Dale sat silently
staring at the puddle of spilled whiskey that was seeping into his
deep, plush carpet. How could she so accurately describe it?
he wondered. How did she know about the ache that lived within him?
He scowled as the
answer came into his drunken mind. Because, as she had told him, she
was in love with somebody who didn’t have the sense to love her
back. “Better off without him,” he announced, wishing for another
swig from the bottle.
“Pardon?”
He grinned
foolishly at her and mimicked her formal, regal tone, “Pardon?”
before laughing. “That’s what I love ‘bout you, Lauren. You’re such
a damn lady, even with a drunk ass idiot.” He glanced around the
room, wondered if he’d actually drunk enough to make it spin or if
the fault buried below Kentuckiana had finally started shifting.
“Better off without him,” he repeated. “Probably ain’t good ‘nough
for ya, anyway.”
Arching a slim
black brow at him, she agreeably said, “Probably not.”
“This place is a
damn sty,” Dale said, his foul mood gone in the blink of an eye.
“What kind of pig lives here?”
“Hmmm, I wonder,”
Lauren murmured, tucking her hands into her pockets to keep from
reaching for him. He was so damned adorable. So damned sexy and
rumpled.
He chuckled under
his breath and dropped back down on the dark gray couch, staring up
at her. Her face was turned sideways, studying the unholy mess,
treating Dale to a clear view of her perfect profile. Clear ivory
skin, deep smoky eyes, wide lush mouth. “You sure are pretty,
Lauren,” he said, grinning up at her. “If you don’t mind my saying
so.”
“Thank you,” she
said politely, a smile tugging the corners of her mouth as she
turned her head to look at him. “Of course, I realize your judgment
is a tad bit impaired right now.”
“Tad bit, my
ass,” he muttered, enjoying the sensation of the room spinning
around. The only thing in focus was Lauren, with her watchful gray
eyes and amused smile. Dale lowered his gaze to her mouth—that wide,
lush mouth, curved up in amusement. Carefully, concentrating on each
separate movement, he rose to his feet.
“Why don’t I fix
you something to eat and then clean up this mess?” she asked,
sidestepping neatly when he reached for her, then positioning
herself at his side as he tried to steady himself.
“Not hungry,” he
told her, a sweet smile on his face. He reached out, stroked his
hand down the satiny skin of her cheek. “Soft,” he murmured, turning
his hand around and stroking his knuckles down her jaw to her neck.
“So are we
friends again?” His gaze, bleary and bloodshot, wandered over her
face. “You here to make me feel all better?”
“Yes. That’s why
I’m going to fix you something to eat so you don’t wake up with a
hangover the size of Kansas,” she said steadily, even though her
heart started tripping when his eyes started to linger, none too
subtly, on her mouth.
“Don’t wanna
eat,” he sulked, reaching up to touch his index finger to her bottom
lip. “Not unless you’re on the menu.”
