Get a grip, dude. She’s just a chick.
But she wasn’t just a chick. And he couldn’t find out just what she was to him, because she kept putting up roadblocks.
He straightened, pressed his palms to the sink edge, and stared out the darkened window, trying to curb his frustration. “If not now, when? You live four hours away.”
When she didn’t answer, he dropped his gaze to the sink with a small shake of his head. He hated sounding like a spoiled two-year-old who wasn’t getting his way, especially because that wasn’t how he felt. He felt like a man who’d finally found a woman with everything he’d never known he wanted, and she stood on the opposite side of bulletproof glass.
“Why don’t you pour the wine?” he suggested, hating himself for screwing up the evening’s atmosphere. It was probably a good thing he’d never had to charm a woman into bed—he’d have ended up celibate his entire life.
“I’m sorry,” she said, voice soft and guilt-ridden. “I—”
“It’s okay, Coach. I get it. You can’t be sleeping with your clients. Bad for business.” He straightened, turned, and propped his hip against the counter. “I’d promise you to the moon and back that I wouldn’t say a word to anyone, but if I were you, I wouldn’t believe me either.”
She held his gaze for an extended second, looking like she wanted to say something. But then she turned away, reaching for the wineglasses on the second shelf.
The sexual tension was back, not that she should be surprised. Instead of his interest ebbing with time as she’d expected, it had only become more intense. The looks, the smiles, the laughs, the verbal undertones, the subtext… It was there. All the damn time.
She was so conflicted. They liked each other. They respected each other. They were attracted to each other. But they were both at similar crossroads in their lives, a horrible time to get involved.
It was foolish for her to believe there could be any long-term future between them—she with her trust and career issues, he with the traveling, playboy lifestyle he’d return to as soon as those X Games spotlights flashed and powerhouse sponsors came knocking.
No, she didn’t want that kind of man—or life—again. She just wished he weren’t so difficult to resist.
“So, what torture device did you pick up in Reno today?” he asked, turning from the stove with three dishes.
They were back to casual conversation. Good. She could do casual. “I don’t torture you, you drama queen.”
“I beg to differ. Every workout you dream up is torture, and the last gizmo you picked up had electrodes you taped to my skin. I still can’t believe I let you do that.”
“Oh, it didn’t even hurt, and it’s done great things for your ankle.”
At the table, Noah set down the dishes, announcing what he’d made. “Asian chicken salad in lettuce cups, as you so astutely detected. Broiled asparagus with sun-dried tomato vinaigrette. And quinoa with black beans, tomatoes, corn, feta, and your beloved bacon.”
Julia sat back grinning as Noah took a seat across from her. “You are truly amazing. This is way more than I expected.”
“Clearly,” he said, picking up his wineglass and swirling the purple liquid. “Pop-Tart casserole, my ass. I should be offended. I may not have done anything more adventurous in the kitchen than grill a steak or scramble some eggs—sexual activities excluded—but considering I’ve had the best cooking instructor for the last month, you shouldn’t have expected any less.”
“Good point.” She didn’t touch the sexual-activities comment, but it stuck with her like a pebble in her shoe. Her mind sparked with images of some young, random Barbie like Samantha spread out across this very table, Noah’s hands and mouth all over her the way they’d been on Julia just weeks ago. Weeks that felt like years.
Yes, she was jealous. Childish, petty, but true. She wasn’t perfect, and her past had left her with insecurities. Men like Noah brought every one of them to the s
urface.
“What happened to the no-alcohol rule?” he asked.
“Red wine is good for you—in moderation. So, savor that glass. It’s the only one you get tonight.”
“One glass when we have a whole bottle?” He frowned with distaste. “That’s like telling me all I can do is kiss you, no more.”
She lifted her brows. “I didn’t say you could kiss me.”
His blue eyes were smoky, and his mouth quirked in a half grin as he lifted his glass toward her. “Then I guess we could agree on a toast to savoring surprise—or stolen—little pleasures.”
Fine. She could do that. Julia met his toast before drawing a deep breath of the wine’s rich fruity scent and pulling a long sip. She let the luxurious feel bathe her mouth, closing her eyes as the robust flavor sank in. Across from her, Noah hummed with pleasure.
“I’ve never had a Justin wine,” she said, loving the way the purple color stained the sides of the crystal. “It’s wonderful.”
Noah nodded. “Heavy, rich flavors without overwhelming the palate.”