Neanderthal Seeks Human (Knitting in the City #1)(17)
Author: Penny Reid

“What are you reading?”

I stiffened, my heart leaping, and automatically turned toward the voice; I found Quinn looking down at me, his expression guarded and neutral except his eyes. His eyes always seemed to be a shade of up-to-no-good blue. I struggled to make sense of his presence and blinked at him several times.

Acutely, I became aware my mouth was hanging open. I snapped it shut and looked away, habitually running a hand over my hair. It was pulled into a severe bun and seemed to be on its best behavior, which was more than I could say for any other part of my body.

I cleared my throat and showed him the cover of my book, glancing at him again. I noted that he wasn’t wearing a security guard uniform. Rather, he was dressed in a very nice wool grey suit, white shirt, and grey tie with threads of blue silk. If we were in Victorian England I would have called him dashing; but, since we lived in the 21st century I would have to settle for the wordier GQ model hot.

“Hm…” He craned his neck and leaned closer to read the cover then straightened, his expression impassive. His eyes skimmed over my face, “You read comics?”

I nodded, absentmindedly stroking the cover; my mouth feeling dry as I responded, “Yes, I do.”

“Hm.” He said again. We watched each other for a moment and, like clockwork, I could feel the warm awareness that always accompanied his presence start spreading from my lower belly to my neck, toes, and fingertips.

Suddenly he said, “Scoot over.” Then he abruptly picked up my bag, which had been resting on the bench next to me, and placed it on the bench opposite. Setting down his food next to my empty sandwich wrapper he took off his suit jacket, folded it with care, and draped it over my bag.

“I- uh-” Flustered, I could only push myself further into the corner of the booth as he slid in but my efforts did little good. The booth wasn’t really meant for two people. It was maybe meant for one and three quarters which meant, even with my back pressed to the wall behind me, a big guy like Quinn and a big-bottomed girl such as myself barely fit. When he finally settled his leg pressed against mine from upper thigh to ankle.

I chewed on my bottom lip and set the book on my lap. It must have been the effect of the graphic novel paired with Quinn’s sudden closeness and being quite trapped by his large form; I felt like swooning.

“Kind of a tight fit.” He remarked with a small smile, turning toward me, his face inches from mine as he unwrapped a sandwich.

“Yeah, well, I can go if-”

“No, no. Stay. How do you like the job?” He bit into his sandwich and turned the whole of his attention to me.

“I like it. I-” I had focus on breathing normally, being so close to him was maddening. I couldn’t seem to look anywhere without seeing some part of him so I settled for looking at his hands- one held the roast beef sandwich, the other gripped a napkin. “I like it a lot. I just started to, uh…” I frowned, then huffed. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to talk to Quinn about work. I hadn’t seen him at work and, to my knowledge, he didn’t seem to have an office on my floor.

I must have debated the issue a little too long because Quinn asked, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. It’s just-” I met his searching gaze, “I’m not sure what I’m allowed to tell you.”

His eyes narrowed at me, “What do you mean?”

“I’m not supposed to talk about what I do with anyone.”

He blinked at me, “What?”

“I signed the non-disclosure agreement last week.” I gave him an apologetic grimace.

He set his sandwich down and looked at me with something resembling disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it and half laughed, “Janie, trust me. You can talk to me. It’s my company.”

My shoulders sagged a little, “I know you work there too. I’m sorry- I’ve never had to sign a non-disclosure agreement before and I don’t want to make a mistake.”

His smile subtly widened as his gaze moved over me, his eyes brightened with what looked like laughter, then he pulled his phone from his pocket, “I’ll call Carlos. If he tells you it’s ok to speak to me freely will you-”

Unthinkingly I put my hand over his to still his movements, “No, don’t do that. You’re right, I’m being silly. I really don’t want to mess up and everyone seems so nice- like too good to be true nice- and the office is too good to be true and how I got the job is too good to be true and, when you add all that together, I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop so-” I sighed, “No, the first shoe hasn’t dropped so that’s not the right idiom to use, even though it originated in cities like Chicago.” I slid my hand away from his and to my book, nervously picking at the cover.

