Human Interaction (12 page)

He insisted on picking me up as well, which didn't quite sit comfortably with me. Meat rationalized that since he already knew where I lived and had met my boys, I should be able to trust him enough to transport me from Point A to Point B without damage. His point valid, I relented without further argument.

When he asked where I wanted to eat, I insisted on something casual as I could never understand spending over ten dollars for a single meal and I would never consider myself an upscale seven course kind of date, anyway. No matter the price or what you ate, the results were the same several hours later.

We ended up at a quiet neighborhood Mom and Pop restaurant, short on space, but long on atmosphere and quiet Big Band music that allowed conversation without yelling.

"How long has it been?" Meat asked between bites of his pasta.

I swallowed, then took a sip of my water with lemon. Tilting my head, I considered his question. "That depends."

His brow furrowed. "Depends?"

"Do you consider places where you stand in line, buy your food, complete with children's toy, then sit down and eat, as a restaurant?"

Meat blinked and shook his head. "Not what I was going for, but no, that's not a restaurant to me."

I took a small bite of my chicken fettuccini. "Then, a long time since I've eaten in one." Taking time to swallow, I met his look. His words replayed through my head. "What were you going for?"

He leaned in, one big hand wrapped around his fork, the other rested lightly on the table between us. "You know… how long?" He continued to stare as his baritone voice rumbled from his chest, low and sensual.

The heat flared in my cheeks. Breaking eye contact, I concentrated on my plate as I shoved a piece of noodle back and forth across the white china. "Four years," I whispered in a barely discernable decibel.

One hand reached out to cover mine; his thumb lightly rubbed, sparking nerve endings. "No, that's not what I meant either."

Looking up, I read his face. Amusement, maybe some tenderness reflected back to me. Confused, I tilted my head. "Then I'm lost. What were you asking?" I shot him a small smile. "Blonde here. You have to be precise sometimes."

Meat grinned back, his left dimple shyly popping out. "I take it you've been a widow for four years?"

Nodding, I waited for his next question.

"How long has it been since you've been"—he paused, searching for words—"intimate… with a man?" His deep voice lowered a touch more, enough to send tiny shivers down my spine.

My face fired all the more. "Four years." I grabbed my water glass, taking a long drink, knowing it would do nothing for my flush, but it couldn't hurt to try.

His eyebrows lifted quickly, mouth opened just a hair. Releasing my hand and dropping his fork, he pulled his hands together, resting his chin on them while continuing to study me.

Squirming under the scrutiny, I focused on the uneaten portion of entree.

"You haven't been with a man since you lost your husband?" he clarified.

"No." He stared at me like I'd entered the land of freakhood. Was it so hard to believe?

A few long moments passed before he sat back in his chair, and took a swallow from his tea. His eyes still focused on me, but the corner of his mouth slowly hitched upward.

I peeked up at him from under my lashes, busily playing with my food. He had the silent treatment down pat. I withstood the pressured moments while the hamster inside his mind ran a few laps on the wheel.

Unable to stand it a moment longer, I blurted out, "What?"

His grin only widened.

My brow furrowed as my ire shot up. How annoying. The letch could at least speak. "What is it?"

Mischief sparked in his eyes.

Irritated, I took the opportunity to kick his shin under the table. He jumped and then reached down to rub the spot.

"Hey! None of that," he admonished, pointing his finger at me.

Grumbling, I took a deep breath. "What in the world do you think is funny?"

He leaned forward, amusement still plastered on his face. Reaching out, he took my hand, lifting it to his mouth. A brushing of his lips feathered across my palm. His fingers caressed my wrist and back of the hand as he showed tender affection to the area.

"I think you're an exceptional woman, Shy." He flicked his tongue over my sensitized skin.

A small shiver ran up my spine.
Oh, boy.

* * * *

The rest of the dinner passed without incident. I managed not to choke on my food while refraining from bruising his shin at the same time. For his part, Meat kept the flirting to a tolerable level. I didn't put bets on his extraordinary behavior continuing once we left the public place and entered the close confines of his car.

We slid into his Jaguar, the leather seats chilly in the night air. I buckled my seatbelt, as he started the engine.

