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Worth it? The man was already taken. Now that had her sitting up straighter. “So, did she enjoy it?”
“Who? What?” Carter asked.
“Simone. What did she say about the camisole?”
“Oh, Simone.” Carter shook his head. “You don’t want to know what she said.” He held up some paper napkins. “You want some pizza or not?”
Eve shrugged. A woman had to live dangerously sometimes, especially when she was wearing a cover-up anyway. She reached over and took the napkins. “Self-discipline was never one of my strengths.” Actually that wasn’t true.
“I wouldn’t have thought that was true at all,” he said, watching her slip off her glasses and hook them over the neckline of her outfit.
She saw Carter notice the gesture. “Oh, I only need them, the glasses that is, for distance—you know, driving, television.” She reached over and broke off a piece of the pizza. A bit of mozzarella stubbornly held on, forming a slippery strand that finally broke off when she tugged at the slice. Holding the slice above her head, she tipped her chin upward and thrust out her tongue to catch the end of the cheese. She sucked in, swallowing the strand whole. Her eyes narrowed in deep pleasure. She inhaled slowly and turned her head toward Carter.
He held a slice of pizza in his hand. It was suspended halfway between the counter and his mouth—which had dropped wide-open. Dazed appeared to be the operative description.
“You okay?” she asked.
He blinked a few times. “Okay isn’t exactly how I’d describe what I’m feeling at the moment.” He blinked again. “Do you always eat pizza like that?”
Eve smiled. “Really, Detective.” She patted the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “Sometimes a piece of pizza is just a piece of pizza.”
4
EVE WAS GOING TO EAT TWO pieces. But there was something about drippy cheese and oregano, and just sitting and talking with a really cute guy that whetted the appetite. How many men actually admitted—albeit sheepishly—that they knew all the lyrics to the Sound of Music?
So she managed to stop at three.
Carter had five. And it didn’t look like his waist—definitely flat and not a love handle in sight—had anything to worry about.
“So how do you like Grantham?” Carter asked, after she mentioned moving to town only three months ago.
“It’s a beautiful place, but different—that’s for sure. I mean, how many towns can boast that they give Nobel Prize winners parking tickets?”
The corner of Carter’s mouth turned up, producing that sexy little dimple. “On the other hand, you don’t have any parking tickets.”
Eve pulled back, surprised. “You checked?”
“You lodged a complaint. It’s all part of the routine.”
“So other than my life according to the police blotter, the DMV and the Better Business Bureau, what else do you know about me?”
“That you moved from Poughkeepsie and you’re single.”
She sat up straight. She found she was mildly annoyed and not sure why. “So you figured out I come from the land of vinyl siding and dine on Healthy Choice frozen dinners?”
“Hey, I come from Dayton, Ohio and I’m a whiz with the microwave, too. You’ve got nothing on me. Not everyone who lives in Grantham was born to the manor with a dedicated staff ready to whip up a crème brulée at a moment’s notice.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions.”
He waved off her apology.
No, but she was, sorry, that is. She was also nervous as hell. And attracted to him like crazy. And she couldn’t stop dwelling on the fact that he had mentioned she was single.
“You know—” He scratched at the label on his beer bottle, then looked at hers. “You want another?”
She shook her head. “I’ve had plenty. But you were saying…”
“Yeah, I was saying—” he paused in thought or indecision, Eve wasn’t quite sure which “—that, um, if we started to probe further—” the word “probe” leapt out in Eve’s mind “—we’d probably find we have more in common than merely an intimate knowledge of the frozen-food aisle.”
She cocked one eyebrow. “You think?” She wondered where this was going.
He took a sip of beer and wet his lips. Very nice, full lips, Eve noticed. “I’m pretty sure if we questioned each other, we’d find that to be the case.”
“Really? And you’ve figured this out because of some great intuitive powers or something similar?”
He shrugged. “Call it a cop’s instincts.” She looked dubious. “I tell you what, I’m so sure that I’m willing to make a friendly wager.” He held up his hand before she could protest. “Let’s say, we ask each other questions. How about a total of six? That’s a nice round number—not too many as to cause confusion, but sufficient enough to flesh out the facts. You have to admit that sounds fair, right?” Carter asked.
Eve thought that fair was a relative term here.
“And if we agree on all six, why—” a lazy smile stretched across Carter’s lips “—I get to collect.”
Now she was really dubious. “And what exactly are you planning on collecting?”
He paused. “A kiss.”
Eve raised her eyebrows and blinked ever so slowly. “A kiss? As in on the lips?”
Carter thought a moment. He really didn’t need to. “As in on the lips.”
“What about Simone?” she asked.
“What about Simone?”
“You don’t think she’d mind?”
“I think you’ve misjudged our relationship.”
Had she? Eve wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not. Either way, the tingle in her throat just kicked into a higher gear.
