Page 31 of Forbidden Kisses
She pulled her sunglasses back over her eyes. “That’s right. We need a strategy.”
Noah grinned. “So serious. Fishing is supposed to be fun, you two.” He draped his towel over his shoulders. “The boat is running smoothly. We just need to change the oil before the big day and we’ll be good.”
Jack nodded. “I’ll handle that.”
“Great. Gotta get back, bro. I’m meeting Krista for a late lunch,” Noah said.
“My Krista?” Grace asked.
Noah shrugged. “Well, she’s my Krista at least once a week.”
“They’re just friends, though,” Jack noted sarcastically, standing behind the helm and sliding the boat back into gear.
“It’s true. We’ve been doing this since junior high. And she’s dating some douchebag right now anyway. I tried to tell her the guy’s a loser, but she won’t listen.”
Grace frowned. “I met Jeremy the other day. He seemed nice to me.”
“Yeah, if you like that sort. He’s not her type,” Noah said, frowning for the first time since boarding the boat at the dock.
“And neither are you, right?” Jack asked.
“Heck, no, man.” Noah shuddered. “She’s more like a sister than someone I’d—” He shook his head. “It’s not like that. That’d be like one of us dating Grace.”
Grace’s cheeks burned.
“Yeah. It’d be just like that,” Jack agreed, eying her. Then he pushed the throttle forward and rocketed the boat back across the water.
—
Jack didn’t usually get nervous. But stepping up to Grace’s door later that night made his palms sweat. What if he screwed it up somehow?
The door opened before he could knock and Grace stared back at him. She was dressed in a soft flowing skirt and fitted cotton top.
“Hi,” she said with a smile. Then she stepped aside and gestured him inside her apartment.
The smell of something fried aroused the rest of his senses. “It smells good. What’re you cooking?”
“Well, I figure you get enough fish, so I’m making chicken Alfredo. It’s kind of my specialty. Are you hungry?”
Jack tried to keep his eyes on her face. He was hungry all right, but not for food. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” He watched Grace turn and head into the kitchen. “Make yourself at home. It’ll be done in just a little bit.”
“Can I help?” he asked, leaning against the countertop.
Grace grabbed a metal sheet covered with sliced bread. “You can butter these.”
“You expecting a crowd?” he asked, noting the eight pieces of bread.
“Just you and me.” Her gaze snagged on his.
“That’s good.” He lifted the butter knife that she’d placed in front of him. “Because I can’t wait to get my hands on you again.” He loved the way her chest and neck flushed when he lowered his voice and said suggestive things.
She cocked her head to the side. “Well, you’ll have to, because my specialty dish is best when it’s hot.”
“I can wait,” he said, slicing the knife through the butter and smearing it across the bread. “I’m a fisherman, after all. Or I was. I’ve been known to sit for hours without a bite. I’m a patient man.” From the corner of his eye he saw her squirm. “I wonder if you can wait, though.”
Grace giggled softly. He could hear the nerves laced in the sound. “A little presumptive, aren’t you?”
“I don’t think so. What we had the other night was pretty damn good.” He lifted his gaze from the bread. “But I’m confident I can do better.”
