"Favorite authors?" No doubt he preferred intense, thought-provoking, and extremely boring books.
"Carl Hiaasen, Randy Wayne White, Dave Barry."
Surprise, surprise. The man liked a little humor in his stories. So did she. She'd never known Aaron to crack the spine of any book that didn't pertain to baseball.
Zen flipped through BusinessWeek.
She drummed her fingers on the table and sought the clock a second time. Four thirty-five. Time to fly. She hunched her shoulders and scooted off her stool…
"Want to talk about Aaron?"
She stopped scooting. "Do you?"
"You're not sure if he was really glad to see you."
"He held my hand." For a very short time.
He nodded, a hint of sympathy in his gaze, before returning to his magazine.
"Why the pity face?" she demanded, calling him on the look.
He glanced up. "No pity, Stevie."
She kicked him under the table. Not hard, just enough to get his attention.
He jerked on his stool. Bent to rub his leg. "Pulled hamstring, remember?"
"Stop feeling sorry for me."
"I'm feeling sorry for me. No more kicks."
She met his gaze squarely. "I saw pity in your eyes."
He blinked twice. "Still there?"
"Don't be cute."
He slipped off his reading glasses, folded them on the table. "There's nothing cute about me."
"Not cute, but maybe…" She licked her lips.
"Maybe… what?"
"Sharp. Intelligent. On a good day."
His gaze pinned her. "I'm also good at reading people. I know for a fact you're incredibly insecure. Nervous to the point of panicking that this weekend will bomb and Aaron will return to Tampa and forget you completely."
The man was friggin' psychic. She hated his insight. "Don't look so smug."
He drew his hands down his face. "Pity, now smug. How about neutral party?"
"Why would you bother?"
"Because you need to talk," he said gently. "I can see it in your eyes. Since Jacy can't see beyond Risk, I'm the closest thing to a bartender or shrink you've got at the moment. I won't judge. Only listen."
Her insecurities were alive and at the forefront. She could use an ear. The man looked trustworthy. "Everyone in town knows I've loved Aaron since I was twelve. He noticed me when he turned fourteen. We've been together ever since." She paused, then voiced her worst fear. "This past year has been rough. We've drifted apart. I'm scared of losing him. This weekend is do or die for me."
"Do or die? Aren't you being a bit dramatic?"
She shook her head. So hard she almost twisted her neck. "Sunday could spell the end of our relationship."
Zen looked at her thoughtfully. "Memories can't be denied. Aaron would have to be blind not to see how pretty—"
"Pretty?" She blinked at his compliment. "That's a first."
"I'm a fan of hazel eyes and freckles."
"I have freckles all over my body. You could play connect the dots on my—"
"Breasts?" He looked directly at her chest.
"And belly." She sucked in her stomach only to have her chest expand. Her nipples went on full alert. Points so visible it looked like she was smuggling raisins.
Zen's sexual tug on her libido would be the death of her.
She belonged with Aaron Grayson. Annoyed at herself, she stood to collect the cups and saucers. Her conversation with this man was at an end.
Or so she thought until he cleared his throat and threw a trivia question her way. "Who flapped his back elbow up and down like a chicken while waiting for a pitch? Who did a backflip during his pre-game routine?"
"Questions for a rookie." She smirked. "Joe Morgan flapped like a chicken and Ozzie Smith did the acrobatics."
"Who caught Hank Aaron's 715th home run?" he asked as she wiped down the table.
Who… indeed? No immediate answer jumped to mind. Her heart slowed, as did her breathing. A full minute passed, her mind a total blank. She repeated the question. Twice. Searched deeply. Another minute, and the answer finally hit her.
Relief washed over her. She felt weak in the knees. "Tom House, a Braves reliever who was in the bull pen."
"Made you think," he said, a slow grin spreading over his handsome face.
He damn sure had. "Bring lots of money to the auction," she told him. "I'd love to break your bank in baseball trivia."
"What if I stump you?"
"Not a chance, Einstein."
"But if I do, what do I win?"
She stepped away from the table, her back to him now. "What could you possibly want?"
His silence stroked her, sending shivers along her spine. His words came to her on a heated whisper. "Another blow."
She closed her eyes, as visions beyond coffee struck brightly. Erotic visions of unbuckling his belt, lowering his zipper, revealing… boxers or briefs?
Or perhaps the man preferred his freedom.
Fear seized her entire body.
She'd better brush up on her trivia.
She couldn't afford to lose.
Chapter 3
Jacy Grayson had lost track of time. She drifted, daydreaming, surrounded by steam and pulsating water as she washed her hair, watching the lavender hair dye go swirling down the drain. She planned to go orange tonight.
A chill seduced her as the shower door opened, then closed on a soft click. Silence embraced the steam until Risk Kincaid tucked her into his body. His groin pressed her buttocks. Strong hips. Major hard-on. The man was in the mood for pre-auction sex.
She turned to face him. Beneath the spray, his hair was slick, its dark brown color almost black when wet. Water sluiced off his broad shoulders, soaking his hair-roughened chest. Strength emanated from his big body. The very power of his presence drew her to meet his gaze. Spiked lashes outlined green eyes, his sexy mouth was smiling as he said, "I missed you."
"We've been apart less than an hour."
His fingers grazed her bare shoulder. "Longest fifty minutes of my life."
"Where's Zen?"
"At my parents' house." He drew a callused finger up her neck. "They're on an Alaskan cruise. He has the place to himself."