Mack was oblivious to her horror. Or the shocked looks of their fellow diners.
"That sounds like he just typed a passage right from a porno."
Kindra fisted her hands and whispered, "Mack!" Couldn't he see she was mortified?
"Now if I was going to say something to you, it would be something like, 'I can't sleep without seeing you in my dreams.'"
Wait a minute. Hold the phone. She looked at him in surprise. Was he trying to get poetic on her? That wasn't part of their bargain. She couldn't handle him saying loverlike things as if he actually cared about her. It would be too much like what she really wanted.
Kindra sat up straight, startled at her thoughts. What did she really want? Sex with Mack, right? Nothing else.
Right?
Mack brushed against her knee with his leg, and she felt it reverberate through every inch of her body.
"No? Not your style? How about, 'You're a beautiful woman and I want you so bad I ache to taste you.' "
Kindra had known she was no match for him. This confirmed it. He seemed to be teasing her, a little smile playing around the corner of his mouth. She sat stock still, afraid to move, afraid to say something needy and grasping, which was how she suddenly felt.
Vulnerable.
"Not doing it for you?" Mack smiled patiently. "Do you like it dirty? I can talk dirty to you, Kindra. How about… 'You've got a sweet little ass and I can't wait to fuck it.' "
Her mouth dropped. She felt it clunk down onto her chest. She found her voice. "I don't think, uh, dirty, is my style."
Not that she had a style. But Mack using words like that when talking about her was too much. Way too much. So Russ used them with her all the time. But Russ wasn't real. Russ was like her computer screen had just gotten really smart and was talking with her. Real, but not real at all.
Russ wasn't looking her in the face. With gorgeous blue eyes and muscles rippling in his short-sleeve rayon shirt. Russ didn't have a low, powerful voice that made women want to stand up and howl at the moon.
Russ wasn't Mack. Oh, so real, and oh, so close.
Mack grinned. "Dirty's not your style? Not yet, anyway."
If she were inclined to be honest, which she wasn't, she kind of liked it when he talked like that. But nothing was going to make her admit that. Not in public. If he tried really hard in private, using all his powers of naked persuasion, she might concede the point.
The waiter stopped next to them, brandishing plates of food. "Oh, look, our dinner is here!" she beamed at the waiter, then took a nice long swallow of her iced tea.
Maybe she should have accepted the wine Mack had suggested instead. She was a little tense.
When the waiter moved away, leaving the steaming fajitas in front of her, Kindra busied herself with filling and rolling up a tortilla.
As Mack did the same, he suddenly asked, "How old are you?"
Pausing with a pepper on her fork, Kindra looked at him. He wasn't looking at her, but was cutting his chicken. It was a harmless question.
She answered, "I'm twenty-six."
"How long have you worked for MicroDesign?"
"Four years." Kindra took a bite of her fajita and savored the spicy flavor.
"So do you own your house or do you rent?"
Was this a loan application?
She swallowed her food and said suspiciously, "Why do you ask?"
He shrugged and leaned back against his chair. "I'm just trying to get to know you, that's all."
Well, stop it. That was the last thing she wanted.
This was supposed to be like the live version of Russ. Anonymous. Sex for the sake of sex. Mack would try and prove his point, she would get to fulfill a year-long fantasy, and everything would be hunky dory. On Monday they would pretend this had never happened, and life would go on.
Instead of telling him that, Kindra found herself saying, "I just bought the house six months ago. I was tired of living in an apartment."
"I know what you mean. I have these neighbors who are always yelling at each other. And I'd like to get a dog, but my building has this ten-pound rule. What kind of a dog is under ten pounds?" He shook his head. "Not any kind of dog I'd want."
The image of Mack with a poodle popped into her head. She giggled before she could stop it.
"What?" He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth.
"Nothing." Kindra put her napkin in front of her so he wouldn't see her smiling.
"Tell me."
"Okay." She dropped the napkin. "I was just picturing you walking a poodle. With bows in its fur and a little hot pink sweater."
Mack's lips twitched. "Hey! I don't think so."
Kindra laughed. "You could call her Bitsy. She could ride in your backpack with your laptop."
Mack looked amused. He grinned and said, "You'd like to see that, wouldn't you?"
"I'd love to," she said with relish, not stopping to temper her words. For a minute, she'd forgotten that he was Mack Stone, and she shouldn't be herself with him. She had forgotten that over the years she'd learned it was better to fade into a corner than draw attention to herself.
Her philosophy at MicroDesign had been put up and shut up. Do her job and leave the office politics to those who were capable of handling it.
Hide the bod and the brain.
It had worked.
But it also left her feeling unfulfilled and restless. Daring. Reckless.
Capable of throwing herself into a one-night stand with Mack Stone.
"I like you, Kindra," Mack said, his tone changing from amused to aroused.
Her laugh cut off. His hand was on her knee. My God, he was stroking up her leg, past her thigh, to her…
A gurgling sound left her mouth.
"Mack."
Did that ridiculous breathy voice belong to her? She'd never heard that kitten purr emerge from her mouth in her life.
Flustered and hot, Kindra tried to back her chair out. She hit the wall.
Mack's hand settled onto her inner thigh above the knee, stroking lightly back and forth. Her skirt was bunching a little. He was barely even leaning to reach her and she felt a little like how a fish on a hook must feel. She could thrash about, but that would only make it worse.
Besides, it felt… good. Naughty. If anyone was glancing their way, it would look like he was resting his hand on her knee under the table. No big deal, people did that all the time.
Gripping the table, she strove to act normal. Mack was eating more chicken with his free hand, his face a delicious combination of feigned innocence and wicked intent.
She wanted him. His fingers were a vicious little tease, so close yet so far, and she was having trouble breathing. Her nipples were beading painfully against her tank top, and she ached and throbbed.
With a deep breath, she reached for her fajita.
Mack pinched her inner thigh lightly, sending a jolt of heat surging between her legs. Her hand jerked and the fajita fell on the table, beef tumbling out.
Mack, his blue eyes clouded with desire, said, "I think we're skipping dessert, aren't we?"
Yeah, yes, uh-huh, that would be correct.
Would it look pathetic if she called for the check now?
Mack said, "I'm not really hungry. Let's get this to go."
She was liking him more and more each minute.
Chapter Three
Mack was having a little trouble keeping his eyes on the road. They kept wanting to drift over to Kindra, who had her legs crossed again in the passenger seat, but whose skirt had hiked up way past the point of indifference.
Just one hand in and under the denim, and he would be touching her panties. He should have bought an automatic transmission instead of stick. Then his hand would be free to roam about the cabin, right under Kindra's skirt.
They weren't talking, but the air was rilled with Mexican spices from their boxed dinners, and a healthy dose of sexual tension.