“Yes, but there is no Central Park.” I hurriedly wrapped both hands around my coffee.
“Even better, Forest Park. It’s like five times the size.” His clear blue eyes appraised me, blinking slowly like a cat. A predator. “My favorite is that they keep parking tickets under twenty bucks. I can go six months on the cost of a single parking ticket in New York.”
My cheeks tightened in a grin. Best not to tell Scott that tidbit. He’d add it to his arsenal. “That may be true, but I’m already missing the restaurants.”
He cocked his head to the side. “You just don’t know where to look. After all, the James Beard House may be in New York, but James Beard lived here.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
His foot slid against mine, but he looked right at me as if nothing had happened. “I had lots of reservations before we moved, and as an actor, my chances in New York were much higher.”
Of course he was an actor. Most people with his features would want to make something off their genetic good luck. “And still you moved.”
He shrugged. “The theater scene isn’t that bad, and they film more movies here every year. Besides, my wife just keeps getting promoted. She’s busier, but happier.”
My shoulders relaxed. He was married. I had to be imagining that he was flirting. Being upset about the move was causing me to look at everything with a jaundiced eye. “And you? Are you happy here?”
His fingers strummed on the table. “Happiness is what you make of it. I admire that Portlanders will start a petition to change things while New Yorkers prefer to kvetch. And I like that the train works on the honor system. Not like New York where the subway has turnstiles and all other kinds of monitoring. People here believe what you tell them.”
“Like me?” I gave a pert smile and took a sip of my coffee. Either my mind was working overtime, or he’d just insinuated something without saying anything untoward. Clever. Too clever.
“Like my wife when I tell her I sat alone at the coffee shop.” His magnetic eyes looked hungrily at me as he rose from the table, reaching a hand into the back pocket of his snug jeans. He pulled out a crimson business card, setting it on the table in front of me. “You should try it.”
I picked up the card. Ted Durham. Acting coach. “I should try acting?”
“Telling people what they want to hear, and doing what you want to do. You’ll enjoy Portland a lot more. I promise.” With a slow, all-knowing wink, he made his way out the door, leaving me holding his card.
Chapter 4
“O h good, you’re in the shower.”
I pulled aside the curtain, peeking out to find Scott fully dressed in the bathroom. “If it is good, then why are your clothes on?”
“We have reservations in an hour. Since you’re in the shower now, you’ll be ready by then.” He turned on his heel and marched out of the steam-filled room.
“Unbelievable.” I closed the shower curtain and leaned back under the spray. A summons to dinner after ignoring me all day. He couldn’t do that in New York, mainly because going out required arranging for a babysitter, but still.
I took a deep breath, trying to find some enthusiasm about going out. I loved restaurants. Food was my passion. And yet I knew it would be some stuffy, mass produced place. Scott didn’t see the adventure in finding a rare gem with perfect tiramisu.
Why was it everything he did rubbed me the wrong way? I laughed at the thought. Not everything .
“That is not good for a man’s ego.”
I blinked away the water to find Scott climbing into the shower with me. I turned to the side so he could move closer, stepping into the spray. “Trying to hurry me along?”
“Not exactly.” His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me to him.
“What exactly?” I blinked up at him, giving my best coquettish grin. He licked his lips and my stomach flipped. Perhaps he’d have me for dinner instead of whatever pretentious restaurant he thought suitable.
“I thought you might need some help washing those hard to reach places.”
I laughed as his hands skimmed over my sides, around to my back. “Won’t that make us late for your reservations?”
“We have small children. We’re very efficient.”
I laughed harder at his serious tone. “What is this, some kind of working second honeymoon?”
Scott leaned closer, kissing my neck while his hands traveled lower. “That sounds good.”
“Not the working part. I don’t get a hello, and already your hands are on my ass?”
“You never were an easy piece, Jess.” He rested his forehead against mine, water dripping off his hair. His hands worked up to my hips, his body pressing against mine until my back pressed against the tile wall.
“Would you want me to be?” Never going to happen. I was having a hard enough time dealing with moving; becoming a Stepford wasn’t on the agenda.
“Where’s the fun in that?” He pressed me against the tiled wall with his body, his hands coming up to frame my face. “What do you want me to be, Jess?”
“Besides a man who lives in New York?” My cheeks tightened at the tease.
He licked his lips. “One track mind. I like that. But I’m just as stubborn, just as determined to get you to like it here.” At his last word, he pressed his cock against my belly.
“You think dinner will do that?” A luscious tingle worked its way down my spine.
“Absolutely not. That’s why I thought I’d butter you up now.”
“Oh, so this is for me, not you?” I let my smile free, glad to feel like I had the upper hand for once.
His hands slipped down my neck and across my shoulders.
