“Yeah.” He cleared his throat so he could push free a full sentence. “This counts as overtime, you know.”
“This counts as doing a favor for a friend.”
Slowly he zipped the bag to give himself time to think before looking at Dee. “Is that what we are, friends?”
She fingered the cuff of her yellow flowered shirt, the flannel one he’d sent Emily to buy on her first shopping trip. The color turned Dee’s skin the prettiest creamy shade, like fine china he wanted to hold but worried he might break.
“I’d like to think so.” She leaned forward across the counter. “Let me do this for you. Please.”
He’d become accustomed to having her around, sometimes finding himself surprised at how many ways she’d sashayed her gently curved body and bossy ways into his motel and into his every thought.
And his life was better for it.
A knot held tight in his chest uncoiled, relaxed. “Okay.”
“Okay? Really? No overtime?”
“No overtime. And thanks.” Jacob hefted his bag and started toward the door.
“Jacob?”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “What?”
“I don’t want overtime.”
“I heard you.”
“But you could take me out to eat.”
Damn, but she’d thrown him another curve. Curves. Of its own volition, his gaze flowed over her. Curves. He needed to erase that word from his vocabulary.
How could one woman bring such mayhem and peace at the same time? She scared the hell out of him. Given the look on her face, he suspected she’d just scared the hell out of herself, as well. “Just friends going to the diner?”
They’d hidden out at the diner more than once when the prospect of all those motel beds waiting to be used had overpowered them.
She shrugged, but didn’t agree. He looked deeper in her eyes and saw exactly what he’d feared—and hoped—to find over the past few days. They were becoming more than friends. He wanted this woman to be more than his friend. He wanted to be her lover.
How many more empty police reports would it take before he could act on that? His body jolted in response at the mere thought.
Not five seconds ago he’d told himself he wasn’t right for her—regardless.
Well, dinner wasn’t a raging affair.
He could take her to supper. They’d eaten together every night like some old married couple, except without dessert sex.
Jacob stifled a groan.
Dee ducked her head and picked at her cuff again. “Never mind. Forget I said it. You don’t owe me for helping out. If anything, I owe you. Watching the desk for a few hours won’t even put a dent in my debt.”
There were those soulful, hurt eyes again, stabbing right through him. He didn’t stand a chance. “We could hunt down a restaurant in Tacoma that would serve you a bottle of Merlot.”
The invitation fell out of Jacob’s mouth before he could give himself time to think. And regret.
She tipped her chin with that Dee spirit he’d come to admire. She recovered quickly, he’d grant her that.
Dee pulled free a McChord base newspaper from beside the computer and plopped it on the counter. She pointed to an ad. “Or we could go to the base and have dinner at the NCO Club.”
Jacob walked toward her, slowly, and traced a finger along the edges of the paper. A paper that had been neatly folded to the page in advance, as if she’d been planning this. Another curve. “You’d like to go to the NCO Club?”