“All right. I can only meet on weekdays during the early part of the day. I need to be back home by two.”
Laughter burst out from where Mary had shown up with a platter of something that smelled like heaven. Gillian smiled, thankful this call happened here, while she was surrounded by her friends.
“Tomorrow at ten. There’s a café next door to my brother’s tattoo shop. I’ll meet you there.”
“Fine.” She hung up and slid her phone back into her pocket.
“Was that him?”
“Yes. Turns out he does want to meet after all. Tomorrow at ten.”
Jules did that little head whip she did when she was vexed. The familiar sight eased some of her anxiety. “Do you want one of us to go with you?”
Gillian let out a breath. “No. I’m good.” She called out to Mary. “Where are you guys going to be parked tomorrow?”
“Um, Phinney Ridge from eleven to two. You gonna come see us?” Mary, part owner of Luxe, a mobile gourmet food truck, walked over and popped a little bite of something redolent with roasted pepper and garlic into Gillian’s mouth.
She paused to appreciate the taste. “So good. I may come by after my appointment.”
“He just called right now. Has changed his mind apparently.” Jules rolled her eyes.
“We can park there and kick his ass if he gives you any guff.” Mary winked.
“Thanks for the backup. I think I can kick butt on my own, but I have you on speed dial if I need to.”
“What’d she say?” Brody asked as Adrian put the phone on the table.
“I’m meeting her tomorrow at ten at the café. Wherever she was there was a crowd. Sounded like dinner with friends.” It had sounded warm and friendly as opposed to wild. And it only made him more curious about Gillian Forrester.
He picked the phone up again and called someone else he could count on.
“Yo.”
“Hey, Cope, I have a favor to ask.”
4
He didn’t know why he’d shown up so early. He told himself it was so he could stop in and chat with Brody. But he’d only seen his brother the night before, so it wasn’t as if there was much to catch up on.
He set himself up at his favorite table. In the far corner where he could see anyone coming and going. He had a mocha and bagel, but it was nervousness that brought his knee to bounce, not caffeine.
Adrian knew it was her the moment he caught sight of the dark-haired woman making her way up the sidewalk. What a f**king walk she had. Confident and yet wary.
Her clothes were nice but not showy, he noted when she walked into the café and looked around. The only jewelry he saw were some earrings, tasteful and elegant, a watch and one ring on her right hand.
She locked gazes with him, nodded and made her way over. He may have been suspicious of her motives, but his brother hadn’t raised him not to stand when greeting a woman. So he did, holding his hand out.
She took it and shook. Not overlong. Not too soft or too hard. “I take it you’re Ms. Forrester?”
After a quick nod, she turned just slightly to put her sweater over the back of her chair. Enough for him to catch sight of the neat knot of hair at the back of her neck. Thick. It would have been thick, and with the mass of it he wagered it hung to her ass. He got a vivid flash of the way it would look, dark and smoky against her pale, creamy, naked skin.
“Gillian Forrester. You’re Adrian Brown then?”
She said it seriously and for a moment he believed it. Believed that she really was just making sure instead of knowing it was him without a doubt because she stalked his website or whatever. But he’d been through some type of this scenario more than once, so by that point, he wasn’t much up to trusting anyone but himself.
“Yes. Please, sit.” He indicated the table and she sat. Her voice was perfect. Smooth. Soothing even.
“I appreciate your time, Mr. Brown. I know you’re a busy man.”
And suddenly none of that mattered. Because he wanted a whole heaping helping of whatever the hell it was Gillian had on under those clothes. Sure, they covered every part of her, but fabric couldn’t begin to hide what had to be a hot f**king body underneath it all.
He let his breath out and leaned in closer. “I was far more annoyed five minutes ago than I am now.” He smiled and she returned it, not quite willingly. For some reason that appealed to him too. If she was playing him, she was a f**kin’ master, which could work too. But he preferred to think she was genuine.
The server came over. “Can I get anything for you two? A refill on that mocha, Adrian?”
He held his cup out. “Great. Thanks.”
Gillian frowned slightly, her lips, lush and juicy, turning just a bit. “I’ve already had two coffees today. Can I get a cup of tea, please? Just something black?”
“Earl Grey all right?”
Gillian nodded before looking back at him. She hadn’t expected to be charmed. The man had been such a cad on the phone, she figured he’d be snotty. Instead, he was fabulously charismatic. Charming. His speech had a cadence to it, slow and honeyed. Not southern, but something similar. As if he liked to roll his words over his palate before he gave them up.
And, she had to admit after sneaking a few looks at his hands and forearms, he had lovely arms. She had a thing about a man’s hands. When a man pushed his sleeves up, she looked. And she liked what she saw.
Sun-kissed, but not fake-tan orange, a dusting of dark hair. Firm, muscular flesh. Big hands. He had calluses. She knew from the handshake. Where he strummed his guitar she assumed. Strength but not a showy type.
