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Paul looked over his shoulder at his customers straggling along the levee before turning back to Mitch. “How do you know Cath, anyway?”
“I went on one of her very interesting ghost tours.” Mitch rolled his last crumbs inside the butcher paper.
A smile danced through her. Mitch had liked her tour.
“Fraternizing with the customers, huh?” Paul waggled his eyebrows at her.
“You done?” Mitch flicked a glance her way, crushing his sandwich wrapper into a smaller and smaller ball. “We need to leave.”
They did? She looked at Mitch for more explanation, but he ignored her.
“Sorry.” She popped the last shrimp into her mouth and wrapped up the sandwich remains. “We do need to run.”
“Wait.” Paul stopped her with a hand on her arm. “You know I’m proud of you for striking out on your own. Let me know how I can help. Even if it’s money you need. I know my uncle feels the same.”
Really? “Even though I’m a competitor?”
“You’re not really. Too small.” Paul waved a hand. “You offer a different experience.”
“We’re late.” Mitch tossed his trash in a barrel and propped his hands on his hips.
“Thanks. I appreciate that.” She patted Paul’s arm. “Good seeing you.”
Without a word, Mitch stalked back to the truck, slowing to keep pace with her and waiting for her to climb inside before closing the door and circling the hood. Paul crossed the grass to the paddle wheeler, and Mitch climbed behind the wheel. Still silent. She settled her handbag in the footwell and pulled the seat belt from the retractor. “What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“I hardly had time to finish my lunch.”
“You weren’t working very hard at it.” The engine roared to life, but Mitch hooked his wrists over the wheel instead of putting the truck in gear. “Go ahead and tell me I’m wrong.”
She snapped the buckle in place. “I’m only saying you could have asked if I wanted to go.”
Mitch’s chest rose and fell. “What’s your connection to this guy, may I ask?”
So Mr. Big Bounty Hunter planned to mind his manners now? Too bad. Too late. As soon as the police caught her would-be abductors, Mitch would be history. If possible, before she witnessed another testosterone spike.
“He and I were colleagues at VIP Tours.” She leaned back. “Before I started my own business. But the tour industry in New Orleans is small. I can’t afford to make enemies.”
Mitch slammed the car into gear. “You can be friendly without letting him kiss you.”
“He only kissed my cheek.”
“It was still a kiss.” His hand tightened on the shift lever. “I’m a colleague, but you don’t want me even to touch you. No kissing of any kind was discussed.” Electricity shot across the console from his dark eyes.
Her lips tingled. Did Mitch actually want to kiss her?
She pressed a hand to her forehead in case a fever had brought on this hallucination. He’d promised not to touch her unless he needed to grab her out of the path of a speeding bullet or something else as dire. But grabbing would involve hands, not mouths.
“What happened?” Mitch pulled into the street. “Did you boss around Mr. Future Executive one too many times?”
She pointed out the windshield. “Watch out. There’re some joggers crossing.”
“I see them.” Mitch braked to let the runners pass and stared at her. Heat lurked in his brown eyes. Every cell in her body went on pause. He didn’t seem inclined to test things, and she went back to watching the street. Fine with her. If they ever did kiss, she’d be dealing with a wildfire, not a stove burner.
She tapped the armrest. Mitch hadn’t asked an unreasonable question. She could tell him as much as she’d tell anyone instead of pretending she had a big secret. For the sake of her brother, she and Mitch needed to work together.
“Why aren’t you arguing?” he asked, the edge in his voice obvious.