Chapter Six
Gabe watched Elle pick at her food. He started to make a joke, but choked the words back at last second. He was pretty damn sure she wanted to stab him through the eye with the fork in her hand and, from the expression on her face, she might actually believe it if he said the burger was made from dog meat. She was a bit green around the gills already, but of course she was too much of a lady to say so. Instead, she started eating the french fries…with a fork.
He froze for a second, wondering if she expected him to eat in the same way. Gabe wasn’t used to feeling so awkward. Maybe he should have taken her someplace ritzy or something, but he wasn’t comfortable in those places. Never had been. Most of the women he’d taken out before would be perfectly at home in Lou’s—and they wouldn’t be drinking Diet Coke.
But none of those women had made him think about waking up next to them on a regular basis. He’d obviously lost his mind.
Yet again, he wondered if this really was a shitty mistake.
They ate in silence for a while before he couldn’t stand it any longer. “So, are you from around here?”
Elle gave him a look that would have peeled paint before she shrugged. “I grew up just outside of town. My parents own a farm in Greenbluff.”
So she was a country girl. No wonder she turned out so good. Probably came from one of those perfect families, too, where the father never drank too much and took it out on his kids, and the mother was always there to read to them before she tucked them into bed.
Bitterness soured the taste of burger in his mouth. Growing up hadn’t been a fairy tale—not by a long shot—but it didn’t matter anymore. He and Nathan got out, went on to make something of themselves. They were just as good as this country corn princess sitting across from him.
“Are you okay?”
He blinked. Had she already asked him that? Gabe took another bite of his burger, hoping it would drown out the ugliness inside him threatening to rise to the surface. “Fine.”
Elle squirmed, making the seat under her squeak. “What about you? Do you live in Spokane?”
It must have cost her to ask when she obviously wanted to be anywhere but here. Crazy how deeply ingrained those manners must be. Gabe swallowed his bite, wondering if he should lay his history out there. No. Better not. If she looked at him with pity in her eyes, he’d lose it. “Yeah, born and raised.”
“Oh. Nice.” She drank some more of her soda.
He hated how stilted this was. Gabe groped for something to say—something that didn’t have to do with them rolling around naked together. She’d already proven she didn’t want to even think about that anymore. Great. So what else was there?
“What do you do for fun?” He could kick himself for sounding like such a tool. Too late to take it back now, though.
She used her straw to stir the ice, around and around, until he was ready to snatch the damn thing out of her hands. Why did he bother asking? She probably volunteered at an animal shelter or took care of orphans or whatever else corn country princesses did. Hell, no doubt she was well on her way to sainthood.
“I…paint.” The straw moved faster, as if she expected him to laugh at her.
“Paint?”
Elle’s eyes flashed. “Yes, paint. It relaxes me. Most of the time.”
And it was obviously a sore subject. But this one at least Gabe knew a little something about. He sat back and draped his arms over the top of the booth. “What medium do you use?”
“Watercolor, for the most part, though I’ve branched off a bit to ink.”
“Ink, huh? So you don’t mind getting those pretty hands dirty.” Gabe took a swig of his beer and kept going before she had a chance to yell at him. “So what’s your favorite subject?”
Her entire face went red despite the resolute expression on her face. “I don’t have one.”
He reached and laid his hand over the top of hers, stilling the straw’s frantic movement. The touch brought back every memory of their night together—the taste of her, how her body squeezed his fingers when she came, the absolute perfection of her breasts —and he was suddenly very thankful of the tabletop hiding his lower body. Gabe cleared his throat. “Yes, you do.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Way too much anger there. Interesting.
“Apparently I am. Just tell me what you like to paint and I’ll drop it.” He had to know what got her so flustered. Maybe it wasn’t fair, but as soon as she said she painted with watercolors, he figured she focused on flowers or landscapes or something equally ladylike.
Elle jerked her hand out from under his and grabbed the napkin from the table. Without looking up, she systematically shredded it into neat little columns. “I like painting men.”
“Men.”
“Stop judging me.” Her hands moved faster as a pile of tiny squares started on the table. “It’s not like they’re nudes.”
From the way her face went even redder, they obviously weren’t fully clothed either. “So you lure these poor models into your home and make them strip so you can paint them?”
Elle gasped and the leftover pieces of napkins flew from her hands. “I never!”
“Do you want to?” He grinned, enjoying how flustered she was, her eyes darting over his face and chest. She already knew what it looked like and, from her quick inhale, Elle wasn’t completely unaffected.
“No. I don’t. That’s completely inappropriate.”
“You need some inappropriate in your life.” Gabe decided he liked how outraged she was at the idea. He rubbed his forearm, noting how her gaze snagged on the tattoo he had there. “You like ink?” He’d thought a country corn princess like her would hate tattoos.
“Tattoos fascinate me,” she said. The sour expression on her face told him she wasn’t a fan of having to admit this, but he could practically feel her gaze caressing the design. Suddenly the phrase “like a moth to flame” made a whole lot more sense. “The good ones are so unique to the person who has them.”
That’s exactly what had drawn him to tats in the first place. Gabe turned his arm so she could see the full piece. “What do you think?” It was one he’d had done years ago by his mentor, and it looked as if his skin had been slashed away to reveal words beneath.
