“A funk?” she asked with a grin, trying to lighten the discussion a little.
“More like a transition,” he said.
Lashonda returned, interrupting the connection forming between Brooke and Keaton. He leaned back as the waitress set a glass of ice water in front of him, then a slice of golden-brown apple pie, partially hidden beneath a mountain of vanilla ice cream. She laid two spoons and extra napkins on the table.
“Good Lord,” Brooke said. “It was supposed to be a piece, not a pie.”
Lashonda propped her hand on her hip. “That’s not what you were talking about earlier. Besides, that’s a growin’ boy right there. I got me three of ’em. I know one when I see ’em.”
“Biiiiig tip comin’ for you, girl.” Keaton’s greedy grin made Brooke laugh. He lifted a fist to Lashonda, who bumped it. “Biiiiiig tip.”
Lashonda nodded, then winked at Brooke and added, “That one’s a keeper,” before she moved to another table, still grinning.
Keaton already had pie and ice cream on a spoon, lifting it toward Brooke, but he called to Lashonda. “Keep talking, beautiful. I’m just gonna leave my credit card on the table here for you.”
Both Brooke and Keaton were laughing as he brought the spoon to her lips. She leaned back, shaking her head. “I can’t.”
“Oh, I think you can.” He purposely bumped her bottom lip with the spoon, leaving ice cream there. She automatically licked at the cold spot, and the humor in Keaton’s eyes converted to heat, his gaze clinging to her lips. “Open that pretty mouth, Brooke.”
His low, suggestive tone, and the unmistakable sexual hum, licked Brooke’s chest like flame. She opened and took the dessert from the spoon, and swore the world slowed to a fraction of normal speed.
Keaton’s dark eyes watched every move of her lips and tongue—before, during, and after he’d delivered the bite. Brooke had never been so intensely aware of her mouth before. Never imagined she could be so wildly turned on by watching a man watch her mouth as she ate.
But she was so distracted by Keaton that the flavors of the pie and ice cream snuck up on her, coalescing all at once. Cinnamon and sugar. Butter and vanilla. Tart apple and sweet pastry. Pleasure overwhelmed her taste buds in one rich hit.
“Oh my God.” Her eyes closed, head tilted back, and orgasmic, gooey bliss overtook her mouth. She moaned as she finished the bite. “Keaton, you have to—”
“—taste this” evaporated as soon as she focused on his face. He was still staring at her, but with a very different look. His that’s-kinda-sexy interest had turned into something she could only label as animalistic white-hot lust. But it wasn’t a look she’d ever had leveled on her before. In fact, she’d never seen such an intense display of desire on a man’s face—in movies, on television, hell, not even in a porn video.
His mouth hung open a little, the tip of his tongue resting at the corner of his mouth, his eyes blazing with a savagely starved look of hunger. Brooke felt the heat of it all the way to the soles of her feet, and her body mirrored the craving.
When it came time to swallow her bite of pie, Brooke struggled against an extremely tight throat. Then cleared it before she tried to speak. “It’s amazing. You should try it before it melts again.”
“I really should,” he agreed emphatically in a soft rumble.
Brooke got a very clear impression he wasn’t talking about the pie. He was throwing off crystal clear, hard-core messages. Messages Brooke didn’t quite trust, because she’d never had them directed at her before. Especially not by a man like Keaton. And definitely not when, from what she understood, Keaton went for a very different kind of woman than Brooke had ever been or would ever be. She wasn’t even sure how to address the messages, let alone what to do with them, and wondered how long she’d have to figure it out. Because she really didn’t want to pass up this chance with him again.
She put her hand on his thigh and, with her stomach knotting, asked, “Keaton, how long are you in town?”
His eyes came into sharp focus. Thoughts churned. Then he looked down at their joined hands with a look on his face that conveyed the same feeling she’d had when he’d asked her about her job.
His voice was soft when he said, “We wrapped earlier today.”
Which meant he’d be on the next plane out of town. Her heart deflated and dropped like a rock. Just her damn luck. But she forced a laugh. “Man, the universe does not want us spending time together, does it?”
He cut off another bite of pie and picked up some ice cream with the tines of the fork, then brought it to her lips again. But this time, he met her eyes. “Fuck the universe. We have all night, right?”
He popped the bite into her mouth and went back for another forkful for himself, asking, “Tell me all about life in Florida. How’s your sister doing?”
Brooke kept the talk about Tammy’s recovery from her husband’s tragic death on an oil rig in the Persian Gulf short. Brooke didn’t want to drag the conversation down, so she focused on the great strides her sister had made. And when she could, she steered the topics back to mainstream interests, which for her and Keaton was easy. They settled into a comfortable conversation that meandered like a stream, with no direction.
They talked about Keaton’s many travels and his work. The people he met and the jobs he’d done. About the friends they had in common, the Renegades stunt company, its expansion and the jobs coming their way.
The pie was long gone by the time the topic came back around to how Brooke was adjusting to living in one place after traveling around the country with Ellie for so many years.
“I thought I’d go stir-crazy, you know?” she said. “But I love it. Not Florida as much as just finding roots. It probably seems weird, but just knowing the people you pass on the street, knowing the names of the waitresses who serve you breakfast, the clerks at the grocery store, the postman, the crossing guard, Justin’s teachers, it’s…comforting. Grounding. It’s…hard to describe. But it feels good.”
“Doesn’t sound weird at all,” he said. “I’m looking forward to going home for the same reason. I mean, not about the crossing guard or the teachers…”