Christmas Clash (8 page)

What is he going to say?
Her mind rattled off dozens of possibilities, but they all clunked around. She couldn't read him. He rubbed the back of his neck. She moaned and shook her head.
I drank too much. Way too much.

She stood and quickly exited the bar without another word, unwilling to deal with whatever was coming next. She didn't want to hear his professed love for Sophie and how beautiful and mysterious she happened to be. She didn't want a lecture on drinking either. She'd call a cab and be on her merry way.

This night didn't go as planned.

Tomorrow she'd go back to her fake friends in the social circles her family frequented. At least she could read between the lines with them.

She reached for her phone, but her hands were empty.
Oh no.
She turned away from the door, pressed her lips together, and crossed her arms to rub them against her body. Her core remained warm from the alcohol—her appendages, not so much.

“Where ya goin'?” his smooth voice called from behind her.

“Home.” She stood under a light pole decorated with garland and took a big breath of crisp air.

“You left this.”

She whirled around toward his voice, creating a short dizzy spell.
I need water and food. And maybe to sit down.
Her gaze slowly focused on her red clutch in Luke's big hand. Bursts of applause rolled into the night from inside the club as the doors opened and closed. She reached out to swipe her belongings, but he moved the small item away.

“Not so fast.”

“My phone is in there.” She put her hands on her hips. “How am I supposed to call a cab?”

“I'll give you your purse. I can also drive you home.”

“I think I'll cab it, thank you very much.”

“Suit yourself.” He handed her the red clutch. “Are you hungry?”

Satisfaction made her start to smile until she registered his words. “Wait, what?” She cocked her head to the side.
Was he kidding or serious?

“Second dinner.” He shrugged. “Surely you need something greasy.”

I love second dinner.

“I'm not drunk.” She shifted weight from leg to leg as the cold started to seep into her bones.

“You realize you're lying to a bartender right now.” His eyebrows raised as the ends of his lips curved up.

She let out a deep breath and looked to the whitish sky to collect her thoughts. All of his sexy attention was a lot to handle, and now he was asking her to go get food. She wanted to say yes, but was that the right answer? Arguments could be made for either side. “Fine. Yeah. I could eat.”

Somewhere deep inside, her emotions for Luke were changing—and she wasn't surprised. Somewhere deep down she'd known this day had been coming.

Candace abruptly turned on her heels and started walking down the sidewalk. Luke rushed after her, shrugging out of his jacket as he hurried to catch her. He draped it over her shoulders and kept up with her quick stride. She walked like she knew where he parked.

“I'm over here.” Luke vaguely swayed his hand toward his dark green SUV a block and a half away.

He wanted to be fully aggravated by her blind confidence, but half of him admired her and found her poise sexy as hell. All of him had been so swept up by her smile lately, he'd forgotten to dislike her and forgot to be indifferent toward her. Candace being in his daily life confused him—he'd never been so mean and nice to one person.

He opened the passenger door. She moved past him and her sweet flowery fragrance made its way into his air space.

Her heel slipped on the step bar and her leg fell hard to the ground as she grasped for something secure. Luke curled his fingers around her waist to steady her. Even through his jacket he could feel her curves. She inhaled sharply and didn't move. Neither did he. A momentary burst of heat welled in his stomach and he closed his eyes.

“Got it?” he asked before he let go.

He stood with the passenger door open while she situated herself in the seat. She shrugged out of his jacket and thrust it at his chest. “Thank you.”

The drive was short—and silent. He parked in his spot in the lot behind The Pub and Kiss from a Rose.

“What are you doing? Why are we at your pub?”

“Because I said we were gonna eat at the best breakfast place I know.” He cut the engine and opened his door.

“And your pub makes breakfast in the wee hours of the morning?”

He leaned back in to his seat. “No. But I do.” He winked at her and exited his vehicle. He smiled when he heard her door shut behind him and her clicking heels followed him. Clearing his smile, he opened the back door and let her go through first. Again, a faint orange-and-lilies scent found him, and he could tell his body had undergone Pavlov's training—his heart beat faster and the need in his gut grew each time. The payoff he'd gain, however, was lost on him. More accurately, he wanted to continue to be blind to the reason.

“Follow me.” He led her to the kitchen in the back of the pub.

The small area wouldn't be able to serve a full-scale restaurant, but for a limited bar menu it was enough. Candace perched high on a counter as he gathered eggs, milk, Texas toast, hash browns, and bacon. He set his bounty on the counter next to him.

“
Oh.
” Her eyes widened. “Yes. Please.”

“Hold your horses.”

“I don't cook. Now I'm hoping you do.”

“Who do you think made our Reubens the other day?”

“So, just like that, you drop everything you're doing in your fun life and show up to see a woman who you barely know play on a stage?” she asked.

She said you would be there and probably sitting alone.
“I've been at Bombay's when they've played before. They're good and she's not a complete stranger.”

“I thought you two didn't know each other.”

“She came in for lunch earlier. I didn't realize I needed to alert you to my minute-by-minute activities.”

“She's my friend and I care. That's all.”

“Sure.”

“What are you implying?” Candace asked.

“You seem to think I imply things a lot. What's that about?”

“I see what happened here. I'm a bit”—she held her palms parallel, close together but not touching—“intoxicated and you think you can just pump me for information.”

“What possible information could I want from you?” he asked.

“I have
no
idea.” She brought her shoulders up and slowly moved her head side to side. “What did you want to do with your life? Did you always plan on taking over the pub?”

He stopped pouring pancake batter onto the griddle and tilted his head toward her. He had to hold in a chuckle. It figured Candace would ask such serious, in-depth questions when she was drunk. “I went to college on a football scholarship. I studied business. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, but I knew I'd probably end up at the pub someday. So, it all worked out.”

