Page 4 of Smoke Show

Her lips twitched, the first sign that maybe she didn't hate me for forcing her into volunteering. She ran a black-nailed finger along her plump red lip, scrambling coherent thought and blazing through my good intentions.

"If you're offering dinner at Slice of Heaven, I could be swayed," she said, still sounding reluctant.

"I just want to get us back on good footing," I said, holding my hands up, palms out in front of my chest like I was surrendering. "Gwen is a friend from way back. I don’t want to be enemies."

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, sending a fresh wave of self-recrimination washing through me. Sure, Eve and I could be friends. Just as soon as I managed to forget that she was a secret fantasy come to life.

"I guess I could go for that," Eve said softly, watching me as if she expected me to turn from Jekyll to Hyde in front of her eyes.

"Walk with me?" I asked, gesturing toward the door. She nodded, and I did a quick sweep of the auditorium, making sure that none of the teenagers under my supervision had found a convenient hidey-hole before locking the doors and ushering Eve outside.

Eve shivered as we stepped outside, the action juddering through her tiny body, and I frowned. The sun had mostly set, casting long shadows across the sidewalk as we walked toward downtown. Eve's short-sleeved shirt didn't offer much protection from the wind and forty-degree temperatures.

"Here," I said brusquely, shrugging out of my suit jacket. Was it my imagination that Eve’s gaze traced the column of my exposed throat, touching on my red tie and white shirt with something akin to approval even though I was probably a little the worse for wear after my long day?

Slowly, I draped my jacket across her narrow shoulders, smoothing it into place. I pushed the strand of hair that had been nagging at me all afternoon behind her ear, stroking the silky soft skin of her neck.

My jacket wasn't much, but the way she was shaking, I worried she'd fall apart before we made it the few hundred feet to Izzy's restaurant, Slice of Heaven, for dinner. "You really should have a jacket," I said, letting my hands linger on her shoulders a beat too long. Eve shivered again, sinking into the heavy fabric. She turned her chin, sniffing delicately, before letting out an almost imperceptible sigh.

“Thanks,” Eve muttered.

Pleased that however much she didn’t like me, she’d at least accepted my small courtesy, it renewed my determination not to extend just an olive branch, but the whole fucking tree. Something about Eve drew me, and I was done fighting. But judging by her grudging acceptance of my jacket, I needed to take things slow. Like growing-a-whole-fucking-olive-grove-as-penance slow. I focused on our path, nodding hello to Mrs. Wise getting into her car in front of Campfire’s only hair salon.

I pulled open the door to Slice of Heaven, inhaling deeply. The scent of spicy marinara and beer permeated the old brick building. Izzy greeted us from behind the counter with a broad grin. Her blond hair was tucked away neatly in a long braid, and she sported her usual Slice of Heaven garb: jeans and a red shirt emblazoned with the Slice logo.

"Hey, guys. You fresh from play practice?"

Eve nodded, and I asked, "Can we please get a table, Iz?"

"Sure," she grinned, glancing from Eve swimming in my favorite navy suit jacket to me.

"Thanks," I said. "Ms. Pendleton and I have a lot to go over. I thought it might be more enjoyable over dinner."

Eve's shoulders tightened, and I winced. Wrong move. I'd thought my explanation might put her more at ease, put us back on professional footing, but it had done the opposite. Sometimes I struggled to drop school habits, even when the kids weren't around. It was 99% of the reason I didn't date or have much of a personal life in Campfire. It was too hard to relax and be myself under the small-town microscope. I'd become so used to hiding any hint of my real self, breaking the habit was hard.

"Sorry, that came out way more stilted than I meant it to. Eve and I are mending fences." I smiled self-deprecatingly. "I hope."

Izzy's glance slid from me to Eve, her grin never wavering. "Well, you can't go wrong with pizza diplomacy." Her nose wrinkled. "Unless you're on different sides of the great pineapple debate."

"Eve, what's your favored position?" I asked.

One corner of her luscious lips quirked up, and I held onto my composure with all my might. I hadnotmeant that to sound dirty. I could only blame the verbal slip on how distracted I was with her standing so close, snuggled in my jacket. She looked impossibly cute, and something about the oversized blazer on her had me envisioning distinctly more X-rated versions of the outfit.

"I like to consider myself adventurous," Eve said lightly, dark eyes dancing.

I nearly choked on my tongue as visions of her, naked except for my coat, flitted through my mind. I stood frozen, unable to respond, lost in the moment.

"Then you'll have lots to talk about," Izzy cooed, clearly delighted by my discomfiture.

Recently married herself, Izzy kept glancing between Eve and me, mischief in every line of her smile. I'd known Izzy almost as long as I'd known Gwen. She'd tagged along, following me and her brother around town. Adjusting to the idea of her being old enough to be married was hard enough, without succumbing to the idea that she was matchmaking. Sweet, innocent Izzy seemed to revel in encouraging me toward her friend, no doubt scenting the attraction I was doing my best to ignore.

I followed Izzy and Eve to our table, studying the menu like it had changed in the last five years to avoid getting caught watching Eve with anything more than professional courtesy.

Her lips were witchcraft, pure and simple. Too damn distracting. I'd already made a fool of myself more times than I could count around her. She tested the bounds of my self-control, just by being herself. Add that to the fact that she low-key hated me, and it was a wonder she'd agreed to come at all tonight. I didn't need to compound my gaffes by mooning after her. I'd pitched this as a working dinner, and I'd be professional if it killed me, dammit.

"Relax, Principal Gleason. It's just pizza, not the SATs. Trust me, I'm easy." I caught her brown gaze, the hint of deviltry there kindling an answering lick of flame in me. "I like all pizza," she said, gesturing to her menu. "We can't go wrong at Slice."

I could imagineall kinds of wrongat Slice. Diving across the table that separated us, I could easily devour her, if only she were interested. Again,wrong. Not the image I’d carefully cultivated, and not something she’d expressed any interest in.

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