Her Perfect Proposal Page 4

  As she watched Gunnar make his shots, he seemed to ooze sexy. Whether it was her beer or his smoldering gaze—he was one hot guy—her knees turned to noodles. But he was also very human, just like her, with “issues” as she always jokingly referred to the pressure from her parents to be the best at everything she did.

  Gathering her composure, Lilly called the pocket and sank the eight ball. More surprised than anyone, she put down the cue and jumped with hands high above her head. “Yay! I did it. I beat you.”

  Gunnar smiled, took a step closer and, being anything but a poor sport, patted her shoulder in congratulations. “Good job, Ms. Jaywalker.”

  “Thanks.” Every thought flew out of her mind when he touched her. Having him close scrambled her brain, twisting her thoughts into knots. She needed a moment to recover.

  “I’m going to the ladies’ room,” she said, edging away from his overwhelming space invasion. This seemed far more intimidating than when his easygoing charm had gotten her to let her guard down and spill about her past.

  While in the bathroom she gathered her composure and remembered why she’d come to the bar tonight, then returned to the game with new intent. But the first thing she saw was Gunnar. He leaned his hips against the pool table, long legs outstretched, ankles crossed, arms folded, talking casually to Jake. Could he give a better display of his biceps? Man, it was going to take a lot of effort to concentrate on the next game. And, uh-oh, there was another beer waiting for her.

  “I always buy the winner a drink,” he said, seeing her surprised glance when she got closer.

  “Thanks.” How could she refuse? Even though she rarely exceeded her two-drink limit, she’d take a sip or two just to be nice.

  He’d already set things up for the next game. She broke, and watching the balls scatter to all corners of the table, she mentally chanted her personal promise for tonight’s bar visit. It was time to get back on task, if nothing more than to get her mind off Gunnar.

  “So, I’ve heard some mumblings around town about secret meetings going on over at city hall.” She stopped midplay, stood up and gave him a perfected wide-eyed, play-it-dumb glance. “You know anything about them?”

  He scratched the side of his mouth. His tell? “Can’t say for sure I’ve heard about any secret meetings on the beat. What else have you heard?”

  Liar. She’d seen him with her own eyes going into that building from her room at the Heritage, and later leaving, from the bushes where she’d staked out last night. Though she supposed the officer wasn’t brazenly lying, saying he couldn’t say “for sure,” and using a technicality, “not hearing anything on the beat,” but he was definitely fudging. And he’d turned the tables on her asking what she’d heard. Lilly could feel in her journalistic bones there was a big story behind those meetings and her proof was his inability to admit to or deny them. Which only made her more curious about the after-hours comings and goings over at city hall.

  What had she heard, he’d asked? She shook her head, again taking the dense tack. “Just that things are going on and it may be important to Heartlandia.”

  He touched her arm. The spot went hot. “Tell you what, if I hear anything from anyone in town about those meetings, you’ll be the first to know.” Again, he’d set up his phrase to keep it from being a bona fide lie.

  Without warning, he leaned across the table for something that was behind her, and because she didn’t budge, on his way back he brushed her cheek with his shoulder. “Chalk,” he said, showing her the prize. Was this a ploy to throw her off track?

  From this proximity she looked into his baby greens and, oh-baby-baby. Their eyes locked up close and personal and she thought someone had poured warm honey over her head. Good move, Gun-man, I’ve forgotten my own name. Close enough to smell his sharp lime-and-pine aftershave, she turned toward his face at the exact moment he’d shifted closer to her, and their lips nearly touched. What if she bridged the gap and snuck a quick kiss just for the heck of it? She’d bet her first paycheck there’d be a tingly spark when she made contact.

  Their eyes met for an instant, and she didn’t even need to make contact to get that zingy feeling again.

  You’re on the job, remember? She let the moment pass, but was quite sure she’d made her almost-intentions known, and there it was, she’d gotten to him. His eyes went darker, and she sensed a surge in his body heat. He probably wondered the same thing about that potential kiss.

  Don’t overanalyze everything.

