Jill Monroe - Hitting the Mark

She glanced his way. His lips were twisting in a smile. “Bring us a slice,” she told the waitress. “Put it on my bill. Do you like cheesecake, Eric?” she asked when the waitress hurried away. His name tasted delectable in her mouth.

“I’m not one for sweet things.”

That was a point in her favor because she was a lot of things, but sweet wasn’t one of them.

“You’re a student?” he asked. “I noticed your book.”

“I’m going to court reporting school at night. I wait tables during the day. Wednesday is my free day.”

“You work at one of the casinos?”

Danni almost coughed. As if she wouldn’t immediately be “escorted” out of any casino. “No, a diner. What about you? You mentioned a hotel?”

“I only recently moved to Reno. The company’s putting me up in a hotel until I can find my own place.”

That explained the corporate haircut. That explained a lot of things.

“What is it that you—” The waitress interrupted her question when she placed the cheesecake on the table.

How could anyone talk with this tasty bit of heaven between them? Chocolate cookie crust, a scrumptious white chocolate ganache with a dark chocolate spiderweb design. With eager anticipation, Danni took a bite. She immediately closed her eyes and moaned. Ahhh, those spiders were always offering something bad for you. It was the ultimate in chocolate indulgence. The creaminess of the cheesecake melted in her mouth.

“That good, huh?” he asked, his voice tight.

Danni opened her eyes and met his gaze. Oh, yeah, there was fire and heat in his eyes. The only thing that could take her mind off the best tasting thing on the planet was sitting right in front of her. Had she ever been this attracted to a guy this quickly?

“Want a bite?” she asked, her voice turning low and husky.

“Sure.”

“I thought you weren’t one for sweet things.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

She cut off a portion of her cheesecake and reached across the table. His brown eyes never left hers as his mouth took the chocolate from her fork, his lips touching where hers had been. His gaze became intense as he savored the mouthful. “I could really get used to that,” he said.

A shiver ran down her spine. They weren’t talking about dessert.

“How is it?” their waitress asked, returning to slide the check facedown on the table toward Danni.

“It’s excellent,” Danni replied. “Why don’t you bring us another piece?”

Eric shook his head, glancing down at his watch. “Actually, I have to go.”

Disappointment made the cheesecake lose its flavor. She looked at the waitress. “Bring it to go.”

Eric shook his head as if to clear it. An odd tenseness seemed to enter his body. His back seemed more rigid, his hands falling to his sides. “You don’t have to do that,” he told her. This was no polite I-really-want-you-to kind of refusal.

“No, I want to.”

“Thanks,” he said, reclining in his seat, the warmth and humor is his eyes gone. What had she done?

So here it was. The brush-off. His body language couldn’t be more evident if he’d crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Eric shifted in his chair. And yes, there was the arm cross. Maybe that hot chemistry she felt wasn’t mutual at all.

“How about you give me your phone number. I’ll call you,” Eric said.

His lips were moving, but his actions didn’t fit with the words. He made no move to whip out a pen or a piece of paper. She was putting an end to this here and now. In fact, she would take the to-go cheesecake, too.

“Listen, I know ‘I’ll call you’ is the male equivalent of ‘let’s be friends.’ We don’t have to go through that scenario.”

Eric uncrossed his arms and leaned into the table. There it was again. That sense of danger. That zip of attraction she felt between them. His eyes grew hooded. “I want your number, Danni.”

If he’d said I want you naked, on this table, it couldn’t have been any less heated than how he’d said he wanted her number. She could feel goose bumps along her arms. And her legs. And even on her ears. He was better than cheesecake.

Against her instinct, she opened her purse and took out a pen and a piece of paper. She also slid Eric’s five dollars and enough extra cash to cover the bill, plus tip, onto the table.

“You know what?” he began. “In any other circumstance, I’d hand back a woman’s money and use my card. But I’m willing to bet you’d instantly consider me just like every other guy you’ve met, wouldn’t you? Traditional. Boring. So, all right. I’ll let you pay for my coffee, and I’m gonna enjoy it.”

This man so did it for her. After scribbling her name and number onto the paper, she handed it to Eric.

His fingers brushed against hers. She ignored the tingles he gave her with such a simple touch. “That telephone number expires after two days. No waiting to call me to whet my appetite. No game playing. If you want to see me again, you just say so.”

Eric took the paper from her and pocketed the number in his shirt. Not a hint of his thoughts registered on his face. How frustrating. With a nod, she got up and left, walking quickly to her car.

As she slammed the key into the ignition, she realized she’d left the cheesecake behind.

WITH HER LAUNDRY DONE, Danni steered her car toward the highway ready to take the forty-minute drive to Carson City. Wednesday afternoons were reserved for her dad. She owed him that much. Or so he kept reminding her.

The halfway house was a lot better than the visiting rooms courtesy of Nevada’s prison system, but since most of her teachers predicted she’d wind up as one of Nevada’s “guests” herself, it was no wonder she felt uncomfortable there. That and the fact that any lawenforcement official automatically made her uneasy. Dad said it was in the genes. And some days she believed him.

She found her father tending one of the small gardens at the back of the house. If anyone had bet her a thousand dollars that Daniel Flynn would enjoy getting his hands dirty, she would have upped the ante and called them a sucker.

But she’d be the one paying because her dear old dad had taken a keen interest in horticulture, and she did have to admit, the deep purple flowers he’d coaxed to bloom under the hot Nevada sun thrived. He’d even sent her home with a sack of fresh snap peas once. Yeah, there was another ironic observation there, but it was too hot outside to make it right now.

She dumped her backpack on the ground next to her father. “Hi, Dad. I got the book on plants in dry soils you wanted.”

Her father looked up, squinting in the sunlight. “Danielle, my love. That’s the first thing you say to me? No, I missed you? Come give your da a kiss.”

“Ah, so we’re Irish today,” she said, good-naturedly.

“Never discount the importance of an authentic-sounding accent. Those of the British Isles are especially good about not sounding cheap. Let’s hear your Scottish.”

Danni merely shook her head. Growing up, there were Irish Days. Russian Days. Australian Days. All great fun when a person is eight and before men in uniforms with real cop accents knock on the door.

She unfolded the pamphlet she’d stuffed in her back pocket and placed a kiss on his cheek. “This is the information about the horticulture classes at the community college. There’s still time to enroll.”

“Ahhh, like your dear old ma, trying to set my feet on the straight and narrow path.” Her dad’s eyes twinkled. After her mother died, those blue eyes of his had led many a woman on the wavy and broad path to sin.

“Just humor me and take the pamphlet.”

Her dad took the flyer and stored it in his gardener’s bucket. He nodded sadly. “I may have to find legitimate work. With the Internet now, it makes it harder to run a good con. Everybody’s a cynic.”