Page 43 of Heated
I shake my head, a smirk tugging at my mouth. A sense of déjà vu descends over me. Not too long ago there was another time I obsessively studied a door, waiting on Zora to walk through it.
Only instead of a bookstore, I’m sitting in a restaurant, stomach growling at the delicious scents of sauce, pork, and coleslaw.
She’s lucky I’m in the mood for macaroni and cheese and ribs.
“Can I get you a refill?” the waitress asks, a pitcher of water in hand. “And I can take your order if you’re ready.”
“No, thank you. I’m still waiting on someone—here she is now. We’ll need a few minutes,” I say, rising from the table, my gaze fixed on the woman striding through the entrance.
Does she feel the eyes that swing to her? Some admiring, some envious, most lustful?
She takes a simple emerald-green A-line dress and transforms it into a sexy number out of a lingerie catalogue with the thrust of those gorgeous breasts, a sway of those ample rounded hips, and her confident, sensual glide on navy stiletto pumps.
As she reaches me, a cloud of honey and almond teases me. Invites me to seek out its source. Her neck? Her wrists? The back of her ears? Between those beautiful thighs?
Fuck being an attorney. I’m ready to turn my law license in for a map and a new career in exploration.
“Cyrus.” She nods at me, then gives our waitress a polite smile. “Hi. I’m sorry if I held you up.” Not held me up. The waitress. I don’t know if I’m insulted or impressed. “Could I have a glass of water?”
“Of course. I’ll be right back with a glass.” The young woman sets the pitcher on the table and returns moments later with a new glass, filling it. “I’ll give you a few minutes to look over the menu.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you for seeing me on short notice,” I say, lowering back to my seat.
She flicks a glance at me over the top of the menu. A menu I’d bet my prized KitchenAid Artisan series stand mixer she knows by heart.
“I wasn’t willing to use a free pass on lunch since I had to eat. Even if it was very short notice.”
Propping my forearms on the table, I lean forward. “Nice spot. You work nearby in the Five Points area?”
She lifts her head from perusing the menu—or pretending to—and slowly lowers it.
“Now, where I work would fall under the ‘my private life’ part of our arrangement.” She arches an eyebrow. “I made a slip last night, but that was an aberration, not the norm. And it doesn’t mean the terms of our deal have changed. No personal questions or demands for information.”
I cock my head, studying her shuttered expression, the stiff set of her shoulders.
“Is that what this”—I tip my head toward her—“is about?”
“What isthis?”
“The ice-queen routine? Is this your attempt to place distance between us because you’re regretting what happened last night?” I shake my head, lightly tsking. “Easy, Zora. You told me a little about your brother and sister, not your social security number and bank account information. I promised you I wouldn’t violate your privacy, and I won’t.”
Not that I hadn’t considered it. Well, not last night. But after I’d proposed our arrangement, I’d almost used the firm’s PI to have her investigated. I’ve never trusted easily, and I’d wanted to know who I was involved with. But, in the end, I’d decided against it. One, because it would have betrayed our agreement. She’d asked not to get personal. Digging into someone’s background was the definition ofgetting personal. And second ... I wanted—want—to trust her. It’s a novel feeling. Only Jordan has earned it. Not even the woman I’d planned to eventually propose to had. But Zora has been honest with me, and she deserves my loyalty in return. And that begins with honoring my word.
“It’s not an ice-queen routine.” She shoots me side-eye, wrapping those full lips around her straw and sipping her water. For a moment, I lose my train of thought, focusing on nothing but that mouth and imagining it pursed around something bigger, thicker, hotter ...Goddamn.I tear my gaze away, scanning the full restaurant for our server. “I’m annoyed. And I have the right to be annoyed, because I’m wondering if this ‘When I call, you jump’ thing is going to become a habit. I have a life, and I hate to break it to you like this, Cyrus, but it doesn’t revolve around you.”
NowI’mannoyed.
“I didn’t ask you to change your plans or your life to suit mine, Zora,” I say, reclining in my chair, voice calm, soft. “Aren’t we at therestaurant you chose? That you’d already intended to eat at today? At least those were your words. So let’s cut the shit. What’s the real issue? Get it out there so we can get past this.”
Her eyebrows arrow down over her nose, and shadows darken her brown eyes. Before she can reply, our waitress reappears, and her expression clears, that polite smile replacing the frown.
Frustration and an electrified surge of anticipation race through me, and I have to restrain the part of me that almost demands the server to leave. I want that anger, that irritation. It’s real. It’s authentic. And fuck, in a world where everyone wears a mask of phony affability, it could become addictive. I need her to mark me with it.
I wait only seconds after the waitress leaves with our orders before I turn back to Zora.
“Tell me. And don’t lie,” I command, deliberately reminding her of my stipulation.