  “Okay,” she said, acting as if she almost kissed guys on the run all the time, taking the proffered chalk. “Then I start.” After she chalked up her cue, and before she made her shot, she sipped more beer as euphoria merged with lust and tiptoed up her spine. Wow. She rolled her shoulders and willed her concentration back, then made her next shot.

  She needed to pace herself with the beer or, the way her mind was buzzing all around from the nearness of Gunnar, she might get into trouble. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was only eleven.

  Midway through the game, she made a decent shot but, feeling a little tipsy, lost her balance. She leaned against Gunnar since he was close by, and since he felt so darn nice, she put her head on his chest for a second. He wrapped a hand around her waist but immediately let go once she was back on her own two feet.

  Do not make a fool of yourself. It’s dishonorable to act foolish. Her father’s mantra drilled through her thoughts. Concentrate on the game. Win!

  The game progressed. They spontaneously bumped hips after his next good shot and high-fived on hers, but he cheated. He pulled his arm in just enough so her chest touched his when their palms met. Dirty trick, but zing-oh-zing! She liked touching his chest with her breasts.

  So Officer Dudley Do-Right played dirty with a few beers under his belt. But she’d also noticed he’d forgotten about his last beer. She needed to do the same, to stay on her toes, but unfortunately his sex appeal was throwing her too far off balance for that.

  He won the game, and came around the table grinning to collect a winner’s high five. She had an overwhelming urge to forget the victory slap and surprise him with a full-on mouth kiss, but fortunately came to her senses before she acted on it.

  As their palms slapped together, and he didn’t pull his dirty trick a second time, their eyes met and held for several beats, the pool game all but forgotten. After lowering their now-interlocked fingers, neither of them moved, instead they stood staring at each other.

  “Come on, come on, come on, you gonna play another game or stand there drooling on each other?” One of the guys impatiently waiting for a pool table broke the magical moment, which—considering Lilly’s continuous urge to kiss Gunnar—could have gotten out of hand at any given second.

  Gunnar cleared his throat, gestured for her to take the first shot then racked the balls. Thank goodness he was a gentleman because right about now she couldn’t begin to remember what it was like to be a lady. Sorry, Mom. She must be out of her mind to think about making out with a practical stranger in a bar on her first Friday night in town. Yet it was foremost in her mind and completely doable if she deemed it. Wasn’t that what Daddy had always taught her? Set a goal. Go for it. Let nothing get in the way.

  Between her and Gunnar’s lips?

  “Okay, okay,” he said to the impatient guy, sounding diplomatic as all hell. “The last game.” But he nailed her with a heated look—it melted into her center and spread like warm fingers stroking her hips.

  “Let’s do it,” she said, breathless, thinking she could be up for almost anything tonight as long as it included Gunnar Norling. “Can we get another round here?”

  Olaf’s wife was passing by but Gunnar intercepted and ordered a couple of waters and coffee instead.

  Okay, she got his point, but that was taking his job too far. Was the guy ever off duty?

  Truth was Lilly had no intention of drinking another drop of beer anyway—she knew her boundaries—but she needed Gunnar to get a little looser-l
ipped. Not that his lips and everything else about him weren’t doing a great job already. But maybe next time when she brought up the meetings, if he had another beer, he’d at least admit to taking part in them. That would be a start. Then she could begin to slowly and meticulously strip him down to the truth.

  She leaned on her pool cue as the journalistic euphemism morphed into pure, unadulterated sex thoughts with Gunnar stripped down and standing buck naked at the center of them. Almost losing her balance and falling off the stick, she swallowed and looked at her shoes, hoping he hadn’t seen it, or couldn’t read her mind, or notice her tell—burning, red-hot ears.

  He scratched the corner of his mouth.

  Before the water and coffee came she reached for her beer, but soon realized Gunnar had moved hers far out of reach. Was he worried about her? Heck, she was a big girl, could handle her liquor. If his gesture hadn’t seemed so darn sweet and protective, she might have flashed her feminist membership card, ripped into him about being a chauvinist and suggested he mind his own business.

