Dirty Thoughts - Megan Erickson Page 0,25

off Dylan’s plate. He stuck the tip in his mouth and crunched down, chewing happily. “Wow, thanks, man.” He looked over their table with wide eyes. “So this is how the real people live.” He turned to his father. “They look great in their natural habitat.”

Jenna clapped her hand over her mouth. She wasn’t sure which was funnier—Dylan’s red face or Brent’s crunching noises as he finished off the asparagus.

Max turned to Lea and said quietly, “This is like Family Feud but without the answer board.” He gestured around the restaurant to the people gawking at them. “I mean, we even have a live studio audience.”

“Max, stop,” Lea whispered.

“I happen to think Ray Combs was the best host, don’t you?” Max whispered back.

Lea’s posture immediately softened. “I was so sad when I heard about he died.”

“I know. Horrible, right?”

Jack Payton cuffed Brent on the back of his head. “Will you mind your fuckin’ manners?”

Brent stared at him. “My manners? Are you kidding me? You spent the whole dinner with your napkin tucked into your shirt.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Christopher, please do something,” Jenna’s mom whispered. “They’re making a scene.”

Jenna wanted to roll her eyes. A scene. Heaven forbid a scene! All her life had been one giant “let’s not make a scene” tut from her mother.

Jenna’s father cleared his throat, but Dylan had to get the last word in. “Now that you’ve sufficiently disturbed every diner in this restaurant, I think it’s time to leave.”

Brent turned back to Dylan, his ever-present smirk on his face. “Honestly, I’m just getting started.”

Then Jenna’s father was talking. And her mother was making obnoxious sighing sounds. And Jack was tugging on Brent’s arm while Brent continued to prod Dylan, who answered back with insults of his own.

Max and his girlfriend were still debating Family Feud hosts, and it would have been completely, completely embarrassing if it hadn’t been hilarious.

Christopher MacMillan had hired Jenna to fix the image of his company, and here he was, the CEO with his family, in a restaurant full of the Tory elite who were eager to gossip, throwing down with the Paytons.

Jenna knew she’d get blamed for this, for bringing the Paytons into this . . . circle of their lives. But right now, in the midst of chaos, she didn’t really care. She took a gulp of her wine, looked up, and met Cal’s piercing gaze.

She’d expected him to join the fray. Or glare, or hell, she expected him to have walked out of the restaurant already. That’s what he would have done before. But nope, he was watching her quietly with those slate eyes. They were unreadable at first. She thought about flipping him off or haughtily turning up her nose. But Cal hated that kind of attitude. And she didn’t want to do it anyway. Especially not as those eyes began to change, darken, as they studied her. As they really looked at her. His gaze dropped to where she held the wine glass stem between her thumb and forefinger. Then his eyes lingered on the neckline of her low-cut dress, and then they coasted up, up until they locked on hers again. When an outstretched hand knocked over a water glass on their table, Cal’s lips twitched. Almost imperceptibly. But she saw it. Along with that twinkle in his eye.

He thought this was funny too. Hilarious, even.

She stretched her lips into a closed-mouth smile, then shook her head.

He grinned back and blinked once, twice, and then he was moving toward her.

His silent saunter in her direction was like slow motion in the chaos of the scene around them. He didn’t take his eyes off her as he walked around the table, that shirt stretched across his broad chest, the top button open so she got a glimpse of a sliver of skin. When he was behind her, she stayed facing forward, not really seeing anything, because every other sense was hyper-focused on him. Focused on how he had smiled as he walked toward her, that sexy smirk. Focused on how his heartbeat pounded as his chest now brushed the back of her head. Focused on how he leaned down, his breath coasting over the fine hairs at the back of her neck. She closed her eyes, relishing his heat at her back.

“Even in this fancy place”—his voice was a vibration she felt in every limb—“you outshine everyone.”

And then his heat was gone.

The raised voices around her dulled to mutters. And when she opened her eyes