"I gotta agree." Doug followed close on her heels—close enough that his shadow was in her way; she shifted her purse to her other shoulder. "You'd think Patrick wouldn't have any problem getting a position as a chef."
"True, except I'd guess his training is pretty much limited to
Caribbean
fare." Her keys, finally. She really needed to downsize her bag. Not to mention upsize her usual number of sit-ups tonight. "And it's probably not even real training at that. More like survival skills."
"What was that he did to the fish?"
"I'm not sure I want to know," Kinsey admitted, keys jangling. "There are a few things better left to the imagination."
"Afraid he laced it with an island aphrodisiac?"
"You wish." She tossed a laugh over her shoulder. "Actually, Patrick was probably the one doing the wishing."
Where the hell had
that
come from?
she
mused, walking down the driver's side of her new Saturn
Vue
, which was parked behind his Nissan 350Z and beneath the spreading oaks that lined one side of the drive.
She unlocked the door, tucked her purse down next to the center console, then turned back to ask the question she'd calmed enough to voice. "Why would you say something like that?"
Hands tucked in his front pockets, Doug gave a careless shrug. "It's obvious he's all about getting into your pants."
"If he was, then don't you think he would've stuck around instead of taking off the minute the food was on the table?" She blew out a huff of frustration. "Patrick's come-ons don't mean a thing. I know that. Izzy knows that. He's simply … intense."
Doug snorted in disbelief. "How can someone be
simply
intense? Isn't that an oxymoron?"
"I don't know, Doug. Is it?" She wished it wasn't so dark; she wanted to see his eyes. To see if she could tell what was going on in his all-too-male mind. "That's just the best way I know to describe Patrick."
"Okay. Sure. Whatever."
She bit down on her first choice of smart comebacks and stated, "Envy does not become you."
"Don't you mean jealousy?"
She shook her head. "Envy means you want what he has. Jealousy would imply he's a threat to something belonging to you."
He waited a moment,
then
said, "Maybe he is."
"Oh, really." Now
this
was getting interesting. Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned back against her SUV. "And what would that be?"
He looked off toward the dark street, then back in the direction of the
Coffeys
' garage, where a floodlight burned brightly. Finally, he pulled his hands from his pockets and, soles scuffing on the concrete drive, moved closer.
Leaning his shoulder against the car next to her, he hesitated, his mouth drawn into a grim line. "I don't have a right or a reason to be jealous. That's what makes this so hard to deal with."
She stopped her automatic response, which was to demand an explanation, and treaded carefully instead—a very hard feat to accomplish when he stood so near, when his body heat stirred her, when he smelled wonderfully of nothing more than warn skin and a long day.
"What's so hard to deal with?" she asked.
He glanced down at his feet, away to the lights of an oncoming car, waiting for it to pass before turning again to face her. At this range, at this angle, she could so much better see the emotion he fought.
A visible emotion that tugged on the loose threads of the defensive covering she'd woven over her heart. It was sad, really, how weak she was. One strong pull and he had her coming apart. Oh, but it was going to be hard, harder than she'd expected, letting this one go.
Finally, Doug found his voice. "It's tough, Kinsey, feeling this way, feeling … jealous, when I know full well that you and I don't have a committed relationship." He waited, as if unsure about saying anything more.
She liked the idea of making him sweat—especially considering her own rise in temperature and the racing pace of her pulse. "I see."
"C'mon, darlin'. You know it's true." Frustration tinged his
voice,
a frustration she sensed was the result of losing an argument he was having with himself to justify what he was feeling.
She wasn't about to give him any ammunition to shoot down those feelings. "What's true?"
"We're having a good time. That's it. That's all it can be. You're here. I'm on my way to
Denver
." He shrugged. "Like I said, it doesn't make a lot of sense."
"But you're still jealous over me." She wanted to get this part straight, because this part was the only part that mattered. "Over Patrick flirting with me."
"It doesn't even have to be Patrick. It's just that…"
"Just that what?"
He hung his head, shook it, moved his hands to his hips and surrendered. "It's just that ever since you told me I was the ma you wanted to marry, I've thought of you as becoming my wife."
* * *
The Starbucks on South Shepherd made for a much better conversational arena, even if the drive back into town from The Woodlands had given Kinsey too much time to think.
From the look on Doug's face as he stared at his café mocha sitting on the table between them, he had a lot on his mind, as well.
It made sense, considering the word
marriage
had cropped up between them.
And since Doug had used the word
wife
.
Kinsey blew across the top of her latte and sighed as she sipped. She hated introducing tension into what so far had been an advertisement for a fun-filled evening.
But as uncomfortable as this subject for some reason made her, talking about their intimacy on Coconut
Caye
was a big part of taking their relationship to the deeper level she was beginning to realize she wanted.
And Doug did deserve her honesty. She just hoped she didn't freeze from the exposure.
She laced her fingers around the wide mug and stared down into the milky espresso as she gathered her thoughts. She looked up again before admitting, "You know I was drunk when I said that."
His mouth quirked as he lifted his eyes to meet hers. "I was drunk when I heard it."
"So, then, it shouldn't be that big of a deal. Right?" She shrugged with forced indifference, easing into feeling him out. Sipping again at her latte, she sat back in the plush armchair like the consummate actress she was.
"It shouldn't, no." He reached for his mug, cradled it between his large hands. "I mean, it can't happen, this thing between us. I know that. You know that. Maybe if I wasn't leaving…"
"Sure," she said, getting even deeper into the role of understanding female-but-not-girlfriend. Lee
Strasberg
would be proud. "I mean, a long-distance relationship would be pretty tough to manage."
