“No, I get it,” he said, holding up his hands and backing away from her and Troy. “Call me when you pull your head out of your ass.”
Troy lurched forward, but she grabbed his shoulder just in time to stop him from going after her lifelong friend. “Don’t make it worse. Just let him go.”
“Who is he to you?”
“A friend.” She cast a final glance over her shoulder. “My best friend.”
Hard eyes scrutinized her face, searching for any sign of deception. “Do all your friends touch your face and get close enough to kiss you?”
She shrugged, trying to ignore her pulse spiking in response to his nearness, causing a little too much truth to slip out. “I don’t have that many friends, so I wouldn’t know. And I’m not sure I appreciate you coming here and running off my last one.”
“No friends? But you’re so friendly and outgoing,” he deadpanned.
Her lips twitched despite her mild irritation. “How did you find me?”
Troy rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think you’d like my answer.”
“Is that so?” Ruby wanted to question him further but decided it could wait. For the moment. She’d thought of the detective non-stop for days, and here he stood, ready to take her home. Simple. He wanted her, and she definitely wanted him back. Don’t overthink this. She tugged on his jacket, edged a little closer.
“Well, now that you found me, what do you plan to do with me?”
Eyes straying to her mouth, he groaned low in his throat. “I’m going to drive you home and make you very sorry for walking out on me.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t walk out on you.”
“What do you call sneaking out before the sun comes up?”
“Punctual,” she decided. “I had things to do.”
“We had things to do.”
Heat settled low in her belly. “Did we? I don’t recall you making an appointment.”
“Keep running that mouth, hustler,” he rasped beside her ear, making her shiver. “I’ve been impatient to f**k you for days. If you keep taunting me, I’ll have no choice but to assume you want it as rough and dirty as I can give it. And, baby?” He nipped her ear. “I saw the way your back arched and your thighs squeezed together when you heard my voice behind you. I know how bad you want it.”
Breath raced in and out of her lungs, every inch of her reacting to his bluntness. Unwilling to relinquish the upper hand completely, she decided to put things back on even ground. She trailed her fingers across his belly, enjoying the way his muscles contracted beneath her touch. “Well, at least buy me dinner first.”
Chapter Six
Troy and Ruby weaved their way through a pedestrian-filled sidewalk just off campus. He’d offered to take her out for a nice meal, but she’d insisted on having him try the “best pizza in the borough of Manhattan,” until he’d finally relented. Although he felt a pressing need to get her home, Troy was grateful for the chance to rein himself in. When he showed up at her class, his intention had been to talk to her, ask her why she’d left. That plan had been blown sky high when he’d seen her big green eyes focused on someone who’d been acting a lot like a boyfriend. At that moment, he’d been overcome by the urge to drag her away from the bastard and take her home. Take what he’d somehow resisted taking Friday night. The memory of her beneath him and the most mind-blowing unsex of his life had clung to him for days. Now that she stood right before him, he could think of little else but getting her back underneath him. This time without the damn panties.
She smiled over at him when he stepped aside to let an elderly woman pass, but it faded when she saw his expression. Clearly, he wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding what he wanted so badly. Unless he regained some control and made an effort, she would write him off as someone only interested in her body. He’d tracked her down for more than sex.
Troy studied her as she moved with easy grace down the street, navigating through the crowds of people and traffic signals as if she could do it blind.
She cupped her hands and raised them to her mouth to blow warm air inside, then rubbed them together vigorously to ward off the cold. Acting on impulse, he reached over and took her hands. He brought them to his mouth and huffed warm air onto her fingers, then pressed them flat between his bigger hands to heat them.
Ruby observed his actions warily. “It’s only one more block.”
He nodded. “So, tell me. What is it with New Yorkers and their smug superiority about pizza?”
“Hmm. Besides the fact that it’s totally justified?”
The light turned green, and she quickly pulled her hand away to cross the street. “Besides, aren’t you Chicago folk equally narcissistic about your deep-dish pizza?”
“We prefer the term outspokenly confident,” he quipped. “And what’s not to like about deep dish? It’s just more of the good stuff.”
“There’s no subtlety. You should always leave them wanting more.”
“I can’t relate to that,” he said drily, slanting a look in her direction.
She ducked her head and laughed. “I thought you said your mother is a chef. She looks like she can make a good sauce. Did she ever make you pizza?”
It took him a second to remember that she’d seen the picture of his parents while going through his wallet at O’Hanlon’s. “How does someone look like they make good sauce?”
“You know…” Ruby shrugged. “She’s bosomy.”
“Bosomy?”
She made a noise of agreement. “Women who make good sauce are almost always generous upstairs. It’s like a rule or something. Ask anyone.”
“You thought it was a good idea to bring up my mother’s bosoms before we ate?”
They reached the pizza shop, and she waited while he opened the door for her. “I’m right, aren’t I? How is her sauce?”
He answered without hesitation. “The best in Chicago.”
She slipped past him into the shop, not even bothering to hide her triumphant smile. Troy looked around at the small establishment boasting a glass counter displaying several types of pies. Behind it, a handful of workers slid pizzas in and out of an enormous stainless-steel oven. Farther down toward the back, a dozen orange, plastic booths were half occupied with a variety of people. Businessmen in suits, high school kids, even a priest. From an unseen speaker, mariachi music blared, blending all the noise together.
“Speaking of my bosomy mother, she would give me hell if she knew I’d brought a girl out for a slice of pizza on a first date.”
“Ah, but it’s our second date,” she corrected him.
He leaned in next to her ear to inhale her scent.
“No. Friday night was more like a fourth date. We sort of skipped the first three and got right to the best part, didn’t we?”
“You could say that.” She leaned in toward his mouth, and he barely resisted taking her earlobe between his teeth and tugging. “Does that mean we’re going to wait three dates before we get back to the best part?”
“No, baby. It doesn’t,” he murmured, satisfied when Ruby shivered in response.