Page 21 of Coming Home

“Wow, you really did your homework,” she teased, spearing a green bean.

“Ninety percent of being a good attorney is research.”

“What’s the other ten percent?”

“A pact with the devil,” he said with a wry grin.

“Funny, and they say most doctors have God complexes.”

“Guess we’re two sides of the same coin.” His voice was seductive and buttery.

Nat cleared her throat. “Back to your original question. Yes, I’m still a crafter. It helps me relax and destress. I’d be lost without my hot glue gun.”

“Boxing is my stress reliever. I started boxing my freshman year. It helped channel my anxiety in a constructive way.”

Laughter rumbled through her. “By punching someone’s face?”

“Ha!” he barked. “Most of it is with a punching bag. There’s a small boxing gym in Geneseo that I go to a few times a week. You should come. Great stress reliever and a workout.”

“That explains the muscles.” Her mouth dropped open. “Did I say that out loud?”

Pleased smugness lit his expression. “Yes.”

Her face scrunched. “Sorry.”

“I’m not. I like that you noticed my muscles. I’ve noticed a few things on you, as well.”

“Oh…care to share?” Her voice came out a high-pitched squeak.

“In time.”

“Tease.” She offered a sassy waggle of her eyebrows.

“I’m only a tease if I don’t follow through.” His fingers skimmed the rim of his glass in slow sensual strokes. “And I always follow through.”

Oh my!

After dinner, he escorted Nat to her Jeep. The mid-August night air was still warm, but goosebumps pricked her skin when his hand came to rest on her lower back. Her body reacted to him in a way it never had when they dated. Even when they had sex. It had been the first time for both of them. Just like her decision to have sex with him, it was clumsy and quick.

“I had a wonderful time, Natalie.”

Propped against the driver’s side door, her eyebrow ticked up. “You keep calling me Natalie. You used to call me Nat in high school.”

“We’re not in high school anymore.” He stepped close and the low timbre of his voice caressed the space between them.

“No, we’re not,” she whispered.

He raised his index finger to her face, outlining her lips. “I remember how nervous I was to kiss you for the first time after that homecoming dance.”

“You don’t seem nervous now.” She almost gulped.

“That’s because I’m not going to kiss you now.” He released her and stepped back.

“What?” Her face tipped up, eyes blinking.

“I have to give you something to look forward to on our second date.” Mischief glinted in his gaze.

“What makes you think there’ll be a second date?”

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