The Taming of the Bachelor (7 page)

“I did say they could stay up later tonight. Sorry I didn’t mention it to you.”

“No problem. Just wanted to be sure. Oh, and the toilet downstairs, it’s not flushing. One of the kids used it and it’s now about to overflow. I couldn’t find a plunger so I just turned the water off and told the kids not to use it anymore but I think you’ve got a clog or something.”

Paige grimaced. She was so sick of that particular toilet. “Thank you, and it was smart of you to turn the water off. I’ll call a plumber first thing Monday.”

“Sorry to bother you.”

“It’s okay. Glad you checked in.”

“Hopefully you’re having fun.”

“I am.”

“Good. And don’t feel as if you have to rush back anytime soon. I’m prepared to stay late.”

“I won’t be out late.”

“Well, you can if you want. I don’t mind. You deserve to have a good time!”

Paige smiled ruefully. “Call me if anything else comes up, otherwise I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

Paige hung up and stepped into the ladies’ room, and while washing her hands she studied her face in the mirror.

She definitely wasn’t a girl anymore. Her skin was softer, with faint lines at her eyes and a shadow of a line between her brows. Hard to believe she’d be thirty-eight in a week. She wasn’t ashamed of her age. She liked who she was. She loved her kids. She’d loved Lewis, too. But he was gone and she wasn’t yet forty and she hoped there were more good things ahead for her.

More love and more laughter...

More fun.

Paige exited the restroom and turned the corner to head back to her table when she practically walked into Dillon.

He was just standing there, at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set, expression grim.

She had to stop short to avoid running into him. “Whoa. Watch out. Someone could get seriously hurt, running into you.”

His hard jaw eased a fraction. “I thought you’d left.”

“Nope. As you can see, I’m still here.”

“Are you having fun?”

“It’s nice to be out with the girls.” She did her best to sound careless not wanting him to know that he was wreaking havoc on her nerves. He looked too good in that snug black sweater, the soft cotton outlining the muscular planes of his chest and his thick biceps and triceps. He had a seriously hot body. “You know you make a better door than a window.”

He didn’t take the hint and move. “What are you doing after the auction ends?”

She tipped her head back to better see his eyes. His gaze was clear and focused intently on her. “You haven’t been drinking.”

“No.”

“And yet you’re asking me out?”

A small muscle pulled in his jaw. “I’m not going to force myself on you, or take advantage of you. I just like being near you.”

“This strikes me as dangerous.”

“You don’t think I have self-control?”

“What if I don’t have self-control?”

Heat flared in his eyes and he took a step towards her, closing the distance. “I’d make sure that we didn’t get carried away.”

He was standing close enough that she could feel his warmth and catch a whiff of his fragrance—it was subtle, and spicy, and very masculine—and her fingers itched to lift the hem of his sweater to see if his abs were as hard and chiseled as she imagined them to be. “This is crazy. You’re leaving town in just a couple days.”

“I know. So just tell me no. You just have to say it one time, and I’ll walk away.”

But staring up into his eyes, seeing the heat in the gold depths, she didn’t want to say no. She wanted to move in, and get closer to the source of that fire. “How can I let you leave without getting to know you?”

He said nothing, and she was grateful he didn’t try to pressure her. She didn’t want him to talk her into anything. She didn’t need to be convinced.

She was interested, maybe a little too interested as her heart was thudding in her chest, drumming in her veins. But she’d dressed for him tonight, and had arrived at Grey’s this evening feeling restless and full of yearning and it’d be a mistake not to give Dillon a chance, and see where things might lead. “I’ll meet you outside when the auction is over.”

“Anything special you want to do?”

“Just hang out and talk to you.”

“Think we can manage that.”

A
n hour and a half later Paige said goodbye to McKenna and Taylor, walking with them out to their cars parked on Main Street, hugging her friends goodnight and waving goodbye, never once mentioning that she wasn’t going home, meeting up with Dillon afterwards.

She breathed a sigh of relief as Taylor and McKenna drove off in separate directions and then walked back to Grey’s entrance.

She was still standing there, out front, when McKenna drew up, and her window rolled down. She leaned out the window, batting away snowflakes. “You are not that sneaky, Paige. I know what you’re doing. Just be careful. Okay?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Paige protested, tugging on her mittens.

McKenna arched a brow, and nodded at the door that was opening, revealing Dillon.

Paige blushed but gave a confused shrug, as if she didn’t understand.

Fortunately, McKenna didn’t push the point. She rolled up her window and drove away and Paige turned to face Dillon, her heart now racing.

She’d been nervous before but now she was terrified.

What
was
she doing?

“Hi,” she said, walking towards him, jamming her mittens into her coat pockets. He was so tall she had to tip her head back to see his face. “So, what are you thinking? What should we do? Head to another bar? Find a place to eat? What sounds good to you?”

