Runaway Wolfes of Manhattan Three - Helen Hardt Page 0,8
one thing.
She and I would be going to bed together.
I wanted her that much, and I was prepared to do or say anything to get inside that hot little body. Instinctively, I knew she didn’t let just anyone in.
But she would let me in.
I’d make sure of it.
Troy returned to take our orders. I ordered lamb chops, of course. They would come with a potato or grain and a vegetable, whatever Trudy was able to get.
Riley paused a moment. “Is the pasta dish vegan?” she asked.
“Vegan?” Troy said.
“Yeah.”
“It’s vegetarian.”
“I can figure that out by the description. I want to know if it’s vegan.”
Troy look to me, confused.
“Is there butter in it? Eggs or any other dairy product?” I asked.
“I’ll have to check with Trudy,” Troy said.
“Never mind,” Riley said. “I’m not vegan. I was just wondering. I’ll have the pasta. Oh, and a cup of the tomato bisque with wild rice.”
“You know,” I said, “that sounds really good. I’ll have the soup too, Troy.”
Troy nodded and left.
“He seriously doesn’t know what vegan means?”
“I’m not quite sure myself,” I admitted. “I just guessed on the dairy and egg thing.”
“Really?”
“We’re pretty meat-and-potatoes here in Montana. But Trudy does make one of her offerings vegetarian every night.”
“Vegan is kind of vegetarian on steroids. It means no animal products at all, including eggs and dairy. Some vegans even insist on vegan wine.”
“Isn’t wine vegan by nature? Grapes and all?”
“Most wine is filtered using animal proteins, like egg white. True-blue vegans won’t drink it.”
“You’re not vegan, then?”
“No, I’m not even vegetarian. Though I don’t eat a lot of red meat.”
“Then why did you ask if the pasta was vegan?”
“Because I care about what I put into my body, Matt. I like to be informed.”
“But you ordered the pasta anyway.”
“Yeah”—she looked down at her lap for a second and then met my gaze—“I figured I’m on vacation—just a high school business ed teacher on vacation. So what the hell?”
I raised my beer mug. “I will definitely drink to that.”
I didn’t get another laugh out of Riley, but I did get a gorgeous smile. She picked up her wine goblet and took a drink.
Troy brought our soup then, and I took a taste. Interesting. The nuttiness of the wild rice added a nice contrast to the sweet and savory of the tomato.
“This is delicious,” Riley said after swallowing her first bite.
“Told you I’ve never had a bad meal here.”
“I believe it. I’m excited to try the pasta. Not that I usually eat dessert, but I noticed that there’s no dessert listed on her menu.”
“Trudy likes to surprise us, but you can get an idea. Just watch the other diners. Someone will have dessert before we get to ours.”
“You know? I might just have dessert tonight. A surprise sounds great.”
“Surprises are always good.” I couldn’t help smiling. “Why don’t you normally eat dessert?”
“I just don’t.”
“Honey—” Shit. I’d done so well. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. It doesn’t bother me so much anymore. What were you going to say?”
“All right then, honey.” I chuckled a little. “I was going to say you need to treat yourself more. Dessert is one of the little treats in life.”
“What about everything in moderation?”
“Not eating dessert isn’t moderation, Riley.”
She smiled and took another sip of her wine. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Hey”—I nodded toward the table next to us—“Troy just brought dessert to that table, and it looks chocolate and completely menacing.”
She glanced over. “Oh my God. It’s cake or pie or something, and it’s nearly a foot tall.”
“If it’s too much for you, we can share one.”
“All right.” Then she glanced away from me and concentrated on her soup once more.
I wasn’t sure I’d make it to dessert.
“I so overdid it tonight,” Riley said when I walked her to the door of the cabin.
“You took about two bites of our dessert. I’d say I’m the one who overdid it.”
“Well”—she looked at her feet—“thank you for dinner. You didn’t have to pay.”
“I guess I’m a little old-fashioned,” I said. “I invited you, so of course I paid.”
“It was very kind of you. I…enjoyed myself.”
“Glad to hear that, Riley, because I definitely enjoyed myself.”
I touched her cheek, and though she winced a little, she didn’t pull away. Her skin was so soft, like the finest silk.
“Why are you afraid of me?” I asked.
“I’m not afraid.”
“Let me come in.”
“I… I can’t.”
“Please.” I leaned in and brushed my lips lightly against hers. God, already I was hard as marble.
“Matt, you seem like a really nice man, but I’m just not—”
I