I winced, imagining the metal cap where the scar now marked her palm. “Nasty.”
She smiled, probably glad her story had had the desired effect. “Yeah, but the worst part was the tetanus shot. Right in the ass, and those things hurt.”
“Aww, want me to kiss it?”
She smacked her scarred palm against my chest. “Shane!”
I laughed. “Oh, come on, you walked into that.” I caught her hand and kissed her palm as she’d done for me.
She didn’t pull her hand from mine. “Okay. Favorite book?”
“I love that one. But my favorite is
I laughed. “Really?”
She shrugged. “What can I say? I love it, and true love lasts a lifetime.” She lifted her mug from the table and took a sip. Her eyes widened, and she flashed a delighted smile. “This is really amazing.”
“I told you.” I took a sip of my own tea. The sweet tang of citrus and mild spiciness warmed my throat. It made me miss home. “Any pets?”
“No, although I always wanted a dog. My dad said it was too much hassle since we moved so much.”
“I love my dogs.”
“What kind?”
“Irish Wolfhounds,” I said. “Yeats and Beckett.”
She smiled. “Figures.”
“I know. I’m such a stereotype.”
“So, we’ve established that you love your dogs and your mother’s tea. Oh, and you’re obnoxiously proud of your Irish heritage. How many girls have you been in love with?”
“None,” I answered right away.
“Is that ‘none’ as in, you’ve never really been in love, or ‘none’ as in you’ve never even felt like you were in love.”
“I’ve liked plenty of girls, but I’ve never been in love. Jimmy likes to joke that my dogs are the only living things I’ll ever say the word to. It’s a bit of an exaggeration, but not too far off, I guess. What about you?”
“Pass,” Spencer said with a shake of her head.
“No way. I told you about my deep and enduring love for the wolfhounds.”
“Right, and I told you about my love affair with
“For now,” I said.
“Moving on then. Beatles or Stones?”
“Van Morrison,” I said as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.
“What? That wasn’t even a choice.”
“It should’ve been considering that
“That’s high praise for an album I’ve never even heard of.”
“Agh.” I grimaced. “You’re killing me. You know who Van Morrison is, right?”
“Of course,” she said. “‘Brown-Eyed Girl.’ It’s cute if you like that sort of thing.”
The dishes rattled as my head thunked against the tabletop. “Why is that the only song anyone knows? Are you seriously telling me you haven’t heard ‘Domino’? ‘Into the Mystic’? ‘Sweet Thing’?”
“I may have,” she said, lifting one shoulder.
I gave her a mock-stern look.
“To be honest, they don’t sound all that familiar.”
“All right,” I said, getting to my feet. I pulled her along with me. “We’re fixing this.”
She laughed, letting me drag her into the living room. “You can play them, but you’re not going to change my mind about the Stones.
“Just wait,” I said. I flipped the cover of my laptop open and pushed some keys to wake it up. My music library was already open on the screen. I tapped the trackpad, and Van immediately started strumming the opening chords of “Sweet Thing.”
“It’s nice,” Spencer said, but I held up a finger to stop her.
“Shhh.” I sat on the sofa and pulled her down onto the cushion next to me. “Just close your eyes and listen.”
Spencer gave me a dubious look but leaned back into the sofa and closed her eyes. Van continued to play, and chirping flutes joined in as he sang about a girl so sweet she made him feel like he’d never grow old. I watched a smile spread across Spencer’s face, hesitant at first, and then full of the same contented delight I always felt when I heard the song.
When he sang the last lyric, Spencer turned hers to me. “Okay, I admit that’s pretty damn good.”
“Right?”
“Right.”
“Although, now I have to admit,” I said, brushing my fingers against her cheek. “I’m starting to see the appeal of a song about falling in love with a brown-eyed girl.”
Spencer dropped her eyes, and the shy smile I was starting to grow fond of made a brief appearance. My hand still on her cheek, I leaned forward and kissed her. My skin jumped with electricity when she responded, deepening the kiss and pressing herself into my arms. My heart sped to a gallop as the blood left my head and filled the lower regions of my body. I told myself it was a simple physiological response, that it didn’t mean anything, but soon I wasn’t telling myself anything at all. My mind was filled with the sensation of her mouth against mine and the sweet honey-and-vanilla smell of her hair and skin. My tongue flicked against hers, and my jeans felt immediately and uncomfortably tight. I was also acutely aware of the feel of her breasts pressed against my chest.
I wanted her. And part of me had to admit that my longing had nothing at all to do with getting the book back from Tommy. I pushed any thought of the con from my mind, hoping the sourness that had crept into my stomach would go along with it. My hand slid to the button of her jeans, and I fumbled with it for a moment before she put her hand over mine. For a half a second, I thought she meant to help me and my excitement grew, but the blood rushed back to my head in a hurry when she gently pushed my hand away and took her lips away, too.
“Shane,” she breathed, leaning her forehead into mine. “I think maybe we should eat. You worked really hard to make a nice dinner and everything.”
“It wasn’t that hard, I swear,” I said, moving to kiss her again.
She dodged me with a giggle. “I just think maybe we should move a little slower. You’re not mad, are you?”
Sighing quietly, I stood and offered a smile and my hand. “Of course not. But I am starving.”
Spencer’s grin was full of gratitude and relief. “Me, too. Even if you’re making me eat an adorable little lamb.”
She popped off the couch to stand in front of me, and I kissed her nose. “I promise you’ll love it.”
“We’ll see.” She smiled and stepped around me to head back to the kitchen.
I stood, staring down at the spot on the couch we’d been occupying a moment before. I wasn’t lying when I’d told her I wasn’t mad, but the thought of eating was the furthest thing from my mind despite my rumbling stomach. Something else gnawed at me, but it wasn’t until I turned and caught her shy smile that I could name the feeling. It wasn’t frustration or even disappointment. It was relief.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“WHAT DO YOU mean you didn’t make a reservation?” Spencer pulled me to a stop in the middle of a tree- lined path in Philadelphia’s Rittenhouse Square. “You can’t just walk into Jardin and ask for a table.”
“Spence, it’ll be fine.” I started down the path again, but she yanked her hand from mine.
