They bundled up in coats and gloves, and Des even pulled on a fur-trimmed hat before they began walking down the road. “Why Dear Lover instead of a traditional dating app?” she asked.
While there was snow all around, the sidewalks were impeccably cleared, which worked out well since Des wasn’t wearing boots but instead had on a pair of the sexiest, strappiest black heels he’d ever seen.
“You already said I don’t need help finding a date.” Agreeing with her knowledge of his dating life had never bothered him before, but now—considering how his reputation might look in her eyes—there was a spark of regret. “Besides, the app promotes the socializing aspect much more than hard-core dating. Just like you pointed out before, there was no jargon about finding your perfect match or testimonials from couples who’d met up and married afterward.”
“True. That’s part of the reason I signed up. I’m not really into computers playing matchmakers for anything long-term.” She crossed her arms over her chest against the bitter chill in the air.
He considered moving closer, putting an arm around her shoulders to offer a little more warmth, but decided against it. Usually he could control himself under any circumstances. He was finding that a little more difficult now. The same woman whose description of giving perfect head had made a mess of his sheets a few short weeks ago had also sat across from him at a poker table just last weekend, wearing a tight sweater and smug smile as she claimed the winning hand.
“You’re not really looking for anything long-term, are you?” He didn’t think she was, or at least she’d never given that impression before.
The Des he knew was selective in the men she dated, private and a bit noncommittal in his estimation. As far as he knew, there hadn’t been anyone serious for her in the time she’d worked for the company.
“Been there, done that.” It was a dry statement, one he sensed held a lot more weight than the flippant way it’d rolled off her tongue.
“And you’re not willing to do it again.” Phrasing it as a statement instead of a question was his way of not prying.
“I’m not willing to be in the situation I was in before. And don’t ask what that was. It’s irrelevant to whatever this is that we’re doing.”
There was the Des he knew so well. The cut-you-off-at-the-knees-when-required woman who also managed to look damn hot while she did it. He chuckled. “Wasn’t gonna ask because I know the tactic well.” No lies or jokes there. Not wanting to repeat a mistake from the past was his mantra. Everything he’d done and said since his sophomore year in college had been based on an occurrence that both rocked his world and forever changed the trajectory of his personal life.
Upon arriving at the restaurant, Maurice opened one of two doors in the same wood that seemed to have been used on every building in this upscale ski village. The host was pleasant and quick to take their coats, then guide them to a cozy booth near a fireplace.
“Thank goodness. I was about to turn into a popsicle out there.” Des rubbed her arms and shivered as she stared happily at the roaring fire.
Easing out of the booth, he removed his sports coat and leaned closer to wrap it around her shoulders. “That dress is serving its purpose of enticing every man who’s lucky enough to see it, but I’m not surprised it isn’t keeping you warm.”
For a second, she looked startled by his action. Then she shrugged, pushed her arms into the much bigger sleeves of his sports coat and wrapped it tightly around her. “Good thing I packed plenty of warmer serviceable clothes than this little black dress.”
Returning to his seat, he mourned the loss of seeing the entrancing cleavage pressed above the top of her dress. A server came offering coffee, tea or hot chocolate, and after taking their drink order he left menus that they read in silence. Minutes later the server returned with a heavy cream-and-sugar coffee for him and green tea for her. They placed their orders—the ribs for him, hearty beef stew and corn bread for her—and settled back to wait for it.
Des broke the silence. “I never would’ve dreamed it was you.” She stared at him over the rim of her mug before placing it back on the table.
He kept his hands around his mug, enjoying the warmth from the liquid inside as it mingled with the heat of arousal currently swirling through his body. “Same. You were the last person I expected.”
“And yet here we are.” She took another sip of her tea.
“Here we are.” Maurice didn’t drink again for fear that the hot coffee mixed with desire burning brighter than the fire a few feet away would be explosive. “Are you nervous?”
This time when she set the mug down, she pulled her arms from the table and let them rest in her lap. “Nervous about what? Having dinner with a man I’ve treated like a brother for five years, or having wild, passionate sex with that man?”
Again, with her instinctual candor. Normally, he wasn’t averse to brash talking, especially when it concerned sex, but coming from Des, he’d have to get used to it. “Well, since we’ve had dinner together plenty of times before, the latter, of course.”
Her tongue eased between her lips, brushing over them in a way he prayed it’d brush over his dick at some point. He sucked in a breath, not even realizing he was holding it until she spoke.
“No. I wouldn’t say nervous. I mean you’re right, we’ve had dinner together before. We’ve shared working lunches and have even spent a good amount of recreational time together. If you count the days during the summer when
