Long Slow Burn

She rattled off the number; he put it into his phone.

“Here we go.” The waitress set down their beers. “Will you be ordering off the menu?”

“Not just yet, thanks.” Troy picked up his glass and held it toward Kim. “Cheers.”

She clinked with him and took a long sip, feeling cattily delighted that he hadn’t so much as glanced at the gorgeous waitress. And having been able to do Troy the favor of connecting him with her brother, she felt less like she was out on a date with a movie star and more like he was one of the gang.

“Tell me about this book you’re writing, Troy.”

He answered easily, with his usual charm and poise, but she no longer let it throw her, and by the end of their second beer and a shared appetizer, they were giggling together like old friends. He even brainstormed a few ideas for the Carter website, though she found them too masculine for the look she thought Carter wanted.

“Ready to go?” He stood, having taken care of the bill despite her offer to split it.

“I’m ready, yes.” She preceded him out of the restaurant and they walked together to the garage where they’d both parked, chatting about how great it felt to have warmer weather. Once there, he was gallant enough to make sure she got safely to her car. “Thanks for a great time, Troy. I enjoyed meeting you.”

“Same here. We should do this again sometime.”

She had to force herself not to snort. According to Kent, guys said that regardless of whether they meant it or not. “I’d like that, yes.”

Dating ritual: complete. But the evening had been a success because she’d had fun even though he was unbelievably gorgeous. And if that sounded weird, it was just Kim being Kim.

“Great.” He backed away a few steps and raised his hand in farewell. “I’ll give you a call.”

She couldn’t resist. “You don’t have my number.”

“Oh, geez.” He rolled his eyes and came back sheepishly. “Smooth, huh?”

She shook her head mock-disparagingly, liking him more. Troy the Magnificent had done a dorky thing. “I’ve completely changed my mind about seeing you again.”

He cracked up, opening his cell. “Don’t blame you.”

She gave him her number, said good-night, then grinned all the way home. Hey, guess what? She’d lived through a date with a totally hot guy. How about that?

And maybe back at her apartment, an email from Dale would be waiting on her laptop. If this kept up Kim would start thinking she was some kind of megababe.

She arrived home and let herself in to find Nathan sprawled on the couch in the dark, watching the giant highdefinition TV he’d brought from his old place and set up in her living room. Honestly. Men must have done all the prehistoric cave paintings, because otherwise what would they have to stare at all evening?

“Hi, Nathan.” She walked past him, heading for the laptop in her room and her latest fun email from Dale. Two men in one evening? She was getting greedy.

“Kim. Hey.” He sat bolt upright and turned off the set. “How was your date?”

Wait, he’d turned off the set? She backtracked and peered at him through the dim light. Was he feeling okay?

“Hello?” He frowned at her, snapped his fingers. “Your date?”

“The date was fine.” She couldn’t help another grin, coupled with a giggle. Maybe the beers helped her giddiness along, but she didn’t think that was all. “Great, actually.”

“Yeah?” He didn’t look thrilled. “I thought this guy was too gorgeous.”

Kim shrugged, picked up one of the throw pillows from the couch and punched at it to fluff it up. “Yeah, well. Apparently not.”

He got up and stretched. “You going to see him again?”

“Very possibly.” She twirled the pillow between her fingers, trying to act supremely casual. Gorgeous guy after her? Sure, why not?

“What about this Dale guy?” Nathan said the name as if it were a disease.

“I’m seeing him Monday.” Kim tossed the fluffed pillow up in the air, her hands ready to catch it.

Nathan grabbed it out of the air and threw it back onto the couch.

Startled, she looked up at him. He was staring at her oddly.

“Wh—” The word didn’t make it out the first time and she had to clear her throat to try again. “What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

Had he always been that tall? That broad? Maybe the twilight in the room made him more impressive. Against the glow coming through the unshaded windows he loomed large and male, not threatening, but … she felt nervous, edgy, as if she should step away from him. Why should she? Nathan wasn’t dangerous.

He just seemed it right now.

“You’re really doing this dating thing, huh?” His voice was gruff, not his familiar casual tone.

She had plenty of sassy in-his-face responses, starting with Don’t you think it’s about time? Moving on to Why, you think you’re the only one who needs sex? But all she could do was stare at his darkened face, trying to read his mood.

He swallowed audibly. “Kim …”

This was weird. Too intimate somehow. All wrong with Nathan. “You don’t think I should be dating?”

“No. No, you should be. Absolutely.”

“So where’s the problem?”

“There is no problem.” He reached out and touched her shoulder. He’d touched her before, but this felt different, as if she was supposed to find meaning in it. All she found was more confusion. “I hope you find someone great. Someone who treats you like the amazing woman you are. Someone who respects every part of you, everything you do and believe, and everything you want.”

Was he making fun of her? He didn’t sound as if he was, but more than once she’d bought into some sincerity act and had it bite her on the ass when he cracked up with a gotcha.

She gave a stuttering laugh. “Well. Okay then. Thanks, Nathan.”

“Right.” He backed away. “I’ll just go back to my hot date.

With Miss St. Pauli Girl.”

Kim took an impulsive step forward. What the hell? Now he did sound annoyed. And sulky. What was with him?

He turned and went into the kitchen. Through the pass-through she could see him by the refrigerator light. Seconds later, a bottle top rattled to the counter—where he would undoubtedly leave it. “Want a beer?”

“I had some earlier. I’m going to my room.”

He emerged from the kitchen. “Rushing to see what Jamaica Dale has written?”