Page 71 of Crow
“You could’ve fooled me. Look, I gotta take care of something that’s club-related. I’ll meet you at Alfonso’s in about half an hour. Are we good?”
“Of course.”
“Atta girl.”
Cringing, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something she would regret.
“If you’re later than a half hour, I’m not waiting. I have files I have to update for tomorrow.”
“No worries. See you in thirty.”
The phone went silent and she stared at the blank screen for a few seconds before putting her cell on the dresser. Glancing over at the pile of clothes strewn out across the bed, she shook her head. There was no doubt about it: she was putting in far too much effort and thought in meeting Crow for dinner. The fact that she’d let her guard down and revealed a part of her she didn’t want him to see, made her feel like a foolish schoolgirl. There was no reason in hell for her to have reacted the way she did when she’d heardRuby’svoice. She and Crow didn’t have anything between them except a social acquaintance. Then why did she hold her breath in anticipation of seeing him whenever she went over to Madera Crossing or helped out at Aunt Rosa’s deli?Simple physical attraction—that’s all. It’s normal.That didn’t mean anything. Since Devon’s ultimate betrayal, Angie had found several guys she thought were good-looking.But nothing like Crow. He’s in a league of his own.She scooped up a handful of discarded tops and marched into her walk-in closet.Stop thinking about him. After tonight, you’re done.
And, at that moment, she meant it.
* * *
When Angie arrivedat Alfonso’s, the parking lot was full, and a crowd stood in a line outside the restaurant waiting for a table. A porcelain tiled patio fringed with flower boxes, wrought iron chairs, and umbrella tables was already full to capacity, and Angie wondered how long they’d have to wait to be seated.
As she circled the block for the third time, she saw a car pulling out of a space and quickly snagged it. The sound of her heels clacked on the pavement as she walked toward the eatery. The setting sun flashed copper light off the green metallic paint and chrome of a wicked looking motorcycle parked in front of the place. Instinctively, she knew it was Crow’s. The night before, he’d taken off from Leroy’s on a loud bike, but it was too dark for her to see the motorcycle’s features, but anything this regal, badass, and in your face just had to be his.
Trickles of laughter and wisps of cigarette smoke curled around her as she eyed a patron’s large margarita. Licking her lips, she pushed through the crowd.
Crow was already standing by the hostess booth, looking down at his phone. As she approached, she allowed her gaze to drink in the thighs encased in denim, the lean hips, and a gray dress shirt stretched across a broad chest. Several locks of his dark hair fell across his forehead, and the image of her brushing them away with her fingertips flashed through her mind. A small frown pinched the space between his brows, making his rugged features seem harder. Then he looked up and met her eyes and everything faded away. A subtle smile twitched on his full and sensual mouth.
He slowly ran his gaze over her.
“You look beautiful.”
An affection she didn’t want to name spread through her and she glanced away in embarrassment.
“Thanks. I thought you were going to be late.”
“The club business didn’t take as long as I thought it would.”
Is club business a euphemism for screwing one of the biker groupies?She had no idea, but then, she wasn’t up on motorcycle jargon because she never had a reason to know anything about that world.
“Leticia, we’re ready,” he said to the cute dark-haired hostess who blushed as she picked up two menus.
The twenty-something woman looked over at Angie, tossed her long hair over one shoulder, and leaned into him.
“Follow me,” she said in a voice that would rival Marilyn Monroe’s.
He stepped back and gestured for Angie to go first, then put his hand on the small of her back and guided her through the dining room. The simple touch sent unexpected sparks sizzling through her veins, and she quickened her pace, wanting nothing more than to be at a safe distance from him at their table.
“Here you are,” the hostess said, batting over-the-top false lashes at him.
“Thanks,” he said as he pulled out Angie’s chair before taking his seat across from her.
“You must come here a lot,” she said, glancing down at the menu.
“It’s a club favorite and the best Mexican food in the county.”
She looked up and met his warm brown eyes. They pulled her in, and the color reminded her of the rich, thick maple syrup her mother bought to make chewy molasses chocolate chip cookies when Angie and her brothers were kids.
“Is that your favorite cuisine?” she asked.
Nodding, his black hair gleamed in the overhead lights. “The first time I tasted street tacos, I was hooked.” His laugh was low, throaty.
