Page 7 of Venice Heat (Urban Heat 2)

The nervous hesitation must have been his imagination because it lasted no more than an instant. “I’m a travel writer. Freelance, mostly, in case you’re wondering what publication I work for. I make an okay living.”

He considered himself good at his job, pretty decent at reading people, and he knew without a doubt Shae lied to him. He allowed his gaze to glide over her beautiful form while she chattered away between bites of food. Long manicured nails, soft hands did not necessarily indicate she was not a writer. Many women were into caring for their hands and their feet no matter how it might inconvenience their work. Her clothes seemed to be expensive. He was not familiar with Western brands, but he imagined it was not so much different from his own country, as many of his people loved imported American goods—clothing among them. Shae’s were high quality, and so was her purse. The diamond earrings and the sterling silver rings on her fingers indicated no shortage of money. Unless, of course, she was a person who would neglect a bill to buy expensive treats. No, this woman didn’t strike him as such, and that meant she did more than “okay” at her job. Why did she lie?

“…so with the loss of all the contacts, my boss told me to take a much-needed vacation,” she concluded, “and he would call me when he needs me for my next assignment.”

He grinned. What she said now rang as true. “Except you are, as you say, freelance, and you don’t have a boss.”

Her eyes widened, and she stumbled over her words. “You know what I mean. Every editor I’ve worked with, I call boss.”

Not wanting her to feel uncomfortable since he understood a person’s need for privacy, he let the matter drop and moved the conversation to other topics. “Do you have sisters or brothers?”

She seized on this. “Yes! Two sisters and one brother. They’re all a trip, but I love them. My dad’s still around, but my mom passed not too long ago.”

He offered his sympathy, and while he wanted to touch her as she had touched him in concern for his loss, he resisted.

“What about you?”

“Brother. My parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents are all here.”

“Here in America? That’s so cool.”

He flushed. “Here, alive. They live in Kurama, not far from Kyoto.” He added Japan in case she didn’t understand his meaning.

They continued to talk until they finished their food. When Shae had sampled both her desserts and finished off one of them, she reached across the table to point at his. “Did you want this?”

He leaned back from his tray. “Please, enjoy.”

Eiji relished the view and her moans as she cut small bites from the chocolate pie. She stuck her fork between her lips and slid it out slowly. His cock twitched in his pants, and he clenched his jaw. She must know what she did to him, or she was one of the most sexually alive women he’d ever met. When she finished the dessert, she stuck a delicate tongue out and licked her fork while watching him through lowered lashes.

He sucked in a deep breath and leaned toward her. Dropping his voice low, he asked, “Is this style of eating something all American women do or just you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she teased and stood up. After gathering up her tray, she headed to the trash receptacle and emptied it and then placed it on a counter above the bin. Eiji followed suit, and the two of them left the restaurant.

Once again, on the street, she took his hand and laced her fingers with his. The stirrings of desire in him danced to higher levels. When she noticed him examining their linked hands, she pulled away.

“Oh crap, I’m sorry. I’m used to getting close to a guy really fast—I mean, wait, that totally didn’t sound right. Made me sound like a whore.”

“Does it have something to do with your work?”

His question earned him a flash of suspicion in her gaze. “No. Not at all.”

They walked in silence, saying nothing. Eiji stuffed his hands back into his pockets and decided to watch the people they passed. Even at that time of night, many wore little clothing. Quite a few of the women sported bikini tops rather than blouses.

After some time of discussing inconsequential matters, they ended up back at the house she had rented from him. Eiji waited by her side while she searched inside her purse for the keys. He was about to ask if she’d lost them when the entire bag upended from her hands, and the contents scattered over the porch. He bent to snatch several items up before they rolled off into the dirt.

“Wow, you’re fast,” she said, sounding impressed. “That was some martial arts stuff you did at the bar, wasn’t it?”

He raised his brows at her and didn’t answer. A tube of something that might be a type of makeup escaped toward the edge of the porch. He put a foot out to capture it while dumping the rest into her outstretched purse.

“Thanks.” Her head tilted to the side brought his attention to the bouncy silkiness to her curls, and he experienced an itch to run his fingers through it. Women with short hair had never appealed to him before.

He stooped to grab the tube and noticed something else, what appeared to be a photograph, facedown. After turning it over, he froze and then took his time straightening.

“What are you looking at, Eiji? Don’t tell me I had a naked picture of myself in there.” When he glanced at her, she laughed. “I was kidding. What is that?”

She reached for it, and he handed it over. Her gasp told him she hadn’t expected it to be what it was.

“Tell me about it,” he commanded in a low tone.

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