Then he leaned against the counter next to me, watching as I washed the silverware by hand.
“Why don’t you put it in the machine?” he asked.
“It’s my grandma’s sterling,” I said. “I don’t want the dishwasher to damage it.”
Cooper raised a brow.
“You always use sterling silver for a picnic with paper plates?”
I laughed.
“Grandma always did,” I said. “And she let me use her good china for tea parties, too. Using the silverware makes me happy—brings back memories. When I use the plates all I can think about is the fact that I’m creating more work for myself. Can you dry?”
“Sure,” he said, catching the towel I tossed toward him. It only took about ten minutes to wash everything up, but he stood next to me the whole time. Every minute or two our bodies would bump, and I swear, I felt his presence in the air itself. My breasts were tight, and I kept catching myself shifting my hips as flickers of awareness and arousal ran through me.
We finished way too soon for my taste, or maybe it wasn’t soon enough. I had this vivid daydream that he’d sweep me up with a kiss, maybe haul me back to my bedroom and ravish me. You know, like in an old romance novel, where men were men and women stayed home and waited to be ravished in elaborately decorated country manor houses . . . Our apartment building was Tudor revival. That should count, right?
Now we stood staring at each other. His eyes were intense, and if it’d been anyone else on earth, I’d have sworn he was into me. Then his phone rang. Cooper pulled it out and frowned.
“What’s up, Talia?” he asked, dumping cold water all over my fantasies. So much for my impending ravishment—stupid Tudors, giving me hope. I turned away, pretending to be fascinated by something in my spice cabinet. Yup, there was the dill. You can never have too much dill. “No, not really doing anything. How soon? Okay, I’ll head right over.”
He hung up as I reached for the little bottle, which was on the top shelf. I ignored him, determined not to react to his talk with the girlfriend, because how pathetic would that be?
“Let me get that for you,” he said, right in my ear. It startled me so much that I jumped back, right into his body. One strong arm came around my waist to steady me while the other reached for the bottle. My entire body seemed to melt into his strength, and my boobs made a serious bid for escape from my halter top when the hard muscles of his chest touched my back. I felt him bulging a little against my butt. Not like he had a full boner, but the package was definitely there, and it wasn’t soft.
Goose bumps broke out all over my body.
“I really enjoyed dinner,” he said, the words a low whisper in my ear. “But I need to get going now—I’m meeting up with Talia. Here’s your dill.”
Cooper handed me the little bottle, then let me go before walking out of the kitchen.
What. The. Fuck.
Through the kitchen window, I watched as he threw a leg over his motorcycle. Then he was kicking it to life, pulling away from the curb with a spray of gravel. Every nerve in my body tingled, my nipples were like rocks, and my panties were soaked. Nobody had made me feel this way in forever, and yet instead of staying here to finish the job, he’d left to go see his girlfriend.
Hateful bitch.
My fingers hurt, and I looked down to realize I’d been squeezing the bottle so hard they’d turned white. I scowled, tossing it in the garbage, because who the fuck likes dill, anyway?
CHAPTER FIVE
GAGE
For once, I was thankful that I had a date with Talia. Yes, she was a controlling bitch and I hated dealing with her . . . But it reminded me why I wasn’t free to go after Tinker. I couldn’t afford an entanglement with another woman. Not if I wanted to stay loyal to my club.
My dick disagreed.
It thought we should just bang Tinker on the kitchen counter, because fuck loyalty. Gotta admit, it was damned tempting. I had this recurring fantasy of ripping off her pants, smacking her ass a couple times for color, and then splitting her wide open while she screamed at me. She’d be hot and tight and warm . . .