"Now what do you want to do?"

"I don't know. What do you want to do?" I glanced in his direction.

He grinned widely and waggled his eyebrows. Rolling my eyes, I snorted. "Oh, no. I only promised dinner. That's it. Dinner."

His chuckle sounded loudly across the interior of the car. "Doesn't mean I can't ask or you can't expand that promise."

Muttering to myself, I peered out the side window.

His right hand found a place to rest just above my knee. Looking down, I debated on what to say and do next. He drove with one hand, easily navigating other cars and barriers.

"So, what
else
do you want to do?" I tried to fill in the silence with more conversation.

"I think dessert is in order." He shot me a grin before returning his attention to the road.

"Dessert?"

"Oh, yeah. Dessert." His sultry voice sent my stomach in a slow, delicious flip.

Perplexed, I watched his face. "Does this involve chocolate and something sweet?"

He laughed once more. Stopping at a traffic light, he squeezed my knee. One eyebrow lifted as his dimple popped out into full view. "Mmmmm." He literally groaned. "Now that's an idea."

My belly fluttered at the declaration. I could have sworn the windows began to steam just from his saucy innuendos and outright seduction. The farther away from the city we drove, the more nervous I became.

Every time I asked where we were going, he answered, "Wait and see."

Isn't this how poor unfortunate women find out their dates and lovers are serial killers? They go out to eat, then he drives them off to the boonies to do away with them?
I wondered how close we were to a river. Maybe he considered just tossing me in, convenient and easy way to hide the evidence.
Fish food. I really don't want to be fish food. Ick.

"I can poof," I muttered to myself, hoping to boost my confidence in escape options if he parked anywhere near a water feature.

He chuckled, patting my thigh with familiarity. "Yes, and by the way, you suck at it." Those deep blue eyes danced with mirth.

"Gee thanks." My bottom lip pooched out of its own accord.

"Anytime." He shook his head, sending long nearly black strands of hair in motion for a brief moment.

He slowed the car, turning into a gravel laden driveway surrounded by large trees. A lazy curve revealed a moderate sized log cabin, positioned in the center of another immense grove of old, overshadowing trees.

My heart picked up speed as he pushed a remote, sending the garage door into an opening motion. I clenched my fingers together, hoping to hide my increasing anxiety.

Once he pulled in the garage, parked, and set the garage door back down, his full attention turned to me. Glancing at my face, he smiled reassuringly. "Come on."

"Where… where are we going?"

Perhaps this served as an opportune moment to mention I wasn't ready to meet and greet
the
Meat yet? And how does one put that sentiment into words?
Thanks for the dinner, but I'm not interested in playing 'paint the Shy with chocolate and commence licking'. Hmmm. Don't want to give him unnecessary ideas. Too complicated. How about: you and me, no swapping of body fluids tonight.
Comprehende
? Maybe a bit too street slang.

The door to my side opened and one of his hands appeared. Automatically, I grasped it, letting him pull me out of my seat and into the garage. He stood ready to lead me into the house and I still hadn't thought of a good line yet. He tugged. I followed along through the door and into what appeared to be a kitchen built for a professional chef. It easily doubled the size of my kitchen back home. A large island stood in the center. Cooking pans and specialty items hung from just overhead. Natural rock, dark brown in color, served as the flooring.

"Wow."

He turned and smiled back at me. "You like?"

I nodded as I scanned the room. "Very nice. Amazing."

He dropped my hand, heading to the stainless steel fridge. "One scoop or two?" he asked, opening the freezer side.

"Huh?" I pulled my attention from the breakfast nook off to the side.

"One scoop or two?" He pulled a container of ice cream from the freezer, shut the door, and opened the fridge.

Seeing what he had in his hand, I smiled and relaxed for the first time since we'd left the restaurant. "One would be fine." I glanced around. "Where are the bowls?"

He pointed to a nearby cupboard. "Bottom shelf."

He took some toppings from the fridge, then carried the armful to where I stood, setting it all down on the counter. By the time I found and pulled out two cereal bowls, he had spoons and an ice cream scoop at the ready. Two scoops plopped into each bowl.

