Page 98 of Finding Denver

“Scott should. Scott sounds suspicious. We should keep her away from him. Isolate her from any Scotts in the vicinity.”

She watches me, her eyes sparkling. “My dad dealt with my boyfriends in the same way.” She pops a piece of bread into her mouth. “Look how my dating life turned out.”

“We shouldmeetScott,” I decide, and she starts laughing. “Welcome him into the family. He’s one of us now.” She grins, and I do, too. “I like making you laugh.”

“I like you making me laugh,” she says. “But I also need to eat, so let’s order before this breadbasket ruins my meal.”

We order, we eat, we talk. The conversation is easy like it always is, and Denver has me laughing over things I’ve missed.

“Holly also said something else that was interesting,” I say, as our plates are collected. Denver makes an intrigued humming noise. “She asked if you were my girlfriend.”

Her smile does beautifully violent things to my heart. She props her chin up on her hand. “Did she? And what did you say to her?”

“That you’re my friend and a girl. Then she rolled her eyes and asked if you were a girlfriend I hold hands with.”

Denver laughs, her cheeks pink, a subtle flush climbing up her throat. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. Was she disappointed with your answer?”

“She just shrugged,” I say, and I place my hand on the table, palm up. “Shall we pretend again?”

Denver looks between the table and me, unable to contain a smile, and places her hand against mine. Her skin is soft, warm, and I know if I were to kiss her knuckles she’d smell like vanilla body lotion, but I resist. Instead, I run my thumb across the back of her hand, then turn it over, tracing her palm with my fingertips. Such limited contact shouldn’t have my heart climbing up my throat or my cock hardening, but there’s something intimate about sharing a moment this tender with a woman so uniquely powerful.All our moments alone have the same crackling energy, like livewires at our feet.

I lift her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm, and she takes in a small breath. “I think I like holding hands with you.”

“We should do it more often then,” I say. “While we’re pretending, obviously.”

She swallows, her smile faltering. “Right. Pretending. Colt Harland and Denver DeLuca.”

I smile, but it feels forced, because I don’t want to fucking pretend. I want to lay her across this table and take her. I want every fucker in this place to know she’s mine, to hear her moans and my name falling from her lips.

“We should get the check,” Denver breathes out, getting the attention of the waitress. Reluctantly, I release her hand. She takes out her credit card, and I slip it out of her hand and into my pocket before she can lay it on the table.

“You don’t need that,” I say, taking out my own card.

She huffs. “I can pay for my own food, Colt.”

“Denver, you can be independent all you like, any time you like, but when you’re with me, the only credit card I want to see in your hand is mine.”

A blush steals up her throat again, brighter than before, and she stumbles over her words, but I’m fairly sure she calls me a pushy prick. When we leave the restaurant, she still hasn’t dropped the issue.

“What if you forget your card? What then?” she challenges as we stand out front, waiting for the car.

“This is my territory, Denver. I pay for a meal because I want to, not because I have to.”

She frowns, a line appearing between her brows as she clearly tries to continue an argument she’s losing. “Fine, then I’ll go shopping with your card. You’ll regret that.”

“Only if you failed to buy something I can tear off later.”I grin, knowing I’m pushing my luck, but enjoying her reaction, nonetheless.

A laugh tumbles out of her, and she swats my arm. “You’re a cocky prick. And …” She shifts closer, her gaze on my hair as she reaches up to touch it. “You’re getting grays.”

“I am?” I already know I am, but I like her being this close. “I meet you and I go gray. Not a coincidence.”

She grins proudly, her eyes travelling over my hair. “It looks good. It’s sexy.”

Fuck.

“Is it?” I hope I sound calmer than my racing heart, and I hope I have the strength not to yank her body to mine and kiss her. It’s a herculean effort not to look at her mouth, to imagine what she’d do if I nibbled her bottom lip. I wonder if a similar thought crosses her mind, because her cheeks are flushed.

She sighs softly, her chest rising and falling with the action. She runs the tip of her finger across my jacket. “I’m glad you’re home.” When my smile widens, she tilts her head. “What?”