Right. She straightened in her seat, determined not to relax her guard around him, or let him know she was still smarting over what had happened. She was determined to forget all about yesterday, pretend she’d dreamed the whole thing. Well, except the orgasm. She wanted to remember that. She wanted to hug and hold that memory because, as far as she could remember, it was the only time her head had completely blown off her shoulders and then settled back into place.
The waitress sauntered over, lazy and laid-back as she’d been all evening. But when she reached the table, she did a double take and offered Oliver a much bigger smile than she’d offered Candace. “Hey, there, Mr. McKean. Nice to see you again!”
The woman practically simpered. Ugh.
“You want the usual?” the woman asked.
“Sure.”
She was back with his beer in record time. “Can I get you something else? Anything at all?”
Candace gripped her hands together under the table, determined not to react. It wasn’t easy, especially when the woman responded to Oliver’s request for a menu by leaning over him to grab a paper one standing between two condiment bottles on the back of the table. Her ample breasts rubbed his shoulders. He didn’t appear to mind.
Once the waitress had walked away, after telling him to think about what he wanted, Candace said, “Gee, who’s going to defend your honor?”
His jaw may have softened a bit. “You offering?”
“You didn’t look like you needed—or wanted—any help.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound jealous.”
“How fortunate that you know better.”
She reached into her purse, tucking her phone back inside. Before he’d shown up, she’d been planning to pull out some cash, pay her bill and leave. Now that he was here, though, she found herself wanting to stay.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay, let me order, then I’ll walk you to your car.”
And leave him here to be the blue plate special for the big-boobed waitress? Not a chance.
“I’m fine,” she replied sweetly. “I was thinking about ordering dessert.” She grabbed another menu, skimmed over the offerings and decided on her very favorite: a dish of ice cream. Simple, easy, nonsuggestive, delicious vanilla ice cream.
After they’d ordered, they spoke briefly about her grandfather, and his reaction to their find in his wine cellar. The old man had been ecstatic, and had immediately started making plans for what he would do with the money. Most of his ideas had to do with helping out his family—her included—and for a moment, Candace had allowed herself to think she would not have to marry for money. Then she remembered. She wasn’t really marrying for money. She was marrying for friendship. And no amount of money could ever replace Tommy in her life.
However she felt about Oliver as a man—and potential lover—she had to give him credit: he was a conscientious employee, though she suspected the relationship between the two men had moved beyond professional to personal. Grandpa liked him…that was quite obvious, and the feeling appeared to be reciprocated.
She was a little surprised by their conversation. Once they’d turned the focus away from them—the sexual tension that was so thick between them she was surprised she could see him across the table—she found Oliver very easy to talk to.
They chatted about the wine, and the results of the phone calls Candace had made today to an expert in the region. He had given her the number of an auction house in San Francisco, saying if she really did have the bottles she’d mentioned, they’d be begging for the chance to sell them. If not rich, Buddy was at least going to be a lot more comfortable soon.
The waitress returned with Oliver’s hamburger a short time later, and brought Candace’s ice cream. She waited until the woman had left to pick up the spoon and help herself to a small amount. Lifting it to her lips, she almost cooed, seeing the tiny black flecks of vanilla bean. This was her favorite treat. Not terribly decadent or exciting, but she had always had a thing for plain vanilla.
“You gonna marry that stuff or eat it?”
Startled, she almost dropped the spoon. She’d apparently been oohing and aahing over it before she’d even brought a spoonful to her lips. And, for a change, there had been absolutely nothing deliberate about it. She wasn’t trying to tease him, taunt him or make him regret walking away from her yesterday. She just liked ice cream.
“I don’t usually eat dessert.”
“Don’t let me stop you.”
She inserted the spoon into her mouth and sighed in pleasure, closing her eyes as the creamy sweetness hit her tongue and made her taste buds burst to life. “How can something so plain and simple taste so incredibly good?”
The question had been a rhetorical one, but Oliver looked like he was giving it serious thought. Very serious. He appeared contemplative and stared at her, hard. Some devil within her made her dip the spoon into the dish and draw more toward her mouth, knowing he was watching, rapt and attentive.
“Mmm.” She licked every drop, loving the tingle as the cold refreshment slid over her tongue and down her throat.
Okay, so now she was being deliberately provocative. But he so totally deserved it.
He grabbed his burger and started to eat it, not looking toward her again. Which made eating the ice cream a little less fun, though no less delicious.
She knew she shouldn’t mess with him, shouldn’t play with fire, but he’d been sending her mixed signals since the moment they’d met.
Takes one to know one.
True.
She scooped more, making another sound of satisfaction.
“You’re such a brat.”
She smiled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She licked the spoon clean, wiggling with delight.
“Would you stop it?” he asked after she’d swallowed.
“Stop what?”
“Stop licking that spoon like you’re thinking about sex.”
“I am thinking about sex,” she admitted, licking again. She saw no reason to be coy and wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “I’ve been thinking about it since last night. How could I not?”
He leaned over the table, coming closer, making everything around them disappear. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Funny, I don’t feel like I’m getting burned. In fact, it’s quite chilly.”
He took another bite of his burger, chewing the thing like he had to wrangle it into submission. When she began to help herself to another spoonful of her dessert, he cast her a warning look. “Time for either a subject change or a table change. Your choice.”
Meaning he would get up and leave her here alone if she didn’t stop tormenting him? How cute was that? She honestly hadn’t realized he would be that affected by her engaging in a little food foreplay. But she didn’t want him changing tables. Not when the waitress might very well decide to take a break and plop down on his lap.
“Okay, subject change. Grandpa mentioned that you had a connection to the estate. Your great-grandfather was the silent movie star who built it?” That had surprised her, especially given Oliver’s apparent disdain for the movie business.
“Yeah.” He looked relieved she’d done as he asked. “A million years ago. I never knew him.”
“Have