Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

“No. And he doesn’t need to. It’s a temporary gig that pays a lot an hour, and it isn’t causing anyone any harm.”

“I beg to differ.”

“How?”

“It’s causing your boyfriend harm. If you hadn’t been working here, I wouldn’t have seen you, decided you’re the most gorgeous fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen, and then sat my ass down to talk to you. Now I find out that not only are you gorgeous but you’re smart and you’re funny—which I already knew when you flipped me off—which means I’m not leaving until we exchange numbers. And I do this knowing if you feel half as attracted to me as I do to you, you’ll put your not-so-serious boyfriend aside to call me and give me a shot. So yeah, I’d say this job caused your boyfriend some harm.”

I gaped at him. “You’re very cocky.”

“No, but I am determined.”

“My boyfriend is good in bed.” I was exasperated by this sudden feeling of being torn in two. “That’s difficult to find.”

Michael smiled at my bluntness. “Dahlin’, you’ve haven’t seen anything yet. You’re what, in your early twenties?”

I nodded. “Twenty. So?”

“So maybe you’re mistaking okay sex for good sex.” He leaned forward, so our noses were almost touching, and my breath caught in my throat as the spicy, dark scent he wore tickled my senses. “If I were lucky enough to have you in my bed, I’d make you feel things you never knew existed. If you were mine, you wouldn’t flirt with other guys. You wouldn’t want to, knowing no other guy would appreciate you the way I would. Trust me, dahlin’, I appreciate the good things in life, and I’m more grateful than I can say when I come across special. Just never thought I’d come across goddamn extraordinary in my life, let alone find it in an art gallery.”

Oh. My. God.

“What are you doing to me?” I snapped, sitting back in my chair to get some distance. “I’m Irish, okay. I grew up surrounded by Irish guys who know how to charm the panties off a girl. You, mister, you’re like the freaking champion. And don’t tell me you’re not Irish. I know you’re Irish.”

“I am. But I’m not feeding you a line.”

Flustered, I pushed my chair back from the table and grabbed my purse. I liked Gary. Things were going good! Like, great. And this guy scared me. I mean, I could be a pretty impulsive person, but I’d never wanted to launch myself across the table at a guy I didn’t know and screw him six ways until Sunday. Sex until Gary had been about answering the calls of my hormonally charged body and being disappointed every time.

This pull with Michael was so much more than that. Yes, it was sexually charged, but there was something here. Some connection I didn’t understand. It was freaking me out!

“I have to go.”

“Don’t.” He stood, coming across unsure, which seemed out of character for him. But how would I know? We didn’t know each other! “I’m sorry if I came on too strong. I’ve never …” He shrugged, looking very young all of a sudden.

And I realized he was younger than I’d first thought—he had said he was a rookie cop. I put him at maybe my age or Gary’s, who was two years older than me.

“Stay. Talk.” He gestured to the table and then gave me a coaxing smile. “Tell me your name.”

“I can’t.” I needed some distance from this guy, and I needed to see Gary so I could be reminded that what we had was pretty damn good.

But Michael’s crestfallen expression tugged at my heart.

“Look, I’ll be back here on Wednesday night and then on Saturday again. If you’re sincere, then show up. We’ll go from there.”

His relief was visible.

“I like that too.” I smiled at him, and his eyes zeroed in on the dimple in my left cheek. It was a gift from my dad.

“Like what?”

“No bullshit. You tell me what you feel without even saying it. And I like you’re relieved. I take it you’ll be here?”

“Dahlin’, you smile at me like that, giving me that gorgeous little dimple, I’ll do anything short of murdering someone for you. Maybe even then,” he teased.

I grinned harder, and his expression turned tender. My God. “Then I’ll see you soon.”

“At least tell me your name,” he called as I strolled away.

I turned, walking backward, “I tell you what. You show, I’ll tell you my name.”