Letting out an appreciative groan, I set my fork down on top of my empty plate and rubbed my hand across my stomach. “That was delicious.” So delicious, in fact, that I was sorely tempted to lick my plate clean like some heathen who lacked basic table manners. Alas, I needed to behave myself if I ever wanted to be invited back.
Rosalie lifted her glass to her lips and smiled at me over the rim. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“If you’re not careful, I might ask you to make my dinner every night.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized how gross they sounded. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to treat you like my personal servant. Besides, you have more important things to do with your time than cook for me.”
“Honestly? Not really. I’m going a bit stir-crazy sitting around all day, obsessively checking my email to see if there are any updates from my lawyers. Drowning my nerves in a glorious meal instead would be an improvement. And let’s be honest, my mom would love it if you were here every night.”
“She’s been very nice to me,” I replied diplomatically. I got the sense Rosalie wasn’t necessarily thrilled with just how nice her mom had been.
As if our conversation had summoned her, the bright xenon headlights of Gloria’s Mini Cooper panned across the dining room wall.
“Speak of the devil,” I said, as the door at the front of the house opened and Rosalie’s mom came swanning into the room.
Her gaze swung back and forth between her daughter and me. “Well, aren’t you two all nice and cozy. Hello, Preston.”
“Hello, Gloria. How was your evening?”
“So much better now.” She slid her purse down off her shoulder and set it on the edge of the table furthest from where Rosalie and I sat, pulling out a chair to join us.
When my gaze connected with Rosalie’s, she was rolling her eyes. “How was your book club?” she asked.
“Oh, that’s not until Tuesday. Tonight was ceramics. So much fun; I just adore kneading all that soft, warm, pliant clay. You two should give it a try.” The suggestive purr in her voice had me nearly choking on my beer.
“Mom!” Rosalie squeaked. “We talked about this.”
“Talked about what, dear?” Her face wore an expression of pure innocence, but if I didn’t know better, I’d say she understood Rosalie’s meaning exactly.
“This!” Rosalie exclaimed, flapping her hand back and forth between them. “The innuendo and double entendres. It’s embarrassing.”
“I legitimately have no idea what you’re talking about. All I meant was that it was a very tactile, satisfying experience.”
“Sure you did,” Rosalie snorted. She crossed her arms over her chest, peering dubiously at Gloria through half-slitted eyes. Clearly, she didn’t believe a word out of her mom’s mouth.
Gloria turned toward me. “You work with your hands, Preston. Maybe you can explain how rewarding it is to get them dirty doing something you really enjoy. Better yet, maybe you could show her.”
“Oh my god,” Rosalie muttered under her breath.
“Oh!” Gloria continued excitedly. “You should rent Ghost before the class. You know, to get you in the spirit of things.” She chuckled at the pun.
“Mother!” Rosalie hissed as my gaze darted between the two women, a thought forming at the back of my mind.
I could have been way off base, but I couldn’t shake the notion that Gloria was trying to play matchmaker. Between the pancake incident and this conversation, I wondered if she’d been trying to push us together for a couple of weeks. Which, okay, fine. But to outright suggest something so blatantly sexual? That was bold, even for her.
Not that I was opposed to acting out a sexy scene or two, mind you.
Unbidden, an image of Rosalie’s naked body stretched out beneath me as I massaged warm oil into her glowing skin sent a potent spike of lust straight to my groin. My cock swelled, and I shifted in my seat to conceal the bulge that tented my sweatpants.
Meanwhile, Rosalie and Gloria continued to bicker in hushed tones and coded language that I clearly wasn’t meant to understand. Briefly, I considered leaving the room to give them some privacy, but I felt glued to my chair, incapable of walking out.
Instead, I let my gaze linger on Rosalie’s flushed, beautiful face, her chest lifting and falling with labored breaths. Did outrage or intrigue put that color on her cheeks? Was it frustration or anticipation that made her breasts rise and fall so rapidly? And what did those surreptitious glances she kept tossing my way mean? Was she sitting there imagining us re-enacting a certain famous scene between Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore the same way that I had?
I honestly didn’t know.
Once upon a time, I would have said I was decent at reading women, but those days were long gone. And while I was admittedly rusty in this regard, I was pretty sure you didn’t come right out and say, “Excuse me, would you like me to head on over to the art store to pick up a potter’s wheel so we can ditch our clothes and rub some wet clay all over each other?”
And besides, even if you could say that, what would be the point? While Rosalie hadn’t mentioned any specific long-term plans, she was born and raised in Colebury, and based on the transformation I’d witnessed in her these past couple of weeks, it was precisely where she belonged.
Meanwhile, I had a job that could take me literally anywhere. Sure, I had projects in Colebury now, but there was a chance I’d need to move on to keep building my business. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us to start something up that I couldn’t finish. And especially after her experience with that asshole back in California, Rosalie needed someone who could commit to her one hundred percent. Unfortunately, I didn’t know if I was that guy. I liked the idea of being that guy for someone someday, but after my own experiences with heartbreak and failed relationships, I didn’t know when I’d be ready.
And with that thought pinging around in my head, I finally pushed back my chair. Wordlessly, I reached across the table and picked up her empty plate and utensils, stacking them on top of my own. When she looked up at me in silent question, I notched my head toward the direction of the kitchen. I might be putting the mental brakes on whatever this was (or could be), but the woman had cooked me a wonderful dinner; the least I could do was not be an asshole and clean up after us.
As I was standing a plate up in the drying rack, Rosalie stepped inside the kitchen with a bashful look on her face. She shoved her hands deep into the front pockets of her jeans and rolled up onto her toes. “So …”
I smiled, hoping to set her mind at ease, as I reached back down into the warm, soapy water to retrieve the next item to be scrubbed.
