“You might not know as much about me as you think.” Her voice held both secrets and challenge, as if she was practically daring him to figure out the puzzle that was Sophie Winchester.
He wanted to. Wanted to figure her out, know her, get inside her head. Raw heat made him admit that wasn’t the only part of Sophie he wanted to get inside.
He wanted to make love to her. He’d wanted her physically since the minute he’d seen her passing by the store window on Christmas Eve. He’d never been hit as hard by instant attraction in his life as he had been by this woman sitting across from him, daring him to understand what made her tick.
Their eyes met, and he knew damn well she’d read his thoughts. The electric awareness which had faded somewhat during their amiable dinner returned in full force. They just looked at one another across the small kitchen table. He continued to stroke the cat, liking the softness of the animal’s fur against his fingers. Sophie finally lowered her gaze, watching him, her face growing pinker as she studied the movement of his hand.
She was thinking of being touched by him. He knew it.
“I know a lot about you,” he said softly.
She visibly swallowed, then shook her head.
He ticked off his impressions, everything he’d learned since meeting this unpredictable woman. “You live here alone with your cat. And you don’t invite men over,” he said, challenging her to correct the picture he was painting of her life. “You donate boxes of clothes to the needy. Your mother keeps you fed. You’re pushed around by your boss’s sister, and everyone thinks you’re the sweetest thing in town.”
Bull. All of it was bull. He knew it down to his bones.
“Sorry, babe. I don’t see the spinster church secretary with a cat that everyone else in Derryville sees.” Letting Mugs hop off his lap, he leaned back in his chair, extending his legs in front of him. He crossed his arms and gave her his most disarming smile. “Honey, that might be what you’re selling to the rest of this town. But I, for one, am not buying it.”
#####
Sophie was in real trouble. Good lord, one meal with the man and he’d already seen through the careful façade she’d used to fool everyone in Derryville throughout her adult life. Her jaw dropped open, then snapped closed again. She took a deep, steadying breath, trying to keep her cool and not give him more proof that she was a woman with a temper and a sharp tongue.
It took a lot of effort.
“Maybe you’re right about a few things.”
“Just a few?”
She didn’t relent. “Maybe I’m a spinst...single woman...by choice. Women in the twenty-first century choose to be single all the time. We don’t have to gauge our success by the number of men we date.”
“Uh huh. Why don’t you just admit you don’t want to go out with anybody in this town because not one of them sees you for who you really are?”
She froze at that one, because he’d struck at the heart of the matter. He was exactly right. God, how could he see so much, know her so well, after such a brief acquaintance? She’d love to find out, love to see if this big city cop had been using his analytical skills on her, or if he was just one perceptive guy.
“Who I really am?”
He nodded, then pushed the dishes out of the way to lean across the table, making sure he had her complete attention.
Uh, yeah, he definitely did.
“I see the real you. I want to see a lot more of the real you.”
Her breath caught as he leaned even closer, close enough until they were sharing breaths. Then closer...closer...until his lips brushed hers in the lightest, faintest kiss that left her trembling, shaking, and dying for more.
He pulled back the tiniest bit and she struggled to remember her name. “What was that for?” she finally whispered, her lips still tingling where they’d brushed so delicately across his.
“That was thank you for the soup.”
She emitted a shaky sigh. “Gee, I’d love to see how you’d say thank you if I’d actually cooked anything.”
“Considering what you told me about how you cook, I can’t say for sure.”
She hid her disappointed frown. Barely.
“But if you did even a tiny bit better than burned toast, it would probably inspire something like this.”
She didn’t have time to hide her reaction this time. Because before she knew what was happening, Daniel had slipped his hands into her hair, gently cupping her head. He pulled her forward and took her mouth in a sweet, wet, hot kiss that did more to fill her up than any other meal she’d had at this kitchen table.
She’d been kissed before, even by him. But last night at the gym had been about raw, sweaty desire and attraction.
Tonight was about seduction. A sensual caress of lips and tongue. He teased her, tasted her, slipped his tongue against hers in a delicate, intoxicating dance that left her shaking in her seat. Somehow, this slow buildup of tension and delicious intimacy aroused her every bit as much as last night’s carnal embrace. He had touched her with nothing but his mouth but her whole body was alert and dying for more.
Finally, he pulled away and sat back in his chair. They looked at one another across the table. Sophie had a quick mental movie-type flash of sweeping the dishes to the floor and diving across the table to leap on him.
They weren’t her good dishes, after all.
“Well?” she asked, knowing he understood the question.
He licked his lips. “Oh, yeah.”
Yes! Her libido answered. Her mind had shut off completely.
Then he ran a hand over his eyes and shook his head. “But first we need to talk. I think it’s even more important now that I’m coming to know the real Sophie Winchester.”
Her mind kicked back into gear, to her great regret. “Back to that again?” She crossed her arms, more to keep herself from reaching across the table and grabbing him for another kiss than anything else. “Okay, Chief, who am I, really?”
“You’re also a woman who has the softest lips I’ve ever felt and kisses like sweet, sugar-coated sin.”
She gulped. Whoa.
He rubbed his hand on his jaw, staring at her intently. Then his eyes narrowed. “Who you really are is a smart-mouthed, naughty, imaginative woman with a slightly twisted sense of humor who can’t cook, probably can’t sew, knit, iron or do any other house-wifey crap most men in this town would expect.”
She couldn’t restrain a laugh. He’d pretty much pegged her, all right. “Touché.”
“Luckily,” he added with a sexy, playful grin that stole her breath right out of her mouth, “I’m not from this town.”
No, he wasn’t. And the kiss they’d just shared should have had her jumping up singing hallelujah for that fact.
But what he’d said had cut through the hazy desire clouding her mind and brought her back to reality. He did know her. Dammit, he really did. So how much of a stretch would it be for him to find out the rest. All of it.
Which she couldn’t afford.
Sometimes life was so unfair. Because here was a man she’d love to get to know better. A lot better. And she couldn’t. Couldn’t be around him, couldn’t get to know him, couldn’t jump his bones and make love to him from here to next week.
It was too risky. She’d known it before; tonight merely confirmed it. “Okay, maybe you’re right about some things. But truthfully, why I stay to myself is my own business.” Swallowing hard, she told the biggest whopper of her day. “That’s the way I like it, and that’s the way it’s going to stay. So whether you’re from town or not really makes no difference to me. Anything else...” wild kinky sex on the kitchen table “...would be short-term. Temporary. So it probably isn’t the best idea.”
He watched her for a moment, gauging the truth of her words. She tried hard to meet his stare, knowing how quickly a cop would peg her a liar if her eyes shifted away. Finally, though he didn’t look convinced, he apparently decided to let her get away with throwing up barriers. He sat back in his chair. “Okay, Ms. Winchester. I guess I get the point.”