  Instead, she took her sexual frustration and went all competitive. In the heat of the faster-paced game, they touched a lot, whether intentional or not, she couldn’t tell and definitely didn’t mind, but each and every time it kept her nerve endings on alert and craving more.

  In between pool shots, she tried to dial things back a notch by bringing up old family pets. She told him her favorite pet story from when she was a kid. Her favorite pet was a Chihuahua from a puppy mill store that won her over with the offering of a tiny paw. She’d named it Chitcha, then explained that was Japanese for tiny and her grandmother still called her Chitcha to this very day. She liked how he repeated the name, Chitcha, as if memorizing the word.

  His favorite pet turned out to be a stray cat named Smelly, whom he’d found while he walked home from school one day. The homeless cat was half-dead and hosting a dozen abscesses. According to Gunnar, that red tabby lived fifteen years with his family.

  Knowing he was the kind of guy to rescue a stray cat made her go all gooey inside.

  They played on, and she enjoyed getting to know a bit more about this man who, despite a couple of close calls, continued to act the gentleman—except for the high-five incident, which would really be unforgiveable if she hadn’t enjoyed it as much as he apparently had.

  Good thing he’d ordered the coffee because the drinking had definitely caught up to her. The bar had taken on the appearance of golden-warm tones, fuzzy around the edges and a little distant, and Gunnar looked like the sexiest man on earth—probably was.

  Something about Gunnar made her edgy, though, like he was the kind of guy a girl could fall really hard for. Most men his age would already be married if they wanted to be. Her journalistic intuition told her he wasn’t the committing kind. Nah, he was too charming and smooth around ladies, well, around this lady anyway, proving he’d had a lot of experience. Which would be par for the course in Lilly’s world, since none of her boyfriends ever had the least bit of interest in commitment.

  Nope. This guy could be trouble.

  The best way to deal with Gunnar would be professionally, journalist to cop. She had to break him down, and after this game she’d make her move. She’d invite him somewhere closer to her hotel for coffee and quiet conversation. This time, instead of relying on a pool hall and beer, she’d use more of her hard-earned journalistic prowess and throw in a few more naturally acquired wily ways to get him to open up.

  Charm didn’t come second nature to her, like it did with him, but she could pull it off if she had to. For the sake of her story.

  He won the game and since she was still feeling pretty darn good from her last beer, and was in close enough proximity, she decided to give him another high five. In order to do that, she had to move toward him. Shifting from where she stood to Gunnar felt the way slow-motion photography looked, with streaks of light trailing the object. Boy, she should have eaten more of the chips and salsa. She stopped, shook her head and regained her balance.

  “Whoa, hold on there, Chitcha.” He steadied her with hands on her shoulders. “You okay?”

  Amused, she chose to think he’d called her the nickname her grandmother had given her, not her dog’s name. “I think I’m a little tipsy.”

  She moved gingerly toward him, and he drew her close, wrapping around her like a warm rugged blanket. “I better give you a ride home. Is that okay?”

  She’d never felt such strength in her life. Solid. Like a rock.

  “But you’ve been drinking, too.”

  “Two beers,” he said. “Didn’t even finish the last one. I’m fine.”

  She dared to glance into his eyes again, and could tell he was perfectly okay. The biggest question was did she trust herself enough to let him take her home without falling all over him? One more glance into those dreamy green eyes and she made up her mind.

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll get my motorcycle.”

  *

  She gulped as if he’d just suggested jumping off the bridge as he led her outside the bar.

  The former warehouse covered in weathered wood with a rusted aluminum roof stood stark against the night sky and sat in the center of the crowded asphalt parking lot. The Columbia River rushed by behind the bar giving a calming effect after the noise from Olaf’s. Lilly’s car was a sporty red sedan and Gunnar’s motorcycle was two aisles down. He led her to the bike.

  “I can call a cab,” she said, panic brewing in her dark eyes.

  “I’m a safe rider. You’ll be fine.” He handed her his helmet.

  Her decision to put it on seemed more about saving face.