“If you could've, what would've you have done?”

He flipped a pancake and grinned. “You're going to laugh.”

“Maybe. But you can tell me anyway.”

“Architecture.”

“That is cool. Why would you think I'd laugh? My dream was a flower shop.” She chuckled. “Dreams don't have to be spectacular. They just have to be yours.”

“Good point. Are you doing what you want?”

“What?”

“Oh man, are you really that drunk to not understand me?”

“No … I just … why would you ask that? I just said it's my dream.”

“I know you get railroaded into doing things because of your family a lot. I didn't know if Kiss from a Rose fell into that category.”

She shook her head. “It's all mine. One hundred percent mine.”

“Good for you.” He bobbed his head and cracked eggs into a bowl.

“How did you know that?” Her voice lowered. “The family thing.”

“Are you kidding me? It's apparent. I know I haven't exactly hung out with you in the last decade, but I saw your picture in the paper a while back. You clearly didn't want any part of the new mall build.”

“That obvious?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “I could tell.”

He could tell? Heh. What kind of answer was that? Because he knew her so flippin' well that he could just
tell
by a shoddy picture and small smile she was unhappy? But he had, and he'd been right.

“Do you like owning the pub?” she asked.

“It's not as bad as I always thought it would be. I think I goofed off and didn't take life too seriously for a long time because I knew I had a lot of responsibility coming down the pipeline. I dreaded the day I'd take over. Now that I've done it for a while, it's really not as bad as I'd imagined. I actually like it.”

“So we'll be neighbors for a while, then?”

Her lazy smile was nice and somehow calming.

“Probably. The family pressure sucks though. I feel like they're always looking over my shoulder. My parents are on vacation, or they'd be at the pub every day with all the council nonsense. And my sisters—oh boy, if they were in town, they'd be talking to anyone who would listen, and probably some who wouldn't. Actually, I'm surprised you haven't resorted to knocking door to door.”

“Give me time.” She winked, which was more fluid than the one she'd attempted earlier in the bar. “I forgot you had sisters. Lilia and Lena, right?”

“Yup.”

“They are a riot. They made volleyball practice the best. The coach could never tell them apart.”

“Most can't.”

“So, older brother got the passive gene, huh?”

“Plight of being an Irish twin to twins. And, ya know, there are other ways to do things besides bulldoze your way.”

“I must drive you crazy then.”

“You have no idea.” He meant to only glance in her direction, but he caught sight of her blue eyes and didn't leave them.

For a moment, before she got back to business, he saw something flit across her face. A spark? Desire? Whatever it was, it was emotion based. The good kind.

“Tell them I say hi. That is, if this all works out. If it doesn't, then keep my name out of it. I may be older, but there are two of them. I don't want them knocking down my door, noose in hand.”

He plated their breakfast and prompted her to follow him. She leapt off the counter, and they sat at a small, two-person table with worn cream paint. He handed her a napkin and fork and set a plate in front of her. She took a fork full of pancakes and her eyes nearly rolled back into her head. Breakfast was apparently what she needed—and he was beginning to think what he needed was Candace.

• • •

Candace had watched Luke handle himself deftly for the last half hour. His tall body moved with purpose, grace, and his fingers seemed especially nimble. Watching put her in a trance—a very it's-getting-hot-in-here state. She was suddenly hungry for many things in this particular kitchen.

His eyes were searching her now. Only they weren't searching her face, they were trying to read her brain, connect with her soul. She shifted in her seat and almost reached for her coat to cover up.
My coat is in my car. Dang it. Strike two of the night for the coat decision.

The look in his eyes made her feel exposed. Yet a warm ripple started in her palm and traveled slowly up her arm, reaching her ears. She liked being studied by him. She liked being the center of his attention.
When did that happen?
Had she always liked being seen by Luke?

She sighed and slouched back in the chair. Food didn't seem as alluring now. Her stomach started to ache. She didn't want to be in the kitchen at The Pub anymore, and she didn't want to be sitting across from Luke having him look at her like she was next to devour. She wanted to be home, under her giant comforter, sleeping so she could hide and not have to make decisions when it came to Luke.

“What are you thinking about?” he finally asked while still keeping his gaze fixed on her. He'd barely touched his plate too.

“What?” she puzzled, trying to remember what they'd been talking about before the pity party in her head commenced. The big shindig would happen in a week and she had a to-do list a mile long.
Did he mention the event?

“You have the weirdest expression on your face. Are you going to cry?” He set down his fork.

“No.” She furrowed her brows and shook her head curtly.
Seriously?
“I'm not going to cry.”

“Are you one of those sad drunks? I know you're not a mad one.”

“I'm a perfectly happy drunk, for your information.” She dug into her pancakes.
Squabbling is good.
More normal than picturing their sweaty bodies entwined, that was for sure. “And I am not going to cry. That's ridiculous.”

She needed to control her face when she went off on her internal tangents. Unless she focused on not letting her emotions show, they played across her face like a movie.

“Ya know, you're easy to read, too. You have tells.”

“I know,” she said plainly. Obviously she had tells when she didn't guard herself. Like now. She froze—it was rarely up these days around Luke.
Maybe it's because I've known him forever and I don't care what he thinks.
She was comfortable with men. She had a brother. Did she think of Luke as a brother? No. Ick. She didn't. She wouldn't mind if Luke planted his lips right on hers.

“You know your tells?” A smile played at the corner of his lips.

“Most of them. I'm sure there's some I don't know about. Aren't you self aware?”

“Sometimes. I don't think people care enough to know my different looks.”

“I'm sure some women do,” she said nonchalantly. “I'm sure a lot of women wracked their brains to know what goes on inside Luke Carrigan's mind.”