was sluggish and opaque, thickened by the rain they'd had earlier in the week. “Why, Marie-Terese?”
She took a deep drink from her mug and felt the coffee warm its way down into her belly. “For the same reason Trez did. Because you protected me.”
“That's dangerous. Given what you do.”
She shrugged. “I'm not worried.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Vin rub his face and wince as if the bruising hurt. “I just don't want you risking more trouble down the line for my sake.”
Marie-Terese hid a smile. Funny, some things a man could say made you feel warm all over—not because the words were sexual, but because they went beyond that lowest common denominator and into more important, more meaningful territory.
Fighting the pull of his voice, his eyes, his savior routine, she said, “I'm sorry I left so quickly last night. You know, from the locker room. I was just…rattled.”
“Yeah…” He exhaled on a curse. “And I apologize for flipping out like that—”
“Oh, no, it's okay. It…didn't appear you had much control over it.”
“Try none.” There was another long pause. “I hate to bring it up again, but what did I say to you?”
“You don't know?” He shook his head. “Was that a seizure?”
His voice grew tight. “Guess you could call it that. So…what did I say?”
“What did I say?” Vin reached across and put his hand lightly on her arm. “Please tell me.”
She stared at where he touched her, and thought…yes, and sometimes it wasn't even what a man said that made you warm—just the feel of his palm resting above your wrist was enough to heat your entire body.
“Your pancakes,” the waitress said, breaking the moment. As they both sat back, the woman put down a plate and a little stainless-steel pitcher with a flop top. “More coffee?” Marie-Terese glanced in her half-empty mug. “For me, please.”
Vin got busy with syrup, pouring out a thin amber stream over three big, fat golden circles. “Mine aren't that high,” Marie-Terese said. “When I make them…they're not that golden or that high.”
Vin let the lid on the syrup bounce shut and picked up his fork, cleaving through the stack, carving out a forkful. “I'm sure your son doesn't complain.”
“No…he doesn't.” Thinking of Robbie made her chest burn, so she tried not to remember how he'd looked at her with such love and awe when she'd flipped those homemade flapjacks for him.
The waitress returned with her pot of coffee, and after she'd poured and left, Vin said, “I'm really hoping you'll answer my question.”
For no good reason, she thought even more of Robbie. He was an innocent that she'd ended up dragging into a harsh life thanks first to the bad husband she'd picked and then the way she'd chosen to clean up the financial mess she'd found herself in. Vin was not dissimilar. The last thing he needed was getting sucked into the black hole she was trying to get out of—and he'd already proven he had a come-to-the-rescue complex. At least where she was concerned.
“It was just nonsense,” she murmured. “What you said was nonsense.”
“So if it doesn't matter, there's no reason not to tell me.”
She stared out the window at the river again…and called forth all her strength. “You said, 'Rock, paper, scissors.'” As his eyes shot to her face, she forced herself to meet his stare and lie. “I have no idea what it means. To be honest, it was more what you looked like than what you said that made me nervous.”
Vin's eyes bored into hers. “Marie-Terese…I have a track record with those kind of things.”
“Track record how?”
He resumed eating, as if he needed to do something to cut the tension. “In the past, when I've gone into that state and said stuff…it comes true. So if you're keeping whatever it was from me for privacy's sake, I understand that. But I strongly urge you to take whatever it was very seriously.”
Her cold hands squeezed her hot mug. “Like you're some kind of fortune-teller?”
“You're in a dangerous line of work. You need to be careful.”
“I am always careful.”
“Good.”
There was another long period of quiet, during which she stared at her coffee and he focused on his food.
It was pretty easy to guess that the “careful” thing was not just about creeps chasing after her. It was about other aspects of the job.
“I know what you're wondering,” she said quietly. “How can I do it in the first place, and why don't I stop altogether.”
When he eventually spoke, his voice was low and respectful, like he wasn't judging. “I don't know you, but you don't seem like…well, some of those other women at the club. So I'm guessing something must be pretty damn wrong for you to be in that line of work.”
Marie-Terese looked out the window again and watched a branch float on by. “I'm not like most of my colleagues. And let's just leave it at that.”
“All right.”
“Was that your girlfriend last night?”
He frowned and lifted his mug to his lips. After he took a deep sip, he cocked an eyebrow. “So you're allowed to keep secrets, but I can't?”
She shrugged and thought, damn it, she needed to keep her mouth shut. “You're right. That's not fair.”
“Yes, she's my girlfriend. At least…well, she was last night.”
Marie-Terese actually bit her own lip to keep from pressing him for details. Had the pair of them broken up? And if so, why?
Vin resumed eating, but his broad shoulders did not relax. “Can I say something I shouldn't?”
She stiffened as he stared over at her. “Okay.”
“Last night I fantasized about being with you.”
Marie-Terese slowly lowered her mug. Yeah, okay…and there were some things a man could say that made you hotter than hell. And some looks that were as tangible as touches. And both of those together, coming from the man across from her…
In a stunning rush, her body responded, her breasts tingling at the tips, her thighs tightening, her blood racing…and the effect shocked her. It had been so long—forever, actually—since she'd felt anything remotely sexual toward a man. And yet here she was in this diner, sitting across from a huge no-no in a cashmere sweater, experiencing for real something she'd been faking every night with strangers.
She blinked quickly.
“Shit, I shouldn't have said anything,” he muttered.
“Oh, it's not you. Honest.” It was her life. “And I don't mind.”
“You don't?”
“No.” Her voice was a little too deep.
“Well, it wasn't right.”
Her heart stopped in her chest. Okay, that little comment was better than a gallon of ice to get rid of those warm fuzzies.
“Well, if you're feeling guilty,” she said roughly, “I think you're confessing to the wrong woman.”
Maybe that was why he'd hit a bad patch with the girlfriend.
Except Vin shook his head. “It wasn't right because I imagined paying for you and I., didn't like how that felt at all.”
Marie-Terese put her mug down on the table. “And why is that.”
Although she knew the answer: because someone like him could never be with somebody like her.
As Vin opened his mouth, she held up one palm and reached for her purse at the same time. “Actually, I already know. And I think I'd better get go—”
“Because if I were with you, I would want you to pick me.” His eyes flashed up to hers and held on. “I would want you to choose me. Not be with me because I paid for it. I would want you…to want me and want to be with me.”
