Hard to Resist

Maybe not, maybe more, whispered the hum in his body. He ignored it. He wasn’t opposed to having some fun with a willing woman while he was here, but he wasn’t about to complicate matters with the prickly photog—unless she offered an invitation—but she wasn’t being too inviting at the moment.

So why was he enjoying the view of the very feminine swell beneath the stylish top, taking advantage while her eyes were closed?

“You want to get some pizza? I know a place that has the best in the city,” she said, opening her eyes just as he looked back up. Almost caught staring, he thought, feeling about seventeen.

Her green eyes were luminous, maybe in part from the whiskey, but she was a natural beauty, indeed. He waited before answering, questioning whether this was a good idea, but he’d already agreed. Jarod wasn’t in the habit of backing out on a woman when he promised to spend an evening with her.

“Pizza? That sounds good. Must be a hundred pizza places here, but you know the best one, huh?”

He winced internally. Small talk was not his strength.

She grinned, seeming more relaxed. “Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. It’s an amazing experience that will shift your entire perspective on what the dish means. The place is a hole-in-the-wall that tourists never find, so you’re in for a treat. We’ll pick up a bottle of vino on the way because they don’t serve drinks. You have to bring your own.”

“I like a lady with a plan,” he agreed, glad she seemed to be loosening up.

“If you want to go up the Empire State Building at night, we could do that, too, after dinner—we’ll be shooting up there. You afraid of heights?”

He shook his head as they walked out into the cool evening. “No. Heights aren’t a problem. But you don’t have to take me sightseeing. I figured this was a business dinner.”

Her cheeks became warmer, and he realized his statement didn’t quite come out the way he meant it.

“I meant—”

“No, no, you’re right—this is a business dinner,” she said easily, but didn’t meet his eyes.

How could things be so weird and awkward, hot and cold, with a woman he’d just met two hours ago? Jarod was usually good with women. He enjoyed them as friends and lovers, and never had such tension or foot-in-mouth disease before. This one had him tripping over himself, and it wasn’t a great experience.

They popped into a liquor store where Lacey seemed to be on a first-name basis with the owner and he handed her a Chianti that he knew she liked. Jarod insisted on paying.

“Fine, but the pie is on me,” she said, and while it wasn’t his habit to let women pay for a date, he agreed. It was her city, her pizza place, her expense account, he figured.

They walked a few blocks and turned in through a glass door painted white in order to be opaque into a deep, narrow room that was brightly lit, but nothing fancy. Small, round plastic tables hugged a stark white wall that featured signed pictures of various New Yorkers, many famous, others he didn’t know.

“Interesting spot. I would never have guessed from the street this was even here.”

“Best-kept secret.”

She must be right as they had to navigate the narrow space between the counter and the tables to the far end to find an open table. The place was packed, and the rich aromas and sizzling pies he spotted on people’s tables had his mouth watering.

Locating an empty table, they sat in plastic chairs that he hoped were sturdy as he settled his large frame into one. The napkins were paper, from a metal dispenser next to a small vase with some fake flowers. He wasn’t a fancy guy, but he had to assume all of the money and talent in the place went into the food, not the decor.

“So this is your favorite place, huh?”

“Isn’t it great?” She was all smiles again. If he were prone to it, her mercurial changes would make him seasick, she seemed to shift back and forth so often.

“I found it completely by accident. I was just passing by one night and someone opened the door. The smell of the sauce and spices had me making a U-turn to come in and see where it was coming from. It’s bare bones, but cozy. Warm. And the owners are really nice people.”

“Probably a gold mine, as well. Can’t be much overhead,” he commented.

“I bet you’re right. Locals call it the Pizza Room, though I don’t think it actually has an official name. If you get takeout, it’s just a plain brown box, no logo. They don’t do delivery and aren’t in the directory.”

He grinned, liking the simplicity of it. Lack of marketing was probably the best marketing of all in a world drowning in logos.

“I’m glad you decided to show me one of the city’s secrets,” he said, meaning it. This was much more his speed than some froufrou bistro or someplace where food arrived under silver domes.

“How hungry are you? One pie or two?”

“Are you going to eat?”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. “What? Of course I’m going to eat. Why do you think I’m here?”

“I meant, you’re so thin, and given your profession, I thought you might be an ‘eat salad and smell the real food’ type.”

She looked as if she couldn’t believe his brashness, and then burst out laughing. At least he hadn’t upset her.

“Ranger, I can put it away. Don’t underestimate me there. I am blessed with what my father used to call a hummingbird’s metabolism—small animal, eats a lot. No animal has a faster metabolism. I can probably eat damned near my own weight in this pizza.”

“Is that right?”

She nodded and gave the waitress their order—two pies—after grabbing a few plastic cups from the counter for their wine and a conversation about the owner’s new grandchildren.

“You seem to know everyone—I always thought New Yorkers were cold and distant.”

“C’ mon, you’ve been here before, so you know different. But anyway, I’m not a native. It’s a big city, and it has its share of attitude, but I’ve found the people here to be some of the friendliest I’ve ever met. It’s huge and intimidating, but you find your own corner and settle in. I’ve known small towns a lot less friendly.”

He had to admit that was true. “Where do you come from originally?”

“Nevada. My parents owned a ranch there.”

“Seriously?” He sounded surprised, even though he’d heard her reveal that fact earlier. She seemed tickled by his feigned reaction.

“Yep. Grew up with the desert, rattlesnakes, horses and cattle—probably not unlike you, huh?”

“I actually didn’t grow up on a ranch. Just a small house outside Corpus Christi. I didn’t learn to ride until I took a summer job on a local cattle ranch and got hooked.”

“I thought everyone in Texas was born in a saddle,” she said, obviously teasing.

“My father was a good horseman, but he was all cop.”

“Law enforcement runs in the family?”

“Yep. My sister is a Federal Marshall, Dad’s a lifelong Ranger, though he’ll be set to retire next year. He’s not taking that well.”

“Your file said you were in the El Paso Division?”

“Yeah. I was transferred a few years ago. Dad is still over in Corpus Christi. My sister is based in Dallas, but she’s constantly traveling.”

“That’s a lot. How does your mother handle it?”