“I haven’t had dinner,” he admitted, his deep voice pitched low. “I wouldn’t mind food.”

“What time is it?”

He glanced at his watch. “Ten.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Most places will be closing their kitchen soon. We might be able to get some bar food at the Wolf Den.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “Have you
been
to the Wolf Den?”

“Uh, no. But it stays open late—”

“Yes, for bikers, truckers and strippers.”

“There are no strippers at Wolf Den.”

“Maybe we should go so you can take a look at the stripper pole.”

Her cheeks suddenly burned but she lifted her chin, refusing to act like a virginal miss. “But if they serve food?”

“The bar at the Graff serves food, too,” he said gruffly. “And ladies keep their clothes on there. I’m sure we can order something if we go now.”

“I’ve another idea. Not sure if it’s too private for you.”

“Not your house.”

“No. The diner. We can leave our cars and just walk from here.”

“It’s been closed for hours.”

“Yes, but it’s my place. And I’ve got the keys.”

P
aige unlocked the diner’s front door and flicked on the lights. The heat had been turned down earlier and it was cool inside, but not as cold as outside, the old brick walls better at retaining warmth than modern plywood and drywall. She locked the door behind them and peeling off her heavy coat, faced Dillon. “I’ll turn up the heater. It won’t take long.”

“I’m not cold,” he answered.

“Just hungry?” she guessed, gesturing for him to follow.

They wound past booths and tables and then went behind the long counter where Paige draped her coat over the back of a chair and put her purse on a seat.

“It looks so much bigger when it’s empty,” he said, glancing around.

“It’s such a great building. You can really see all the history when no one is here. You know this was originally a grocery store, right? At least for the first five years. A guy from Seattle opened a string of grocery stores across Montana, including this one in Marietta.”

“I didn’t know. How did you find out?”

“Taylor.”

He smiled. “Our favorite librarian.”

“And your future sister-in-law.”

“Yes. Although I’m not sure when the wedding is. I think it’s been pushed back to summer. Early August, maybe?”

“I know Doug has had some struggles again,” Paige said. “And Taylor wants him there.” She moved behind the counter, and gestured for him to follow her through the swinging doors, into the kitchen.

“So what sounds good?” she asked brightly, opening one of the huge commercial refrigerator doors. “I can make whatever you want... a steak, hamburger, pasta, eggs. You name it.”

She turned around, faced him, hands on her hips. “What do you want?”

D
illon didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t, because he wasn’t thinking about food. He was thinking about her. He’d been happy trailing behind her, watching her walk, fascinated by the swing of her hips and pleasing roundness of her rear end.

She had a great butt. She had a great everything.

And he was hungry. For her.

He wanted her.

Not that she was on the menu tonight. But the last thing he really wanted was a big deal. Not when he was craving something warm and sweet. Specifically Paige.

“Don’t need you cooking for me,” he said. “I could do with a slice of something. Pie and coffee would be great.”

“We do make great pies,” she said. “Let’s see what we’ve got left.”

Turned out there was cherry pie and apple crumble and Dillon couldn’t choose. “I like them both,” he said. “You pick. Whatever’s better.”

“They’re both great but it’s February and I’m partial to cherry pie in February.”

He sat at the diner counter and watched her start a pot of coffee and then heat up the pies. She moved with a quiet efficiency he found very sexy, but then he found everything about her sexy.

She filled two cups with the hot, freshly brewed decaf coffee and then plated the slices of warm pie, topping them with generous scoops of vanilla ice cream.

They ate there at the counter, facing each other, not saying much at first, just eating and relaxing.

“This is fun,” she said putting her fork down after a minute.

“Must be nice having your own diner.”

“I’ve never done this before.”

“No? Why not?”

“I don’t know. It never crossed my mind before. But then, I’m rarely out this late, much less on a Saturday night.”

“You don’t do Girls Night out?”

“Not really my style. I think the last time I was out late was the Valentine’s Ball last year.” She grimaced. “Maybe I do need to get out more.”

“Do you miss being out at night?”

Paige mulled his question over, her fine arched brows flattening. After a moment she shook her head. “No. I’m a homebody. I like being with my kids at the house. They’re my crew. My pack.”

Her pack, he silently repeated, thinking she’d phrased it well. She was a devoted mom, very attentive, and protective. Her kids were lucky to have a mother like that. Dillon was in the fourth grade when his mother had died. He remembered her, but he didn’t have lots of memories of being with her.

“They are lucky to have you,” he said.

“I’m lucky to have them. They keep me sane. They give me purpose.”

“Do you think you’ll have more one day?”

“Children?” It took her a second to answer. “I can’t say for sure, but I doubt it. I’m almost forty. There’s no man on the horizon, and I don’t feel a need to have more. I love the two I’ve got.”