Laughter burst out from where Mary had shown up with a platter of something that smelled like heaven. Gillian smiled, thankful this call happened here, while she was surrounded by her friends.
“Tomorrow at ten. There’s a café next door to my brother’s tattoo shop. I’ll meet you there.”
“Fine.” She hung up and slid her phone back into her pocket.
“Was that him?”
“Yes. Turns out he does want to meet after all. Tomorrow at ten.”
Jules did that little head whip she did when she was vexed. The familiar sight eased some of her anxiety. “Do you want one of us to go with you?”
Gillian let out a breath. “No. I’m good.” She called out to Mary. “Where are you guys going to be parked tomorrow?”
“Um, Phinney Ridge from eleven to two. You gonna come see us?” Mary, part owner of Luxe, a mobile gourmet food truck, walked over and popped a little bite of something redolent with roasted pepper and garlic into Gillian’s mouth.
She paused to appreciate the taste. “So good. I may come by after my appointment.”
“He just called right now. Has changed his mind apparently.” Jules rolled her eyes.
“We can park there and kick his ass if he gives you any guff.” Mary winked.
“Thanks for the backup. I think I can kick butt on my own, but I have you on speed dial if I need to.”
“What’d she say?” Brody asked as Adrian put the phone on the table.
“I’m meeting her tomorrow at ten at the café. Wherever she was there was a crowd. Sounded like dinner with friends.” It had sounded warm and friendly as opposed to wild. And it only made him more curious about Gillian Forrester.
He picked the phone up again and called someone else he could count on.
“Yo.”
“Hey, Cope, I have a favor to ask.”
4
He didn’t know why he’d shown up so early. He told himself it was so he could stop in and chat with Brody. But he’d only seen his brother the night before, so it wasn’t as if there was much to catch up on.
He set himself up at his favorite table. In the far corner where he could see anyone coming and going. He had a mocha and bagel, but it was nervousness that brought his knee to bounce, not caffeine.
Adrian knew it was her the moment he caught sight of the dark-haired woman making her way up the sidewalk. What a f**king walk she had. Confident and yet wary.
Her clothes were nice but not showy, he noted when she walked into the café and looked around. The only jewelry he saw were some earrings, tasteful and elegant, a watch and one ring on her right hand.
She locked gazes with him, nodded and made her way over. He may have been suspicious of her motives, but his brother hadn’t raised him not to stand when greeting a woman. So he did, holding his hand out.
She took it and shook. Not overlong. Not too soft or too hard. “I take it you’re Ms. Forrester?”
After a quick nod, she turned just slightly to put her sweater over the back of her chair. Enough for him to catch sight of the neat knot of hair at the back of her neck. Thick. It would have been thick, and with the mass of it he wagered it hung to her ass. He got a vivid flash of the way it would look, dark and smoky against her pale, creamy, naked skin.
“Gillian Forrester. You’re Adrian Brown then?”
She said it seriously and for a moment he believed it. Believed that she really was just making sure instead of knowing it was him without a doubt because she stalked his website or whatever. But he’d been through some type of this scenario more than once, so by that point, he wasn’t much up to trusting anyone but himself.
“Yes. Please, sit.” He indicated the table and she sat. Her voice was perfect. Smooth. Soothing even.
“I appreciate your time, Mr. Brown. I know you’re a busy man.”
And suddenly none of that mattered. Because he wanted a whole heaping helping of whatever the hell it was Gillian had on under those clothes. Sure, they covered every part of her, but fabric couldn’t begin to hide what had to be a hot f**king body underneath it all.
He let his breath out and leaned in closer. “I was far more annoyed five minutes ago than I am now.” He smiled and she returned it, not quite willingly. For some reason that appealed to him too. If she was playing him, she was a f**kin’ master, which could work too. But he preferred to think she was genuine.
The server came over. “Can I get anything for you two? A refill on that mocha, Adrian?”
He held his cup out. “Great. Thanks.”
Gillian frowned slightly, her lips, lush and juicy, turning just a bit. “I’ve already had two coffees today. Can I get a cup of tea, please? Just something black?”
“Earl Grey all right?”
Gillian nodded before looking back at him. She hadn’t expected to be charmed. The man had been such a cad on the phone, she figured he’d be snotty. Instead, he was fabulously charismatic. Charming. His speech had a cadence to it, slow and honeyed. Not southern, but something similar. As if he liked to roll his words over his palate before he gave them up.
And, she had to admit after sneaking a few looks at his hands and forearms, he had lovely arms. She had a thing about a man’s hands. When a man pushed his sleeves up, she looked. And she liked what she saw.
Sun-kissed, but not fake-tan orange, a dusting of dark hair. Firm, muscular flesh. Big hands. He had calluses. She knew from the handshake. Where he strummed his guitar she assumed. Strength but not a showy type.
