She nodded, wishing she hadn’t summoned the specter of her ex-fiancé with her careless words. “Maribelle comes over once a week to update me on her wedding plans, but she’s worrying about fitting into her dress and so I tend to serve her healthy salads with boiled chicken.”
“You can cook for me whenever you want,” Harrison said. “Most days during racing season I’m so busy that I live on protein shakes and takeout. Sometimes the racing wives take pity on me and drop by with a home-cooked meal.”
“You poor baby,” she teased as her phone began to ring.
London noted the caller and winced. She’d been dodging her mother’s calls for a week now. Someone had filled Edie in on the new man in her daughter’s life and the four voice mails she’d left London had been peppered with her disappointment and unwelcome opinions.
“Do you need to get that?” Harrison asked.
“No.”
His eyebrows rose at her hard tone. “Is something wrong?”
“She likes to put her nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“And where’s that?” Harrison leaned his hip against her kitchen island and kept her pinned with his gaze.
“Everything about my life.”
“Has she heard you and I are seeing each other?”
“I really don’t want to spoil our evening with a conversation about my mother.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He sounded unconcerned, but London didn’t want him to get the wrong impression.
“I don’t care what she thinks. It’s none of her business who I see.”
“But I’m not the one she’d choose for you.”
“It doesn’t matter who she’d choose.” A defensive edge shaded her tone. “I’m the one dating you.”
“I’ll bet she was happy you were marrying Linc Thurston.”
For what she had planned later, London needed this dinner to be perfect. That wasn’t going to happen if a conversation about her mother’s elitist attitude ruined the mood.
“If it’s okay with you, I really don’t want to talk about my mother or my failed engagement.”
“I understand.”
Something about his somber response warned her he wasn’t satisfied with how the conversation had ended.
“I think the risotto is done,” she said. “Do you mind bringing the plates over?”
They moved to the dining table and sat down. Candlelight softened Harrison’s strong bone structure and gave his sea-glass eyes a mysterious quality as they talked about his race the day before and she updated him on the jazz group she’d booked for his brother’s birthday party.
While they ate, London devoured him with her eyes. He was a daredevil. And a c
ompetitor. The sort of man who set his eyes on the finish line and went like hell until he got there. Which was why she’d imagined the evening progressing a different way. She’d figured the sexual tension would build during the meal, leading them to fall upon each other before the dessert course.
Instead, Harrison kept the conversation moving from one topic to another. They discussed their parents and favorite vacations growing up. She discovered he hated any drinks with bubbles and she confessed that she was a French fry junkie. It was fun and easy. Yet as they finished the white-chocolate mousse she’d made, and then worked together to fill her dishwasher, London couldn’t stop her rising dismay.
Had she made a mistake when she’d assumed they would end up in bed tonight? Harrison seemed as relaxed as she was jumpy. Each brush of his arm against hers had sent her hormones spiraling higher.
Now, as the dishwasher began to hum, she turned to face him. They stared at each other for a long, silent moment. Hunger and anxiety warred within her as she waited for him to make a move. When the tension reached a bursting point, London lifted her hand to the tie that held her dress closed.
It was time to be bold with him. With a single tug, her dress came undone. Harrison remained silent, watching her as she shrugged the material off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
Standing before him in a silk chemise and matching thong, she gave him a sweet smile. “I thought we might watch a movie,” she said, toying with a strand of her hair. “Unless you have something else you’d rather do.”