoor lights, and you said you’d help me out with Leo.”

She didn’t think that was exactly how it had happened. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Tomorrow. A whole twenty-four more hours to forget about the things he’d done with his mouth. Things besides talking. Things he was really good at doing.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” As if he read her mind, he held up his hands and said, “I won’t touch you. Believe me, I don’t want to spend another day with blue balls.”

She couldn’t believe he’d just said that to her. Wait, this was Sebastian. Of course she could believe it. He must have mistaken her astonishment for confusion because he tipped his head back and raised a brow.

“You have heard of blue balls?”

“Yes, Sebastian. I’ve heard of…” She paused and raised a hand in the air. “…of that.” She didn’t want to talk about his testicles. That seemed highly…personal. Something he’d discuss with a girlfriend.

He unzipped the front of his coat. “Don’t tell me you can’t say blue balls.”

“I can, but I prefer not to have those words in my mouth.” Lord, she hadn’t meant to sound like her mother.

Beneath his coat he wore a chambray shirt tucked into his jeans. “This, from the woman who called me a dickhead. You didn’t seem to have a problem with that in your mouth.”

“I was provoked.”

“So was I.”

Maybe, but he’d been the worst offender. Lying about them sleeping together had been worse than her accusing him of taking advantage of her. Way worse.

“Get your coat. Believe me, after yesterday, I learned my lesson. I don’t want to touch you any more than you want to touch me.”

Which was the problem. She wasn’t all that sure she didn’t want him to touch her or her to touch him. She was sure, though, that it was probably a bad idea. She frowned and looked down at herself. At the bottom of her ribbed turtleneck that didn’t quite touch the black leather belt looped in the waistband of her jeans. “I’m not really dressed for shopping.”

“Why not? You look relaxed. Not so uptight. I like you this way.”

She glanced up at him. He didn’t appear to be joking. Her hair was down and she was only wearing mascara. Sometimes her friends teased her because she put on a little makeup every day, even when she didn’t have plans to leave the house. Maddie and Lucy and Adele didn’t care if they scared the UPS man. She did. “One hour?”

“Yep.”

“I know I’m going to regret this,” she said through a sigh as she moved to the closet and reached for her coat.

“No, you won’t.” He gave her one of the lopsided smiles that creased the corners of his green eyes. “I’ll behave even if you beg me to throw you down and climb on top of you.” He stepped behind her and helped her into her black peacoat. “Well, maybe not if you beg.”

She turned her head and looked up at him as she pulled her hair from the wool collar. The ends of her hair brushed his hands before he removed them from her shoulders. “I won’t beg.”

He lowered his gaze to her mouth. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“Not from me. I mean it.”

He looked back up into her eyes. “Clare, women say a lot of things they don’t really mean. Especially you.” He stepped back and stuck his hands in his coat pockets. “Gotta purse you need to take?”

She reached for her crocodile hobo bag and hung it on one shoulder. Sebastian followed her outside, and she locked the door behind them.

“I saw a print shop downtown,” he said as he walked to the passenger side of the Town Car and opened the door. “I’d like to start there.”

The print shop was actually more of an art gallery and frame shop, and Clare had bought several pieces from the shop in the past. Today, as she and Sebastian walked through the gallery, she noticed the way he studied the paintings. He’d stop, turn his head to one side, and dip one shoulder lower than the other. She also noticed he stopped most often in front of nudes.

“I don’t think Leo would hang that one in his living room,” she said as he studied a beautiful woman laying on her stomach amidst rumpled white sheets, the sunlight caressing her bare behind.

“Probably not. Did you see anything you like in here?” he asked.

Clare pointed to a woman wearing a sheer white dress, standing on the beach and holding a baby. “I like the expression on her face. It’s blissful.”

“Hmm.” He turned his head to the side. “I’d say it’s more peaceful.” He moved in front of a chalk drawing of a nude man and woman locked in an embrace. “Now that woman’s expression is blissful.”

She would have said it was more orgasmic, if she were the kind of woman to say such things out loud in public.

In the end Sebastian chose a signed lithograph of a man and a boy standing on a big rock at the edge of the Payette River, fishing. While they looked at matte and frame samples, he asked her opinion about each and took her suggestions. He paid extra to have it finished by Christmas. Delivery was going to be a problem, considering the time crunch, and before Clare could stop herself, she volunteered to pick it up on Christmas Eve.

He looked at her out of the corners of his eyes and frowned. “No thanks.”

She smiled up at him. “I won’t wrap it in pink ribbon. I swear.”

He thought about her offer as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “If you’re sure it won’t be a problem.”

She had a signing that day and would be out and about anyway. “It won’t.”

“Okay, thanks. That’s a load off.” He handed over a platinum Visa, and when the shop owner walked away, Sebastian added, “If I could kiss you, I would.”

She turned and held up her hand as if she were a queen. Instead of kissing her knuckles, he turned her hand over, pushed back the sleeve of her coat, and placed his mouth on the inside of her wrist. “Thank you, Clare.”

Her skin actually tingled all the way up her arm, and she pulled her hand away. “You’re welcome.”

The hour he’d promised turned into three with a stop at P.F. Chang’s in the old warehouse district. They were given a table near the back of the Chinese restaurant, and Clare couldn’t help but notice the female attention that tracked them across the room. It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed it that day, the furtive glances and blatant stares as they walked down the street or through the gallery. She wondered if Sebastian noticed the way women looked at him. He didn’t seem to, but perhaps he was just used to it.