“So, care to take me up on it?” he asked.
Eve thought a moment. She really didn’t need to. She nodded carefully. “Okay, but no hands either.”
“No hands? Any particular reason?”
“Just think of it as my contribution to the bet,” she answered. That, and a matter of self-preservation. She could already imagine how it would feel to have Carter’s hands running up and down her back. She set her mouth and looked at him with her best poker face.
He stared back, unfazed. Never try to draw an inside straight against this guy, she thought. “All right. You’re on,” Carter said, pushing his beer aside. “But I get to start.” Clearly the man played to win.
Well, she wasn’t exactly a pushover. Eve sat up extremely straight, arching her back strategically. Then she slowly rolled her neck a couple of times and looked over. His eyes were transfixed on her actions. She smiled—all innocence. “I’m ready.”
Carter cleared his throat. “All right. We’ll start with an easy one. Do you take your coffee black or with cream and sugar?”
“Milk. No sugar.”
He nodded.
“You, too?”
He nodded again.
Eve rolled one shoulder. It produced an immediate reaction on his part. It was almost too easy. “As you said, that was an easy one. Now my turn.” She thought. “Harpo, Chico or Groucho?”
“Harpo.”
Eve frowned. “I was sure you’d say Groucho.”
“Nah, I always liked Harpo’s horn.” So did Eve.
“I take it you agree?” he asked. Eve nodded. “My turn then.” Carter narrowed his eyes. “Gel or paste?”
Eve scrunched her forehead.
“Toothpaste,” he clarified.
“Oh-h. Definitely gel, cool mint. And you?” He flashed a toothy grin. “I see I have a fellow believer.” She leaned forward. “Now we get to the real nitty-gritty. Window open or shut?”
“When sleeping you mean?”
Eve nodded.
Carter frowned. “Depends on the season.”
“I see. A relativist.”
“Whatever you say. And you?”
“The same,” she said reluctantly, puckering her lips. She was supposed to be pouting, but since she had never had the time or the inclination to pout before, it looked more like she was making a fish-face.
Carter leaned toward her and whispered, “You’re making a fish-face.”
Eve cleared her throat. “I believe it’s your turn, unless you want to call off the wager?”
Carter gave her a noble profile, complete with square chin and resolute stare. “Never. Especially when it’s just getting interesting.”
“Please.” Eve rolled her eyes.
He put his elbows on the bar and leaned toward her. “Left side or right?”
That had her wondering.
“Of the bed? Which side? Left or right?” He raised his chin to look down through slightly slitted eyes.
She didn’t flinch. Though it took a superhuman amount of self-control just to remember to exhale. “Looking at the bed or in it?” she mustered with the aplomb of a French Foreign Legion officer facing the firing squad. The analogy wasn’t bad either.
“Looking at it for now. We’ll deal with in it in a moment.” He leaned closer on his forearm.
“Oh.” Eve gulped. Moments like these she wished she smoked. Barring that, maybe she would have another slice of pizza after all. “Let me see.” She did a mental check of her sleeping position. “Right side, I guess, though, I tend to hog the middle. And you?”
“I’m a left side person myself.”
“Ah, hah. We are different,” she said triumphantly.
He held up his hand. “No, complementary.”
She looked confused. “There’s a difference?”
“A big difference.” He paused. “And I find that sorting out possession of the middle of the bed can actually be a highlight—given the right circumstances.” He looked down his eyelashes, very long, thick lashes.
Eve tried not to squirm.
“Naked or clothed?”
She gulped. “Wait a minute. Isn’t it my turn?”
“This is a two-parter.”
“Since when do we have two-parters?” she protested.
“All’s fair.” He shrugged, unperturbed.
Eve quickly did the mental math. “But that makes six questions in all.”
“Naked or clothed?” He didn’t back down.
If she answered the question, they’d complete the terms of the bet. She hedged. “I own a lingerie shop. What do you think?”
Eve really wished she had asked for another beer. She could have used something hard to grab on to. She shook her head. No, banish that thought. Hard was definitely not where her brain should be going right now. She swallowed with difficulty. “I tell you what. You answer first.”
He smiled, feeling pretty confident. “All right. But what do you think?”
She looked at him. Those terrific emerald eyes had turned a darker shade—a verdant, forest-primeval green. She felt like she had stumbled into uncharted territory. Eve inhaled deeply. “Naked. You definitely sleep naked.”
“Correct,” he said softly. “Now your turn.” His voice was barely a rumble.
Eve’s insides were in shambles. She looked around. And saw Dave heading their way to check on things. Thank God. She turned to Carter. “Did you want any more? Otherwise I think it’s time I got out of this bathing suit.”
Carter raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think you can wriggle out of it that easily. To quote a famous baseball sage—a Yankee, I might add—‘the game’s not over until it’s over.”’
