Читать книгу The Heat Is On - Jill Shalvis - Страница 11

JACOB LOOKED AWAY from Bella when the waitress came to their table. “Hey, handsome,” she said. “On duty?”

He’d known Deb since high school. “Not today.” He glanced back at Bella, who gave a little wince, making him wonder if she still felt responsible for the fact that he wasn’t working.

He didn’t want her to feel guilty. In his life, there was always work. Hell, there’d be work tomorrow.

Today, he wanted to make sure she was okay. And he could tell by her pallor, by the dull look in her eyes, that she wasn’t.

“So what can I get for you kids?” Deb asked.

Bella didn’t answer. She was staring down at her menu, already lost in thought, a million miles away. “Bella?”

No answer.

Jacob turned to Deb and ordered for them both.

“Something to drink?” Deb asked.

Again he glanced at Bella. Still looking a little shell-shocked. He’d seen this a hundred times. It’d finally all caught up with her. She was worrying her napkin between her fingers in a motion of anxiety, and he covered her cold hand with his.

She jerked and met his gaze. “I’m sorry, what?”

“A drink? You want some hot tea to warm you up?”

She mustered a smile. “That’d be nice.”

Not moving his eyes off hers, he spoke to Deb. “We’ll take whatever comes up first, Deb, thanks.” And when she’d smiled and moved off, he kept his hand on Bella’s.

“You ordered for me?”

“Only because you didn’t.” His thumb brushed over the backs of her fingers.

“Sorry. What are we having?”

“Pizza, fully loaded. Also a sushi platter and a turkey club.”

“For you and what army?” she teased.

Deb came back with the hot tea and some crackers. Jacob opened the crackers while Bella doctored her tea. He handed her a cracker and waited while she ate it. Sure enough, less than a minute later, her color came back, which relieved him. “How long since you’ve eaten, Bella?”

“Do my sponge cakes and cannoli count?”

“Yeah. Against you.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know they’re the best cannoli on the planet.”

He was watching her carefully, noting her fingers shook when she reached for her tea. “Is there someone I can call to stay with you tonight? Family?”

“God, no.” She looked at him, seemed to realize that hadn’t eased his worry and sent him a little smile. “I have family, Jacob. Don’t look so concerned. Six sisters, five brothers-in-law, four grandparents, and at last count, twelve nieces and nephews. They all live in Maine within a three-block radius. If you contacted any of them, they’d roll their eyes and ask what I’ve done to warrant trouble now, and then converge on Santa Rey like the Second Coming. They’d huddle and hover and nag and smother, all in the name of love. But fair warning, if you call them, I’ll have to hurt you.”

He found himself smiling. He did that a lot around her. “They’re that much fun, huh?”

She shrugged. “We’re like a pack of pit bull puppies. Can’t stand to be together, but we’d fight to the death for each other.”

He supposed that wasn’t all that different from him and his brothers. “That’s a lot of family—were you all raised together?”

“Yep. Growing up, my sisters and me shared one bedroom with five tiny beds. I was the youngest, so I did without my own bed.”

“That must have been tough.”

“Nah. They loved me.” A brief shadow crossed her face, as if knowing that hadn’t quite made it okay that they hadn’t been able to accommodate her.

“I slept with a different sister each night.” She shrugged. “You’d think that it might have given me a twisted sense of belonging, but actually, it made me feel like I belonged anywhere.”

Or nowhere…

“Which is where the traveling bug came from,” he guessed, fascinated by this peek into her life.

“Yeah. I’m definitely uniquely suited to moving around, it’s in my blood. I wander, stick for a little while, and if I don’t find what I want, that’s reason enough to go on.”

“What are you looking for?”

She blinked. Clearly, she’d never been asked that question. “You know,” she mused, “I have no idea, really. But as I moved from place to place, I learned about baking and pasty making from all different cultures.”

“Quite the experience. You must have some great recipes.”

“Actually, I don’t use recipes all that much. I’ve memorized the rules and ratios, so I can get away with winging it.”

“Rules?”

“Yeah, like egg whites and eggs yolks cook at different temps, and that adding sugar to eggs causes the protein in the eggs to start setting.” She lifted a shoulder. “I know a ton of boring stuff like that.”

He smiled. “You couldn’t be boring if you tried.”

The sushi plate arrived, and Bella’s stomach growled loud enough for him to smile.

“Shut up,” she said good-naturedly, and stuffed a California roll in her mouth, and then a spicy tuna roll. And then another, chewing with a load moan. “God, this is good.” She ate for another minute before she seemed to realize he was just watching.

He couldn’t help himself.

“You get off on watching women eat?” she asked, looking amused.

“Not usually,” he said, having to laugh at himself. “Apparently, it’s just you.”

A flash of amusement, and then regret, crossed her face, and she put down her next roll. “Listen. I said I was sorry about the Siberia comment, but—”

He nudged her fingers back to her food. “It’s okay. It was to be a one-night thing, I get it. But you could have just said so, you know.”

“I should have. I’m sorry. But I really have been to Siberia, you know. I used it because it seems like the farthest possible place from here…” She gestured to the beach over her shoulder.

