The place was small, with whitewashed stone walls, dark-beamed ceilings, and a wide-planked pine floor that listed to one side. Matt put on his jacket just before he entered the taproom’s cool interior. Somewhere along the line, electricity, modern plumbing, and air-conditioning had been added to the three-hundred-year-old building, and today, someone had cranked the AC down to arctic.
He checked his watch. He’d arrived exactly on time—another break from his usual MO. He gave his name to the maître d’ only to discover that Courtney had arrived before him, thereby making him late. Sort of.
No, wait. He wasn’t late. And maybe Courtney had only just arrived too. Maybe they’d both decided to stop playing games.
He crossed the dining room and knew a moment of disappointment when he saw the Manhattan sitting in front of her. She’d been there long enough to order a drink.
Did that mean she was anxious? Or what?
She looked up at him with an amused twinkle in her baby blues. She’d painted her lusciously sinful mouth a bright red to match the color of her dress, which clung to every curve. The subfreezing temperature in the restaurant had affected her nipples.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he sat down at the table with its pristine white linens that he’d never failed to soil as a kid.
Her wicked mouth quirked at one corner. “You’re not late. And furthermore, you know you’re not late. I got here early. It’s been a rough week, and I needed a drink. What’s your excuse?” She nervously fiddled with the stem of her martini glass.
“My excuse for what?”
“For being on time.” She took a sip of her drink and gave him a hard stare over the rim of the glass.
He smiled because he couldn’t help it. Everything about Courtney Wallace turned him on. Her shiny black hair, those big, beautiful, slightly offset eyes, the mouth he wanted to kiss more than anything. But most of all, he enjoyed her attitude. She was a total pain in the ass, and for some reason, that made him want to laugh out loud.
A waiter came over with menus, and Matt ordered a Sam Adams. When the waiter left, Matt leaned forward and caught Courtney’s hand where it restlessly stroked the martini glass. Her fingers felt cold under his palm. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said.
She pulled her hand away, leaving his skin tingling in reaction. She cocked her head a tiny fraction, the angle just enough to align her eyes. She scrutinized him, her expression neutral and unreadable. “I’ll go first with the confessions. I know all about your bet with Brandon.”
Boy, she was a piece of work. He’d spent all week working himself up to a big confession, and she stole it from him before the waitstaff had delivered his first beer of the evening. “You stole my thunder. I intended to confess.”
“BS. Your big, beautiful dark eyes gave away your surprise.”
“You think my eyes are beautiful?” He gave her his most seductive smile. Head tilted down, no teeth showing, mouth curled a little, and eyebrow lifted just so.
She leaned back from him and nervously laughed. What was going on in that beautiful head of hers? She seemed restless and tense across the shoulders.
The waiter returned with his beer, and Courtney announced that they were ready to order. Clearly she wanted to get this date over with in a hurry. He decided right then that he would linger over dinner if for no other reason than to allow Courtney to relax. He told the waiter that he needed a few more minutes and then sent him off with an appetizer order.
“You didn’t even ask if I wanted the baked brie,” she said.
“If you didn’t want it, you could’ve said something. I love the baked brie here.”
“So you dine here often?”
“If you’re asking me if I bring my dates here, the answer is no.” He cast his gaze around the dining room, taking in the early-American furniture and the walls covered with oil paintings featuring horses, fox hunts, and a reproduction of Peale’s portrait of George Washington as a young man. “This place is popular with the horsey set, but I find it just a little stuffy.”
The corners of her mouth turned down. “If you think it’s stuffy, why did you invite me here?”
“To surprise you.”
This earned him a tiny, Mona Lisa smile. “I’m not surprised. Taking a woman to a place with white tablecloths, sending her flowers, and quoting poetry is precisely the sort of thing a player does. Although the Shakespeare was kind of classy. Of course, you might have done all that just to win a bet.”
This time he gave her a real smile because she was adorable and amusing. “I never take my dates to restaurants with white tablecloths, and you are the first woman I have ever sent flowers to.”
“And the poetry?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been known to quote Shakespeare from time to time.”
She took a long sip of her Manhattan and put the glass down before she spoke again. “Why did you send me flowers?”
“To see how you’d react?”
“Not because you thought it would help you win your bet?”
He leaned forward. “The cost of the flowers and the meal will far exceed the one hundred dollars I’d win if my seduction succeeds. So how does that make any sense?”
“Because your bet with Brandon has nothing to do with money. And I only agreed to go out with you because of the bet. I guess I’m still ticked off at you for encouraging Brandon to date other women right after he dumped Laurie. But Laurie made me promise that I would end my vendetta against Brandon and come clean with you. That being the case, I think I should go. I’ve already paid for my drink, and I’m not really a brie fan. If you’d ordered the crab
