Cross My Heart (A Contemporary Romance Novel)

more comfortable.
    But if comfort were really the deciding factor, she’d go with a tee shirt instead of the red silk camisole top she was considering, cropped short enough to show off her tattoo and her belly ring.
    There was no innocent reason to put on that top. Either she admitted she wanted to see the flash of desire in Michael’s eyes again, or she went for a tee shirt.
    She thought about the kiss and felt a thrum of heat low in her belly. Then she thought about the warmth she felt when she was with him—a warmth that came from liking as much as lust.
    That was the killer. If all she felt for Michael were desire, it wouldn’t matter so much. But her feelings were complex, all tangled up with affection and respect and care and concern, the kind of feelings that could touch her heart as much as her body. And since she planned to leave Iowa with her heart intact, she’d better make sure her body didn’t get the best of her.
    She hung the camisole top back in her closet and grabbed a plain blue tee shirt out of her drawer.
    A little while later she answered her door to find Michael standing there in jeans and a tee shirt of his own.
    He grinned at her. “I see I dressed appropriately for the occasion. Of course Claire insisted on picking out my clothes, so I guess I have her to thank.”
    “You look great,” she said, hoping he didn’t realize just how much she meant those innocuous words. When a man had shoulders like that, he should always wear tee shirts—or no shirt at all.
    Her mind was on his upper body and not where they were going, and they’d crossed the lawn to Michael’s driveway before she realized it. Now Michael was holding open the passenger door of his BMW.
    Jenna hesitated. She’d been thinking they could take her car, since this event had been her and Claire’s idea—and because it seemed less date-like that way.
    “Is it okay if I drive?” Michael asked after a moment passed.
    “Of course it is,” she said quickly, sliding into the seat. The mere fact that the man was driving didn’t automatically make it a date.
    Nor did the fact that he opened the club door for her, or asked her what she wanted to drink, and then went to the bar to order and pay for it. Michael was just old-school that way, like he was about walking her home.
    They took a table near the stage, on the edge of the open space where people would stand throughout the show for an opportunity to be near the legendary Albert Cray, and dance if there was enough room.
    But the show wouldn’t start for another twenty minutes, which meant she had plenty of time to notice how much like a date this felt.
    It was the way her body reacted when she was with him. The way her gaze lingered on him in spite of herself, as he leaned over to slide a cardboard coaster under one of the table legs so it wouldn’t wobble, and then rested his strong forearms on the scarred wooden surface as the waitress set their drinks down.
    Actually, she thought as she met his eyes, this was nothing like a date. Not like the dates she usually went on, anyway. Michael was thoughtful and attentive, and there was a quiet competence about him that made her feel relaxed even as his nearness raised her heart rate.
    She’d asked for a tequila sunrise, and now she noticed that he’d ordered one, too.
    “You don’t seem like the tequila type,” she said.
    “I’m not. This is my first.”
    “You can’t be serious. You’ve never tasted tequila before tonight?”
    “Nope.”
    She raised an eyebrow. “Tequila’s not an ordinary drink, my friend. Your first time is a big deal.”
    He grinned at her. “It is, huh? What’s so special about it?”
    She folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. “Different drinks go with different experiences. Wine is for mellow conversation with your friends, or when you’re at a nice restaurant for dinner. Beer is for parties and barbecues and baseball games. Tequila, on the other hand, goes perfectly with the blues. It’s earthy and sensual and just a little bit evil.”
    It’s not a date, he reminded himself. But listening to Jenna talk about tequila made him wish like hell it was.
    Not to mention the fact that driving her in his car for the first time had made him feel like a teenager going to the prom.
    “Here’s to new experiences,” he said, and took a sip.
    He set his glass down and met Jenna’s blue eyes again.
    “Well?” she asked.
    “I tasted orange juice and grenadine and alcohol, but