“The detail is exquisite. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.” She cocked her head to the side, obviously intrigued despite herself. “What do the words say?”
Could it be? Elle was actually interested in something about him. Gabe loved tattoos more than damn near anything. If left unchecked, he could talk shop for hours. But never about this tattoo. He cleared his throat. “They’re verses.”
Another sharp glance. “By verses, you mean from the Bible?”
“Well, I’m not talking Van Halen.”
“Ha ha. What verses are they?”
She sounded pretty damn grouchy, but Gabe didn’t jump on the chance to make her more uncomfortable. Not when they were talking about this tattoo. Reluctantly, he said, “Hosea 11:9, Micah 7:7, Joshua 1:5, and Revelations 21:4.”
“I’m not familiar with those.”
“They’re about hope. A whole lot of hope.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t peg you for a religious man.”
Gabe forced himself to laugh, but it came out sounding hollow. “That’s because I’m not. But these ones mean something to me regardless.” They’d been his mother’s favorites, the only thing she had to comfort herself at the end of the day. Raising two boys alone could do that to a woman. He shook his head, pushing back the memories.
She must have gotten the hint from the iciness in his tone, because Elle let it go. “Do all your tattoos mean something to you?” Bright curiosity shone from her eyes, a marked relief from her anger—no matter how sexy he found her when she was pissed. And, to be honest, Gabe was kind of thrilled that they had something in common. Twenty minutes ago, he wouldn’t have believed it was possible.
“Of course. So, do you have any ink?”
Just like that, her anger was back. “Of course not. I’d never get a tattoo.”
Interesting response considering how into ink she seemed to be. “Never say never, babe.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
He watched her while he finished off his burger. “Don’t I? Because at this point, I know enough to make you scream the same way you did the other night.” While she sputtered, her hands fluttering, he slid out of the booth. “Want to play some pool?”
“No, I most definitely do not.”
How far could he push before she snapped and completely freaked out? Only one way to find out. “Same deal as before, babe. I’m playing—you can come with or hang out here by yourself.”
“You’re an ass.”
“And you have a fantastic one.” Gabe slid out of the booth and offered his hand. “Come on.”
“As if I haven’t heard that before.” Her eyes flashed. “I want to go back to the gallery.”
“There’s plenty of time left before Nathan’s back.” He pulled out his cell phone. “You’re more than welcome to call him and check if you want.”
Elle stood, again ignoring his outstretched hand. This chick was going to give him a complex. It wasn’t like he was crawling with infection or something. “I can’t believe he just left me with you.”
Best not to tell her this was Nathan’s plan to begin with—or that his little brother knew about their night together and supported a repeat. “Look, I just want to spend a little more time with you. That’s not so bad, is it?”
Elle bit her lip—Gabe was learning to both love and hate that move. “Right. Because our spending time together has worked so well in the past.”
Apparently for all her sputtering, Ms. Country Corn Princess couldn’t manage to get her mind out of the gutter. He liked that as much as he suspected she hated it. “If you have a better idea”—Gabe let his tone show just how dirty his thoughts were—“then I’m more than happy to hear it. Pick something. We’ll do it.”
“No, thanks. We can stick with pool.”
He’d bet she’d have a different answer if it were Nathan asking her. But then, she actually wanted to spend time with his little brother. The only reason she was here right now was because of a mistake. Great. Now he was jealous of his little brother.
Scowling, Gabe led the way to the back of the bar where they had three pool tables set up. He put in two quarters and then set about racking the balls while Elle watched.
“I don’t get you.”
He switched the balls around, making sure they alternated between stripes and solids. “What’s to get?”
“I—you know what? Never mind. Let’s just play and get this over with.”
He rolled over the white ball and nodded to the cue sticks behind her. “Go ahead and break.”
“Why do I have to break?”
“Because I racked.” He watched while she examined the sticks before finally picking one. “Want to make this interesting?”
“Interesting how, exactly?” She chalked up the tip and set about placing the cue ball.
He should just keep his mouth shut, but Gabe needed to get the picture of Elle and Nathan together out of his head. “A bet.”
Elle leaned against the stick, her blond hair creating a halo in the dim lighting. She looked like an angel who’d accidentally wandered into hell. “I’m listening.”
So she had a competitive streak. Good to know. “Classic eight ball. If I win, I get a kiss.”
“God, you really are a cliché. No way.”
“You don’t get to make the terms. I want a kiss if I win. What do you want?”
Thoughts crossed her face, too many for him to pinpoint. Was that anger? Anticipation? Actual loathing? Finally Elle nodded. “Fine. You win, you get a kiss.”
“A real one. Not some grade-school bullshit.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. You win, you get a real kiss. If I win, you promise you won’t tell Nathan about what happened between us. You take me back to the gallery, and you leave me alone.”
Gabe leaned against the wall, his hands in his front pockets. “You get one of those, not both. Unless I get to add to mine…”
“No, one’s fine.” She ran a hand over her skirt. “You don’t tell Nathan. Do we have a deal?”
“Deal.” Easy enough to promise—Nathan already knew. Guilt threatened to choke him, but Gabe ignored it. As he’d quickly found out, playing this straight wasn’t going to get him a chance with Elle.
Good thing Gabe had no intention of playing fair.