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“How could you tell?” Littering the kitchen table was a stack of boxes and an unopened microwave I still had to install.
He chuckled. “I didn’t see any the other night.”
I uncorked the wine. “Well, I wanted at least one room that was finished, and that was the living room.”
“It’s a nice house,” he said from the arched doorway leading to the living room.
“Thanks.” I pulled two wine glasses from the cabinet, assuming he was joining me. “It’s coming along.”
I might play like I didn’t care, but I appreciated his praise. This was my first house, and though it could probably fit inside his own house or in his yard as a man-cave, it was mine. She was pretty and charming, good bones and airy with plenty of windows, and let in lots of natural light. And I’d gotten her through my own sweat, tears, and hefty college loans.
I served us both a piece of cake then handed him a glass and plate. “Let’s go sit in the living room. It’s still a mess in here. If you couldn’t tell.”
As soon as we sat on my sofa, he caught sight of my script on the coffee table. “Memorizing tonight?”
“Yep. Some girls like to go out and party on a Friday night. Not me. Give me Neil Simon and hours of studying lines. That’s what gets me excited.” I took a bite of my cake at that.
Bennett’s playful gaze darkened, zoning in on my mouth again. I wasn’t doing anything sexy, just taking a bite of the cake.
And, holy hell, it was good.
I must’ve made the tiniest sound of pleasure because I wasn’t the type to moan over food. But this cake was fucking ridiculous.
“Good?” He blinked away as he took a sip of wine.
“Amazing. Now I see why you’re here.”
“Why?” He looked panicked for a second.
“You’re forcing me to eat this damn cake, so I get addicted and spend a ton of money at your store.”
“You got me.” He laughed lightly. “I came here to lure you into being a repeat customer. That was my sole aim.”
Before I could make a smart comment back, he pulled his script from the back pocket of his jeans. It was already wearing at the edges as if he’d been spending a lot of time with it. It looked just like mine.
“Want to rehearse?”
Setting my half-eaten cake down, I said, “So that’s why you came over. To sneak in here and force me to practice lines with you.”
“I don’t want to force you to do anything,” he said rather thoughtfully. He sat at an angle, facing me, one ankle casually crossing his other knee, his wine balanced on his right thigh. However, there was nothing casual in his expression or his gaze—all grave and watchful. “But I’ll admit I want to spend more time with you.”
Okay. This was more than his teasing, flirty charm. He was being serious.
“Let’s go over Act Two,” I finally said, unsure what to say. Not the norm for me.
Breaking his intense hold on me, he blinked with a half-smile and set his wine down to open his script.
This, I could handle. Working in a professional capacity where the lines were clear and resolute.
His predatory gaze lingered at my mouth, dipping over my body—that I could not handle. For one, my vagina was one hundred percent in compliance with Operation Clean Out The Cobwebs in the hands of General Broussard. And I was slowly starting to think that my vagina had more sense than I did.
I was totally wrong about him being a stuck-up snob like I’d assumed he would be. So why was I still holding out? I honestly had no idea.
I was nervous.Hemade me nervous. And that was new. Guys rarely knocked me off of my game, but Bennett, with his broad chest and hazel eyes, and hypnotic charisma, actually made me all aflutter.
Like right now.
Bennett took a deep sip of wine and set his glass on the coffee table. “Let’s start with Act Three since we haven’t done that one much.”
