Harlan blinks, pulls back. “Whoa. I’d never have known you were from the Lone Star State.”
“Born and raised, but truth be told, we moved to California when I started high school. Though, you can never entirely take the Texas out of the girl.”
“And who’d want to? Your personality is as big as that state,” he says.
“You have a line for everything, don’t you?”
“Hey, now. Who said it was a line, sweetheart? I like your sass, and I like talking to you.”
He’s too much, but I’m completely taken by that, especially when my last three dates were so very, very lacking in . . . everything that Harlan has. The most recent guy explained, in depth, the ins and outs of his job manufacturing windows. The man before that waxed on about his favorite episodes of Barney Miller, and his predecessor debated the whole time whether his ex-girlfriend was a bitch, a big bitch, or the biggest bitch.
So, over-the-top or not, Harlan is galaxies better. “Fine, fine.” I fake a grudging admission. “I don’t mind chatting with you either.”
“Good. Now here’s something I want to know.” He curls his hands tighter around my hips, a move that sends a zing through me. “Hypothetical situation. You walk into a trendy ice cream shop. You have to pick one of two flavors based only on the name. Are you getting a pint of Swoon or Sexual Tension Swirl?”
A laugh bursts from me as I rest my palms on his big shoulders. “That’s easy. I’ll get a double scoop, one of each.”
With dark eyes that glimmer with heat, he gives me an approving nod. “A woman after my own heart.”
“Oh. Your heart thinks a lot about ice cream?”
Letting go of my hips, Harlan spins me in a dizzying circle, then yanks me close against his big wall of a chest. “It thinks a lot about a lot of things.”
He slides a hand up my back, and I can’t even fashion a comeback. That strong hand feels so good.
And it hasn’t just been a while since I’ve had a good date. It’s been a while since . . . well, a lot of things.
I generally try not to think with my libido, but my libido is pounding its fists and pitching a fit, wanting to take the wheel. When his fingertips coast across a sliver of bare skin near my spine, I shiver, and a breathless, wordless whisper stutters over my lips.
He’s quiet for perhaps the first time. A few seconds later, he lowers his voice to a husky murmur. “And what does your heart dwell on, Katie?”
I try to think beyond the pleasure racing over my skin. “Dancing,” I answer low as I brush my fingers over his shoulders, indulging myself in touching him, just like he’s doing with me. “I believe in fashion, friends, family, and . . . flirting.”
His eyes never stray from mine, and they’re full of daring. “Tonight, you shall have that last one till your cup runneth over.”
That sounds like a pretty good deal.
What’s not good is that it’s past nine and I’ll have to take off at ten-thirty. I can’t change the countdown, so I vow to make the most of dancing and flirting with this man.
We stay on the floor for another few songs, talking and flirting, then he hooks his thumb toward the bar. “Glass of champagne to quench your thirst?”
“I’m in.”
We make our way to the bar, passing a terrace overlooking the sea. Everything from the sparkling lights to the swoony music to the ocean waves crashing in the distance makes this night feel like it could go on forever.
But it can’t.
4
Harlan
With champagne flutes in hand, we head to the balcony—alone. It’s deserted out here, and I’m over the moon because I’m eager to gobble up more time with her then find the perfect moment for a kiss.
After that, I’m hoping we can kick it up more than a few notches at my place or hers. I’ve got a feeling Katie is game for that too.
I clink my glass to hers. “To weddings.”
“To wedding kisses,” she adds.
Yup. Perfect night.
I take a drink and she does too. We set our glasses on the terrace wall at the same moment, then she puts her pink purse next to them.
“You truly can’t beat this view,” she declares as she gazes at the ocean. “I’ll miss San Francisco.”
“Wait. Hold on. Are you leaving the city?”
Quickly, she shakes her head. “I mean if I leave. I’d miss it. That’s what I meant to say.”
I arch a dubious brow. “Are you sure? Are you Cinderella, planning to take off at the stroke of midnight?”
She laughs, a buoyant sound that kind of turns me on. “I promise I’ll leave behind a glass slipper if I do.”
My eyes coast down to her shoes. “They’re silver, Katie. Not quite glass.”