She lifted her head, narrowing her eyes at her reflection in the mirror.
We’re just two people conspiring to teach Uncle Harry a lesson, she told her reflection sternly. Eli isn’t really interested in me—I’m not his girlfriend and he’s not my boyfriend.
Not really. She repeated the words in her mind but she couldn’t ignore the mirror’s reflection of the anticipation that flushed her cheeks and sparkled in her eyes.
She turned away from the mirror and its too-revealing image, drawing a deep breath and straightening her lips in an attempt to erase the smile.
Then she pulled open the door.
Chapter Seven
“Hi.” Unfortunately, she suspected her expression told him exactly how happy she was to see him, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”
“I thought you might be hungry, so I picked up a pizza—unless the food at the party was good …?” He lifted a square box in one hand; his other held a six-pack of imported beer.
“The food was awful, actually. Come in.” She caught his arm and pulled him inside, closing the door to lead him to the kitchen. “You’re drenched. It must be raining harder than it was when I came home.” She drew in a deep breath when he set the pizza box down on the table and lifted the top. “That smells like heaven.” With perfect timing, her stomach let out a low rumble.
“I’m guessing that means you are hungry?” A smile curved his lips as he shrugged out of his damp jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. He wore faded, well-worn jeans and a light blue polo shirt, the fabric stretching snugly over the hard, defined muscles of chest and thighs.
“That means I’m starving!” She laughed and opened cabinet doors to take out plates. “Why don’t you take off your boots and set them on the floor grate over there.” She pointed at the scrollwork vent under the window. “I use the vents for my shoes all the time—works like a charm.”
Eli nodded and pulled off his boots, padding in stockinged feet to set them on the grate.
“Will you grab some napkins out of the drawer next to the sink?” Frankie plied a wheeled cutter with quick efficiency, cutting the pizza into slices.
They carried loaded plates and napkins into the living room, Eli balancing two bottles of beer and a single glass for Frankie.
“Are you sure you don’t want a glass?” she asked, curling one leg beneath her as she sat on the sofa, balancing her plate on her lap.
“Positive.” Eli set his plate on the coffee table while he removed bottle caps, pouring a glass for Frankie and setting it on the lamp table next to her at the end of the sofa. “Real men drink beer straight from the bottle.”
Frankie rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll let that pass,” she said magnanimously. “I’m feeling kindly toward you since you knocked on my door bearing edible gifts.” She lifted her slice of pizza. “Mmm.”
Moments passed while they concentrated on their pizza.
“So, how boring was the cocktail party?” Eli asked after he’d finished his first slice.
“Deadly.”
“That bad, huh?”
Frankie pursed her lips, considering. “On the scale of really bad, it was somewhere between the torture of sitting through an hour lecture on the conception process of boll weevils and the Spanish Inquisition.”
“Whoa.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not even going to tell you about the most boring work party I was ever forced to attend. You win.”
She smiled sunnily, the last remnants of weary annoyance from a long day fading away. “Sometimes parties at work aren’t boring—I think this one wasn’t enjoyable because it was last-minute on a Friday night. Plus I was annoyed that it forced me to change our plans.”
“I know what you mean.” He nodded and picked up another pizza slice. They ate in companionable silence.
Frankie finished her second piece with a sigh of contentment, set her plate on the coffee table and picked up the remote.
“Is there anything you want to watch?”
“ESPN.”
“No.”
“Oh, come on,” he coaxed. “I brought you pizza—and there’s a Knicks game on tonight.”
“How about a compromise? I won’t make you watch a chick flick if you don’t make me watch a ball game.”
He tipped his bottle and eyed her over the rim. “How about a guy movie?”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What, exactly, are we talking about here?”
“Cruise through the channel listings and I’ll show you.”
“Okay.” Frankie thumbed the remote and brought up the channel log. “See anything interesting?”
They finally settled on an action film starring Will Smith.
As the opening credits began to roll, rain hammered against the windows outside. January in Seattle often brought winter storms roaring in off the Pacific to pound the city with wind and rain. Tonight was clearly no exception.
Inside, Frankie curled her legs under her. Eli stretched his long legs out in front of him, propping his feet on the coffee table, ankles crossed.
The wind whistled around the corner of the building. Frankie looked at the windows, where the shadowy shapes of tree branches, tossing in the wind, were visible in the faint glow from streetlights.
“Brr.” She shivered, clutching a throw pillow against her middle. “I’m glad we’re not at Harry’s. We’d have to drive home in this.”
“It’s nasty out there,” Eli agreed. He looked sideways at her. “Come here.” He reached out and wrapped one arm around her shoulders, toppling her sideways against him. Her head rested on his shoulder, his arm cradling her. Startled, she twisted to look up at him, but he gently pushed her head back down on his shoulder. “This is more comfortable,” he told her before pointing at the screen. “Shh, the movie’s starting.”
He’s right, Frankie thought as she wriggled slightly and stretched out her legs on the sofa cushions. This is very comfortable. His chest was warm and solid against her side, his arm draped around her enclosed her in a warm cocoon of male heat and his shoulder was the perfect cushion for her head.
“You still have freckles,” he murmured a few moments later, trailing a fingertip over the bridge of her nose.
She tilted her head back to look up and found him watching her instead of the television screen. “You noticed I had freckles?” she asked, surprised.
“Of course.” He looked faintly insulted. “You were a cute little kid with a little spray of freckles just over your nose and your cheekbones.”
His head lowered, and he brushed soft, tasting kisses over her face, following the arch of her cheekbone. Frankie’s breath caught.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he murmured as he drew back a few inches.
“Have you?” she whispered. His thick, dark lashes were half lowered as he cupped her chin in his palm and stroked his thumb over her cheek. She shivered. The faintly rough pad of his thumb moved against her sensitive skin, stirring heat in her midsection. His lashes lifted, his gaze leaving her mouth and lifting to meet hers. Desire, hot and alive, lit his eyes. Her skin warmed, flushing under his stare.
“Eli, I don’t want to mistake what’s happening here.”