The Player - By Rhonda Nelson Page 0,39
that he still had family there.
In the process of carefully moving all of his olives to the side of his plate, Audrey frowned. “You don’t like olives. I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have asked.”
Jamie glanced up. “No problem,” he assured her with an easier grin. “They’re easy to spot and easy to move.”
“And—” Audrey forked one up from the side of his plate “—they are not meant to go to waste. I love olives.”
Jamie stilled for a fraction of a second, watched the olive leave his plate via her fork and then land in her mouth. Audrey swallowed. “Is something wrong?” she asked. Maybe he didn’t like them on salad, but preferred them otherwise? “Were you going to eat that?”
“No,” he said, blinking out of whatever had bothered him. He made a face. “Olives are nasty. They’re not in the ziti, are they?”
Audrey chuckled. “No.”
Jamie ladled some of the Italian dish onto her plate, then his. “Good.” He paused. “You know, if we were dating, this would be like our…third date, wouldn’t it?”
The question came so far out of left field that Audrey choked on her wine. “Uh…Well, we aren’t dating, so it’s a moot point. But yeah, I suppose if we were, this would be considered our third date of sorts.” Bewildered, she darted him a confused glance. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” he said quickly, then shoved a forkful of ziti into his mouth. He looked curiously alarmed, though for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine why.
Audrey frowned. “Are you all right? You look a little flushed.”
“This is spicy.”
No, it wasn’t, Audrey thought, thoroughly baffled by his behavior. Rather than pursue it, though, she decided to continue their conversation. He’d finally given her a little bit of personal information. That was a start, at any rate.
“So your family lives too far away to cook for you. What about a girlfriend? There’s no future Mrs. Flanagan wannabe who whips up meals in your honor?”
The comment drew a laugh, full and throaty, and seemed to ground him once more. He picked up his glass, inspected the contents. “Er. No.”
Audrey shrugged, ridiculously pleased. Honestly, she had no vested interest in whether or not he had a girlfriend, but she couldn’t deny that the idea that there might be another woman in his life irritated her beyond prudent reason. In fact, it made her downright ill. A significant revelation no doubt lurked in her disproportionate jealousy, but why ruin what was going to be a wonderful evening with expectations and what-might-have-beens?
“What about you?” Jamie asked, turning the probing conversation around on her. “Does the future Mr. Audrey Kincaid cook for you?” he drawled.
She grimaced, smiled. “There is no future Mr. Audrey Kincaid.”
His gaze tangled with hers above the rim of his glass. “But I thought you said you were supposed to be considering a marriage proposal this week?”
She cocked her head, conceding the point. “I am. I’ve considered. I’m saying no.”
Though she might have imagined it, something seemed to shift in Jamie’s gaze. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as blinked, and yet she felt him tune in more fully. “Really? What made you come to that conclusion?”
A laugh broke up in her throat and she rolled her eyes. “You mean aside from the fact that I can’t keep myself from kissing you?” she said, grinning. “He’s just not the man for me. It, uh…It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”
“Would you have said no if you had been able to resist kissing me?” he asked, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“No, I’d planned to say no all along.” She scooted a cut glass tumbler toward him and gestured toward the Jameson. “I was just dreading it.”
Jamie’s eyes twinkled with some sort of secret humor. He poured her a shot of the whiskey and slid it back to her, then hefted his own glass. “Here you go,” he said. “Liquid courage.”
How timely, Audrey thought, as she brought the tumbler to her lips. She was going to need it because she grimly suspected he planned to call in his massage any minute now. Her hands on that hot silky skin, shaping those incredible muscles… She took a drink, allowed the smooth honey-like taste of the whiskey to caress her tongue before swallowing. He was right, she thought, immeasurably pleased—no burn. Just a pleasant warmth which quickly expanded in her belly, then gradually infected the rest of her body.
Audrey inclined her head. “This is good,” she told him.
Jamie shrugged. “I like