That last sentence was an innuendo par excellence.
They let that statement ring there, with all of its implications, and her silence was as good as a confirmation.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he demanded softly.
She, quite frankly, didn’t know how any woman said no to him. Or why she would.
And shewasreally, really good in the sack.
The air was dense and crackling with suspense. This was a man who liked to win as much as she did.
“You’re not wrong,” she said faintly.
Triumph began to glimmer in his eyes. “And...” he prompted.
J. T. McCord might be kryptonite, but he was no match for Fear. Fear always won when it was part of the mix these days. It was just so much easier to say no than to say yes, and to keep her life small and safe. If she was a Russian nesting doll, she preferred to remain packed.
“And...” She inhaled deeply, exhaled. “...I’m sorry.”
He went still again. Pressed his lips together thoughtfully.
He wouldn’t quite free his gaze, however.
And she met it head on, because she might be damaged and squirrelly, but she wasn’t stupid enough to forgo a single moment of staring into those blue eyes.
She took another long, deep breath, and it was a little shuddery.
“I have... I have another appointment right after this so I have to keep things moving. Want to see outside?” she offered finally, into the silence.
He hesitated a beat.
“Sure,” he said shortly.
She wondered if she’d hurt his feelings. She was pretty sure J. T. McCord actually had feelings, rather than just an ego.
Then again, she suspected that whatever had gone on in his life between the lines on his Wikipedia page had toughened his hide.
She doubted he’d be nursing any wounds very long.
She managed to unlock the sliding doors, though once again her hands were a little awkward, and it seemed to take an inordinate amount of time.
He waited in absolute silence, which didn’t help her nerves in the least.
She slid the doors open onto fresh, already hot mountain air.
He beelined for the tarp-covered hot tub with a guy’s instinct for gadgets, and she darted to the other side of the deck to collect her wits.
She’d just turned down a date with John Tennessee McCord.
She was certifiable.
Because she was both relieved and miserable.
The deck offered a panoramic view of the tops of the trees climbing the steep sides of the canyon. It was a flawlessly blue-skied California day. She’d seen the view of the canyon at this time of day dozens of times before. She’d never seen J. T. McCord inthislight, though, so she peered at him out of the corner of her eye.
Her heartbeat hadn’t quite slowed to pre-J. T. rhythms yet. Every part of her was lit up, from her brain to her nipples.
She heard a text chime into his phone. He lunged for it like a gunfighter being drawn upon.