  Gunnar liked how Lilly threw her leg and spiky-booted foot over the pillion seat of his motorcycle. He twisted around and helped her fasten the helmet. She’d clearly never taken a ride on a bike before, so he decided to take the back route from the docks through residential streets. Whenever he leaned into turning a corner, her hands tightened around his middle, and it felt good. Beyond good. Going far slower than usual, never over thirty-five for her sake, they crossed the railroad tracks, a small houseboat cul-de-sac section of the harbor, and Fisherman’s Park with its distinct fishy smell, then rode past the town library, grammar school and finally drove down Main Street to the Heritage Hotel.

  Regretting the end of the ride with Chitcha nearly strapped to his back, he parked in front.

  “Thanks,” she said over his shoulder the moment he stopped.

  He waited while she got off the back of the motorcycle, then shut off the engine and parked, leaning it on the kickstand.

  “So, thanks for bringing me here.” Again with the thanks business. “Guess I’ll see you around.” She seemed nervous and flighty compared to earlier, and as she headed for the rotating door he pulled her back and pointed to the helmet she’d forgotten to take off.

  “Oh. Sorry,” she said, flush-faced, removing it and handing it to him.

  Her hair stuck out every which way, and it made her look even cuter. He didn’t want to humiliate her, so he held back his grin, only letting one side of his mouth hitch upward the tiniest bit. He tried his best to make eye contact, but hers darted around as if planning a major escape.

  What had happened to the bravado lady at the bar, the one who he could have sworn almost kissed him after one particularly successful shot?

  Not wanting to make her uncomfortable, he backed off. He may be knocked out by the feisty Asian beauty, but the last thing he’d ever do was push himself on her. Or any lady. Hell, if history repeated itself, women always returned to Gunnar. He’d wait for her to come to her senses and make the next move, even though he wasn’t supposed to be doing that anymore.

  “Okay,” he said. “So I’ll see you around, I guess.”

  “Sure thing.” Her expression turned all earnest and he braced for something awkward to happen, like an apology, but something much better than that came next.

  Lilly went up on tiptoes, hands balanced on his shoulders,
and bussed his cheek—his reward for being a gentleman. He thought he’d been kissed by a butterfly and liked the way tiny eyelash-type flutters marked the spot. It surprised him.

  She must have picked up on that “something more” reflex she’d caused, because he stole a glance into her eyes and an open book of responses filled him in on the rest of the story. She was interested. Very interested.

  So was he, and he was damn sure she could figure that out. For a few breathy moments they stayed staring under the light of the street lamp, trying to read each other. He could still detect her fresh and flowery perfume, and resisted taking a deep inhale.

  Having spent the better part of the evening in Lilly’s company, he’d already understood she liked to take the lead with questions, pool and drinking. If he read her right, and he liked to think that being a policeman had taught him how to read people, she’d prefer to make the next move. So he waited, counting out a few more breaths while taking a little excursion around her intelligent and thoughtful eyes…and getting lost. Her creamy skin contrasted the dark, straight hair and meticulously shaped eyebrows. And those eyes…

  She wrapped her hands around his neck and drew him close. Her fingers cool on his skin, and with a twinkling glint in her night-like eyes, she carefully touched her mouth to his and kissed him as if she meant it. Her small but well-padded lips, soft and smooth, fit over his in petite perfection.

  Beyond pleasantly surprised, he inhaled, catching that fresh scent again, found her waist and tightened his grip. The kiss felt right on-target and he liked that. Boy, oh boy, did he like it. His stout and her pale ale complimented each other perfectly as their tongues managed a quick touch here and there before going for more exploration.

  Not stopping there, his hands cupped her face, his thumbs stroking those creamy cheeks, and he kissed her lips, the delicate skin beneath her eyes, her neck, cheeks and ear. He brushed her jaw with his beard stubble, sending shock waves along his skin, driving his reaction inward and starting a slow burn. Not wanting to overpower her, since the kiss had been her idea, he let up the slightest bit, but pulled her body closer. She settled into his embrace, curled up and stayed there for several long tantalizing moments, basking as he planted more soft-lipped kisses on the top of her head, along her hair, the shell of her ear.