Quinn shook his head, his usually detached hawk-like gaze seemed softer, unguarded, “Janie, what are we talking about?”

“About the idiom: waiting for the other shoe to drop. Did you know it originated in cities like Chicago and New York?”

“No. I did not” He tilted his head, his mouth hooking upward to one side as though he were trying not to laugh. “Tell me about it.”

He was teasing me again. “Well, it did. So…”

He lifted his eyebrows, “That’s all? You’re not going to tell me the specific origin of the idiom ‘waiting for the other shoe to drop’?”

I shook my head, “I don’t know it.”

He mimicked me and shook his head in response, “You’re lying. You do know.”

“Nope. I don’t.”

“This is just like the mammals.” He sighed and placed his phone on the table. Before he took a bite from his sandwich he said, “You’re stingy with information.”

My frowned deepened, “No, I’m not-”

His words were somewhat garbled as he spoke between chewing, “You’re an information tease.”

“What?!”

“Or maybe you don’t really know the origin and you’re just making things up to impress me-” he took another bite.

“I am not! It originates from the late industrial revolution, in the late 19th and early 20th century. Apartments were all built with the same floor plan, in similar design so one tenant’s bedroom was under another’s. Therefore it was normal to hear an upstairs neighbor removing his or her shoes and hearing one shoe hit the floor, then the other, when they undressed at night.”

“I wonder what else they heard.” His gaze held mine, seemed to burn with a new intensity.

“I suppose anything that was loud enough.”

He gave me a full grin followed by a deep, rolling belly laugh. I liked the sound of his laugh and reluctantly smiled in response, fighting warring feelings: pleased that I’d made him laugh but concerned that I was being laughed at. The latter feeling eclipsed the former and I frowned, glancing at my lap and picking self-consciously at the cover of my book again. I could feel the heat of a blush spreading up my neck.

The intensity of my reaction to him continued to confound me.

It wasn’t just his good looks, which verged on angles-singing-up-on-high-miraculous. Not anymore. If he’d been a jerk or a moron my reaction would have cooled and normalized. Inopportunely, he was not a jerk and he was most definitely not a moron. He was thoughtful and clever and confident and the most adroitly sexy guy I’d ever met and I didn’t like to think he was laughing at me.

I heard his laugh falter abruptly before he said, “Hey, Janie- look at me.” I lifted my chin but couldn’t quite manage to meet his eyes. A hint of a grin was still on his face as he said, “I was just teasing you.”

I forced a small laugh and shrugged, “I know. I uh-” I looked at my watch purposefully, “I have to get back to the office, my lunch is over.”

His grin faded. After a moment he cleared his throat, “You still haven’t told me how the job is going.”

“It’s great but I don’t want to be late getting back.”

He swallowed and pushed his sandwich to the side, “Don’t worry about being late. I’ll give Carlos a call.”

“Don’t do that-”

“I don’t mind.”

“But I do.”

He watched me for several moments and, despite the thunderous beating of my heart, I silently endured his perusal. I felt too hot, too self-aware, too everything. When I finally met his gaze I noted that his face had settled into an impassive mask but, as ever, his blue eyes seemed to burn with intensity. At last, he stood. I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding. As I moved to stand he reached out his hand and grabbed mine to help me from the booth.

“Listen,” He cleared his throat again, holding my hand and, thereby, holding me in place, “over the next week you’ll be going out with me on a couple of stops. It’s part of your training.”

I opened my mouth in surprise. A little pang of pleasure-pain twisted in my chest as I thought of spending more time with him. Finally, pulling together enough of my wits to form words, I stuttered, “Wh- what kind of stops?”

“I’ll be taking you to meet some of the corporate clients.”

“Steven didn’t mention anything about it in his training schedule.”