"Hey! I just wanted one," I grumbled, already reaching for the chocolate syrup.

Meat just grinned in return. "Yeah, but you'll eat it anyway."

I glanced up at him, replacing the lid on the syrup. "So this is what you meant by something sweet with chocolate."

He winked, as his smile widened. "Well…" His eyelids lowered into a sensual look that threatened to melt my ice cream on the spot.

Yikes.

"Come on." He grabbed his bowl and led the way into the living room. Log beams encompassed the room. A large, old fashioned fireplace surrounded by a wall of rocks stood to one side with a leather couch and recliner facing it. Hardwood floors replaced the natural stone of the kitchen. A huge tiger skin lay beneath a rectangular cedar coffee table.

Horrified, I looked at Meat's back. "Ohhh. Please tell me that isn't real."

He paused, caught the line of my vision, and shrugged. "What do you think?" He headed to the couch, sat down, and took a bite of his dessert. "Cat got your tongue?" he teased between bites. Patting the seat beside him, he encouraged me to do the same.

I headed over, plunked down, leaving a bit of space between us, my eyes still focused on the striped hide. "You didn't…?"

He took another bite and waved his hand. "Nah. Got it on sale last winter. Thought it was fitting."

My mouth opened, closed, then opened once more.
Oh, he is such a letch. Letting me think he had killed some animal. For that matter, some family member.
I frowned when I considered some endangered animal gave his life to be someone's rug.

"It's not real, Shy." He quickly corrected my line of thinking.

"Oh."

He shook his head but continued. "It's a fake, although an upscale one. Besides, I can empathize."

Yeah, he had a point. Most shifters probably avoided the taxidermist at all costs.

A spoonful of vanilla ice cream topped with pineapple preserves slid into my open mouth. "Mmphhh." I closed and automatically swallowed. "No fair."

"Yeah, well. You better get eating before yours melts." He gestured in the direction of my bowl.

I dug in; savoring the chocolate syrup I lapped off the spoon with each bite. In mid-lick, I caught him staring at me. "What?" A low rumble came from his chest though no words emerged. Shrugging, I took another bite, making sure to clean the remains off the spoon as before. Again, he watched with avid attention.

I plunked the spoon back in the remaining ice cream. How was I supposed to finish my ice cream when he made me self-conscious? Maybe he needed conversation. Get his attention off my eating habits and onto something else.

"So, what do we do now?"

He glanced from my utensil back to my face. "What do you want to do?" The words literally purred from his throat, as if they were coated in honey and old brandy.

I rolled my eyes. "Not that!" Squirming, I scooted a bit closer to the edge of the couch. "Is that all you think of?"

"Every six seconds, baby." His wicked, sexual grin appeared.

"Oh, good grief." Just what I needed, a randy cat. Make that a randy cat with his prey in his cave, at his mercy. I muttered to myself once more. "I can poof." Funny, the fact didn't make me feel any better.

He chuckled. "We've covered this already. You suck at teleporting." He stood, reaching out to take my bowl with him, heading back into the kitchen.

"Yeah, so…" What else did one say when faced with the blaring truth?

"Chess or Life?" He sauntered back into the room, making a beeline for a corner cabinet.

"Huh?" The change of subject sent me backpedaling.

"Chess or Life?" he repeated, holding up a couple of games.

"Ohhhh." I grinned. "Since I don't know how to play chess, let's make it Life."

Fifteen minutes later, my little car sat with just me and a hubby. His car, on the other hand, overflowed with kids, eight of them to be exact.

"You need to upgrade to a Suburban," I teased, pointing to the little plastic 'children' tossed all over the car, wherever they wouldn't fall out.

He grinned. "Must mean I got a hell of a sexy and fertile mate."

I shook my head. "Looks like I'm barren."

He pulled a couple of blue plastic pegs from his car and placed them in mine. "Here, you can adopt a couple of mine."

I laughed at his generous act. "Gee, thanks. I'll return them when they hit puberty."

A snort followed.

He heckled me at each odd happening that set me back in life. I found amends as I ended up a millionaire while he inherited a skunk farm. Fitting, I told him. "You will fit right in with those skunks."