Page 40 of Deadly Attraction
Chapter Nine
“Tell me why you hate the holidays,” Emma said around a bite of mashed potatoes. They were extra creamy tonight, thanks to Mitch and his muscles. She could never get them that creamy unless she pulled out her blender.
He finished a mouthful and pointed his fork at her. “You first.”
They ate by candlelight; Mitch deciding they didn’t need to make themselves anymore visible than necessary to whoever might be watching the house. Lights were out and the candle flickered, throwing shadows on the wall.
She liked it. It softened Mitch’s hard angles, made it easier to talk about sensitive subjects.
He looked good in the flannel shirt she’d laid out for him. The lapis blues of the fabric made his gray eyes the color of the night sky and, in the candlelight, they looked almost black. He’d probably not like that Victor Dupé had once worn that shirt, but she wasn’t sure if he’d be jealous or simply weirded out.
“I already told you,” she said.
“No, you didn’t. You said you lost everything and everyone you cared about. I assume someone you loved died close to Christmas?”
Her heart pinched and the food on her plate no longer seemed all that appetizing. If he’d researched Chris Goodsman, surely he’d come across the media reports about the break-in that cost her so dearly.
Emma had declared their dinner a Chris-free zone. If she started talking about him and his fans, she wouldn’t be able to eat.
Now it looked like she might not stomach her food anyway.
Mitch seemed to understand her silence. “Hey, it’s okay. I don’t like to talk about my past shit either. New subject?”
She moved some veggies around with her fork, her brain searching for a safer subject. “Where did you learn about horses?”
He mimicked her earlier statement. “I already told you.”
Two could play that game. “When I asked if you grew up on a ranch, you said,sort of. That’s not an answer.”
“I spent summers working at a livery. My brother and I both did. The owner was…a friend of my mother’s.”
Her internal therapist radar pinged at the way he hesitated before using the wordfriend. “But you claim you don’t like horses. I imagine that was a sucky job for you.”
He wiped his mouth on a napkin, sat back, and tossed the napkin next to his plate. “I lied. I like horses just fine. It was the situation—the people—that I didn’t much care for.”
It was obvious he liked animals of all kinds. “People often are the cause of situations we don’t care for.” She took another bite of potatoes. “Did the owners treat you poorly? Or your brother?”
By the look on his face, it might have been both. “It wasn’t about us.”
Ahh. “Your mother, then?”
His gaze, previously glued to the center of the table, came up to hers. She could see him wrestling with how much to tell her. “The owners were rich. Big shots. Mom worked as a hostess for them in her off hours when they threw parties. That’s how she got Mac and I our summer job in the stables.”
Nothing too telling in that statement, except the fact he didn’t like that his mother had catered to the “rich” people, working as a hostess. The hostess job didn’t jive with her and the owner being friends.
So something had happened between his mother and the owner during that time which now he negatively associated with horses and probably all rich people. “You’re close to your mother?”
A derisive snort. “That was Mac’s job.”
A job? Was—past tense. “Mac is your mother’s favorite, I take it?”
She’d meant it to sound lighthearted. A bit of teasing. Mitch picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of meat. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Older or younger? Do you have any other siblings?”
“Older. No other siblings.”
Prickly, but using present tense for the brother again. “If I’m clear on all of this, your job, your dislike of the holidays, your mother, and your brother are all off limits for us to discuss.” She waved her fork in the air. “How about this weather? There’s a safe topic. Crazy for December, isn’t it?”