“I’m sorry,” she said, moving to my side and grabbing the dish towel off its peg to wipe down the plate I’d just washed. “That was incredibly rude of us.”
“It’s okay. Not exactly how I pictured the evening ending, but you can’t say your mom doesn’t keep a person on their toes.”
“No, you certainly cannot say that,” she mused, putting the plate into the cupboard. “I honestly don’t know what’s gotten into her lately. She’s always been outspoken and more than a little bit brash, but she was out of line back there.”
“There are worse things in the world than a parent who loves you and wants to see you happy.”
“I know. It’s just that she hasn’t actually asked what will make me happy. And even if she did, it’s not like I’d know how to answer.” Rosalie blew out a breath. “I just wish she’d stop assuming that she knows what’s best for me. I’m a grown woman; I don’t need my mom propositioning my hot neighbor on my behalf.”
I nudged her playfully with my hip. “All I heard you say is that you think I’m hot.”
She snorted. “Please. Don’t pretend like you don’t know what you look like with all ... that.” She gestured up and down the length of my body. “I put on a pair of sweats, and I look like I just rolled out of bed. On you, they’re … indecent.” She chewed on her lip as her cheeks heated to a warm dusty pink.
“Says the woman who struts around in tight little leggings that hug her every curve.”
She let out a disbelieving huff. “What I wouldn’t give actually to have some curves.” She coasted her hands slowly over her trim waist and down past her gently flared hip. “Blake used to get so upset if I gained even a pound,” she confessed with a pained grimace.
I swallowed deeply, my eyes hungrily devouring the path her hands charted along her body, imagining they were my own. True, Rosalie was on the thin side, but in the short time she’d been home, she’d put on a few pounds, and as far as I was concerned, they were in all the right places.
I shook my head to clear the fog of lust that had suddenly come over me. Don’t even go there, man.
“Fuck him,” I bit out, my voice sounding hoarse and scratchy. “He didn’t deserve you. I’ve seen pictures of the two of you together, and he was definitely punching above his weight class.” It wasn’t that Blake wasn’t good-looking. He was, just in a generic sort of way. With brown hair that he wore gelled back to show off a clean, blandly handsome face, he reminded me of the type of guy you’d see anchoring your local nightly news.
And then there was Rosalie, one of the most beautiful women I’d ever met. With long blonde hair that cascaded down her back in silky waves, mossy green eyes framed by dark sooty lashes, and a plump bottom lip that just begged to be kissed, she was the quintessential all-American girl next door. The type men secretly imagined while they were in the shower, and then dreamed about again later that night. And by men, I obviously meant me. Every time she glanced my way, I fell deeper and deeper under her spell—no matter how hard I tried to fight it.
No matter how forcefully I denied it.
Her eyes danced with laughter. “All I heard was that you think I’m hot.”
My lips quirked to the side as I smiled down at her. Briefly, I let my gaze roam over her face, for once not bothering to disguise my appreciation. “You have excellent hearing.”
She smiled back and took a small step toward me, her eyes flicking up to meet mine. Our gazes locked and held as she lifted her hand to hover tentatively over my left pectoral. But then her brow furrowed, her hand fell back down to her side, and she turned toward the kitchen door. “Is that music?”
All I could hear was the whir of my blood pumping furiously through my heart, the ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump a drumbeat of anticipation between my ears.
“She didn’t,” Rosalie whispered hotly, her hand fisted as she marched through the swinging door. “I will murder her with my bare hands.”
Wanting to prevent a case of matricide, I rushed after her and out the front door, coming to an immediate stop when I stepped out onto the porch to find it awash in the glow of a hundred candles of varying shapes and sizes. A wrought iron bench that was covered in a flannel throw and soft sheepskin sat at the far end, a small matching table off to its side that was topped by a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a Bluetooth speaker with the sounds of Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get In On” wafting out into the night.
Rosalie turned to me with a look of pure dread on her face. “I had nothing to do with this! I would never …” She trailed off as her eyes slowly panned the romantic tableau, eventually landing back on me. “This is completely uncalled for. I’m so sorry.”
I couldn’t lie—the acute look of horror on her face just now had stung. Had I misinterpreted that moment in the kitchen? Was she revolted by the idea of seducing me or just the lengths to which her mom seemed intent on throwing us together? With her eyes glimmering with the sheen of unshed tears, I couldn’t bring myself to ask.
“I think it’s fairly obvious your mom is trying to push us together,” I told her, shoving my feelings of rejection to the side for examination at a later date.
“Yes! That’s exactly it. I asked her not to, but she won’t listen. I’m so embarrassed right now.” She lifted her hands to her face and covered her cheeks with her palms.
“Hey,” I said, taking a step forward to loosely circle her wrists and gently pull them downward to expose her face. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“But she’s practically throwing me at you,” she winced.
My lips quirked to the side in a small smile. “I’ve had worse things thrown at me.”
She chuckled lightly. “Be that as it may; it’s still mortifying.” She took a step backward and then moved quickly around the porch blowing out the candles.
I got the impression she wanted to put as much distance between us as possible so I moved to the opposite side of the porch, flicked off the speaker, and extinguished the remaining candles. Once all the flames were out, I gestured across the yard. “I’m going to head back to my place. Thank you for dinner. It was lovely.”
She smiled, but I noticed it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re welcome. And thanks for not freaking out about all this.” She gestured wildly around her as if to encompass the entirety of the world.
“Nothing to freak out about,” I assured her, making my way down the stairs and across the yard that separated our houses.
Nothing except that I couldn’t stop asking myself what might have happened if she hadn’t been the one to freak out.