He shook his head, grimacing. "Yeah. The reality sucks, but trying to make a go of a relationship like that is a recipe for disaster."
She forced out a laugh, wishing he hadn't been so quick to agree,
then
wondered why she'd even wish such a thing. It wasn't as if she was a big fan of an emotional involvement played out over thousands of miles.
Still, if the choice was having Doug on those terms or not having him at all… "I've never put myself in a position to know. I still live within ten miles of my parents. And I'm only five miles from work and family number two. I can't imagine not having my family close."
"I don't even know the last time I saw my folks." He was quiet for a moment before adding, "They moved from
Abilene
to
Tulsa
a couple of years ago, and I haven't even seen their new place. My brother and his wife are still in
Abilene
, and it's been years since I've been back."
Wait a minute. He didn't visit his family? Not that everyone shared her apron-strings issues, but still. "You're kidding! Why not? I mean, it's your business, of course," she added, backing off hurriedly. "I don't mean to pry."
"Then why are you?" he asked, his tone teasing, his eyes not quite so light.
She gave a small laugh that probably didn't sound quite as casual as she meant it to. "I don't know. It's just that I have Sunday morning breakfasts and Thursday night dinners with my parents every week. I tend to forget that not everyone has the close relationship—"
dare
she
say codependent relationship?
"—with their family that I do."
"It's not about closeness." At a long hissing blast of steam, he glanced toward the barista and simply shrugged. "They have their life. I have mine."
And that was that. His tone left no holes for Kinsey to poke at and
widen,
no cracks for her to pry apart. But she didn't need to be beaten on the head with a hammer to realize the truth he'd just handed her.
Doug Storey was not a family man.
Then again, he had used the word
wife
. He'd been thinking about the possibilities. And he hadn't yet tucked tail and run. So … where did that leave her plan for winning him away from his bachelor life?
Family man or not, she wasn't quite ready to let him go without knowing more about where he came from. Hey, a girl could always dream that she had it in her to change a guy, right?
"Well." She ran an index finger around the mouth of her mug and decided to table any further personal probing about his dealings with his family for the moment. "I don't mind if you're jealous over me, but seriously. You don't have anything to worry about. I'm not the sort to stray."
He drank,
then
considered her over the rim of his mug. "I'm more curious to know if you're the sort to spill your guts while wasted. Was that you or the booze talking last summer when you made the marriage comment?"
The way he was staring—his brows up, his chin down, his smile impatient and tight, his gaze focused on her eyes—she knew he wasn't seeing just the telltale pulse in the hollow of her throat. He was seeing more, seeing every one of the warring emotions his question had sent into battle.
"Do you want me to be honest?" she asked, and he nodded. "Okay, then. At the time? Would I have said it had I been sober? Definitely not."
Leaving her reply at that would've been the smart thing to do, the easy thing to do. But since she'd never been known to do either, and since the look in Doug's eyes had grown cold, she took a huge leap of faith.
"Would I say it now? Tonight? If I were drunk, most definitely. Under the influence of no more than espresso and your dimples?" She allowed herself a small smile when he gave her the same. "Yeah, there's a good chance it would slip out."
He crossed one ankle over the opposite knee and sat back, seeming to fill up the entire chair more than he had moments before she'd so thoroughly stroked his ego. Kinsey wasn't sure her stomach would hold all the butterflies swarming while she waited for his response.
When he finally gave it, she wished she'd kept her big mouth closed, her daydream fantasies private. "Then we have a problem. I don't want to hurt you."
"No, you just want to screw my brains out." She shot the words back before even thinking to stop her reckless tongue. Fuming at herself for being so stupidly honest, she mentally cursed him for being the same. "Or at least that's what you're trying to tell yourself, isn't it?"
"What're you talking about?"
"C'mon, Doug." Ugh. This was exactly why she'd been avoiding this discussion. Men simply shut down when the truth cut too close and they hadn't had their secret cave time to work things out. "You may have had a glass of wine with dinner, but that wife comment was not drunken rambling."
He waited, stalled, kept silent while she shifted and stewed, until she was sure she'd blown ay chance they might've had to work through their issues. Even when he finally looked her straight in the eye and said, "I think we've both probably said more than is wise," she wasn't sure.
She held her breath until the reverberations from the shot to her heart settled. Doug was the only man she'd ever dated who she'd thought of as husband material. And in typical male fashion, he wasn't in the mood to give up any of what he was thinking or feeling. Instead, he put down his big size-twelve foot and brought the conversation to an end.
Fine. Let him be that way. Let him miss out on the best thing that might have ever happened to him. She'd back off for now, give him time to miss her while he was gone this next week, let him think about what he was leaving behind. Plant a seed that would germinate while he slept, and strangle him anytime he got too far from her
Houston
,
The picture caused her to grin, and she finally looked up from her latte to change the subject. "Are you going to be in town next Sunday?"
He frowned. "Yeah, why?"
"You know that football game you wanted to make that wager on?" she asked, casting a glance from beneath lowered lashes as she drained the rest of the coffee from her mug.
He nodded, his expression intrigued.
"Well, Izzy gave me two tickets." Kinsey didn't add that the other woman had slipped them into her hand earlier tonight along with a whispered reminder of the male animal's innate love of sport. Step two in her man-trapping plan.