“Why use it at all?”

“Because sometimes guys don’t take rejection well.”

“I didn’t exactly get rejected,” he reminded her.

“Because you stalked me on the beach.”

He laughed, and she smiled. “Okay,” she said. “Not exactly stalked, and obviously I want to be here or you’d be walking funny.”

He arched a brow.

“My signature self-defense move is a knee to the family jewels.”

He winced. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“No need. Like I said, I want to be here.” She paused. “With you.” She took a sip of her tea and hummed in pleasure.

“Bella,” he said, staring at her mouth. “I love that you love food, and that you seem to experience everything to its fullest. I really love that, but you’re killing me here with the moaning.”

She stared at his mouth in return. “I’d say I’m sorry…”

“But you’re not.”

Slowly, she shook her head, and when he let out a low groan and had to shift in his chair—she got to him, dammit, like no other—she smiled and broke the spell. “The tea is peach mango,” she said. “My sister makes tea like this.”

“You ever get homesick?”

“Only for the tea.” She paused. “Okay, maybe sometimes for the people. They miss me. A lot.”

“They love you.”

“Yes, well, I’m very lovable.” She smiled again, her gaze holding his. “So, Detective…”

“So.”

“You know all about me, and yet all I know about you is that you feel protective over girls you sleep with, and have a food fetish.”

He ignored the protective thing. Fact was fact. “No, I have a watching-you-eat fetish. There’s a difference.”

“Don’t distract me,” she said, scolding him. “It’s your turn.”

“To what?”

“To tell me about you.”

BELLA SMILED WHEN JACOB just stared at her. The detective was far more comfortable dissecting her than himself.

“What about me?” he finally asked, his eyes shuttering a little bit.

“Well, you could start with why you were one of my blind dates. You don’t seem like the blind-date type.”

“Is there an easier question?”

“That is easy,” she said.

He was quiet a moment, studying her. “You might not like my answer.”

“Try me.”

“Okay, the guys at the P.D. thought it would be funny to sign me up for the singles club.”

“You mean, without your knowledge?”

“Yes.”

He was right. She found she didn’t like the thought of that at all. She picked up another California roll. “So you didn’t want to go out with me.”

Letting out a long breath, he reached across the small table for her hand, entwining their fingers, his thumb running slowly over her knuckles in a little circle that was unbelievably soothing.

And arousing.

“Bella?”

“Hmm?” She lifted her gaze from their fingers.

“Did I seem all that unwilling to you?”

His gaze was clear, open and honest…and heated.

She remembered the night before, how he’d looked at her as he’d slid in and out of her body in long, slow strokes while murmuring hot, erotic words in her ears, holding her gaze prisoner as he’d taken her over… “No,” she whispered, squeezing her thighs together beneath the cover of the table. “You didn’t seem unwilling.”

“One thing you should know about me. I never do anything I don’t want to.”

She looked away and cleared her throat. “So, are you the youngest in your family also?”

“The oldest of four boys. I was born and raised here.” He lifted a shoulder. “I’d guess you’d say I’m your polar opposite. I like roots.”

She didn’t correct him, tell him that she was beginning to see the light on that subject. That she’d never disliked the idea of roots, she’d just not felt the slightest urge to cultivate them. Until now anyway.

“My brothers are here in Santa Rey—or least two of them are. Wyatt’s air force, and in Afghanistan, but we think of this as home.”

“You’re close to them then?”

“Whether we like it or not,” he said with a dry smile that spoke of easy affection and an easier love.

It made her feel a little wistful. It also tweaked that odd sense of loneliness that had been plaguing her of late. Sure, she could go home and live near her family, but that wasn’t the answer for her.

She hadn’t found the answer yet. And wasn’t that just the problem. “What about your parents?”

“Retired and living in Palm Springs. I try to see them several times a year.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Sweet?”

He said this as if it was a dirty word, and she smiled. “What’s wrong with being called sweet?”

“Not something I’m accused of all that often.”

She bet. Hot? Yes. Big and bad? Yes and yes. But the sweetness he had buried pretty deep. Still, it was undeniable. “I have to tell you, I’m sitting here, trying to figure out why your friends thought you needed help enough to set you up with the singles club.”

“It was a joke.”

“Rooted from what?”

“Christ, you’re persistent.”

“Uh-huh, it’s my middle name. Spill, Detective.”

He let out a low, slow breath. “I live the job.”

“Lots of people live the job. Hell, I live and eat the job.”

“Cops are…different. We go to work and tend to see the worst in people every day, and sometimes we face things that make it hard on whoever’s waiting for us at home.”

“Things like a bullet?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Or the business end of a knife, or a hyped-up druggie determined not to go in peacefully, whatever.”

“That makes you very brave,” she said softly. “Not a bad relationship risk.”

“But there are the long, unforgiving hours. People really don’t like the hours.”

“By people you mean women,” she said.

“I’ve had two serious, long-term relationships, both of whom walked away from me because of the job.”

“Were you a cop before you dated them?” she asked.