Scales: Of Justice (Broken But ... Mending Book 3) (16 page)

Instead, she heard Weaver’s voice. “Paris, open the door. I brought dinner.”

In a low voice, she protested. “What if I’m not hungry?”

But she was. She was starved. And Weaver wouldn’t give up as easily as another man. He didn’t look like he had much give in him at all.

“Open up, Paris. It’s Greek.”

“What if I don’t like Greek?” she called out as she walked toward the door, wiping her eyes, knowing she looked a mess. Well, that should send him away if nothing else. But she really liked the guy. Knew he liked her, but there wasn’t any way they would get together. At least not permanently. She was good with that. And having Weaver in her room would be a distraction. His warm laugh, piercing eyes and muscular physique would be a welcome change to the gnawing uncertainty that wracked her thoughts.

She opened the door to see Weaver, wearing an aura of concern, standing and holding a large takeout bag of Greek food. His muscles bunched as he held the bag, and he frowned when he saw her. It made her smile.

Maybe she wasn’t good with that.

“You’re making me crazy,” she said, pushing the door open wider and letting him in. Turning back inside, she tried to calm the rolling emotions in her head, stomach, and damn it – her heart. She didn’t want to care about him. She didn’t want to care about anyone. She’d be opening herself to a world of hurt. And him with his lopsided grin and light-hearted manner, what if it was all a game to him? A fleeting thing. She didn’t know that she could do that.

She really just wanted to do what she wanted to do and forget the rest.
Liar,
her head whispered.
You want what Sean has. You want someone special. You want to see where the warmth of his touch will take you.

He’s not special though. He’s arrogant, rude, ignorant and…caring, compassionate, sexy as all hell and…so very nice to look at.

She groaned. “You really are going to make me nuts.”

“I’m making you crazy? I haven’t done anything to you,” he protested, following her inside. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said with a snort. “One minute you’re looking gorgeous and happy and the next you act like a gargoyle, then you’re back to looking gorgeous again,” she said crossly.

*

“What?” He didn’t
know what to say, and his mind went from gargoyle to gorgeous. Did those two words even belong in the same sentence? He couldn’t see it. “Gargoyle?”

She snorted. “What is it about men that they pick up on a single word like that?”

Walking to the small coffee table that sat in front of her couch, he set the bag of food down. “You’d rather I ask about gorgeous?” he asked dryly. He sat down beside her, watching as she worked efficiently without asking him about it, dividing up the food onto two plates and handing him one.

Without a word she took her seat, picked up her plate, and proceeded to eat with a vengeance.

He ate much slower, keeping an eye on her, noting the red eyes and the pale cheeks, the hair that was brushed back off her face impatiently several times. “You worked up an appetite?”

Her glare would have melted glass if there’d been any heat behind it. He laughed. “Okay, so a tough afternoon, but we’re here, eating, and that’s good, right?”

She shrugged and kept eating.

Not knowing what to say, he was still stunned at her gargoyle and gorgeous comment. Had Jenna been right? Did she like him? Was she interested in him? Damn, he felt like a school kid again trying to sort out matters of the heart. He’d been much older when he learned there was no understanding them.

Now he was right back to being confused. He sighed and stared down at the delicious Greek potatoes on his plate. His appetite was gone. Why was she suddenly so important to him? This last outburst from her seemed so open and honest, and heat rose within him.

“Don’t you like it?” she asked in between bites, eyeing his still half-full plate.

“Are you trying to steal my food?” he asked mischievously.

Smirking, she said in a crafty voice, “If you give it to me, I’m not technically stealing it.” Putting down her own empty plate, she waited expectantly.

“Wow.” He split the rest of his meal in half and pushed one half onto her plate. She snatched it up and settled back to eat again.

“How can you eat so much?”

“Nerves,” she said. “Always been high-strung.”

“I can see that. You’re very slim.” Weaver replied, looking her up and down.

“Add boyish, slim as a board, pancake. It’s okay, I’ve heard it all.”

He raised his head and said mildly, “I wasn’t thinking in terms of your chest size.”

“Good thing as I don’t have one.” She smirked and popped a big chunk of potato into her mouth. “The nice thing is I can run without those things flying in my face, too.” And damn if she didn’t make a comical face that had him shouting with laughter.

Another side of her he hadn’t seen before. If she could laugh at her physical body, maybe she’d get to the point where she could laugh at her other problems too. It was great to see.

“See, I knew I could bring out the other side of you.” She picked up another bite.

“What other side of me?” As her words had mirrored his thoughts, he was confused for a moment. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re too serious,” she said. “You rarely laugh. And never at yourself.”

“How would you know?”

She grinned. “As I do it all the time, I recognize it in others – or the lack of it.”

“Maybe I’m just not comfortable enough around you to do that.”

“Maybe,” she said cheerfully. “And maybe you’re just not comfortable around yourself.”

Damn.

W
here had this
great mood come from? But saying what she wanted to Weaver without fear of repercussion was huge. So freeing. Having him here in her room, felt comfortable, and so much more…

“I’m really glad I can say anything to you. It’s given me such a sense of freedom.”

He nodded, but there was a distance to his gaze, as if he’d turned inward. And he likely had.

Still, she polished off the last of her meal. “Thanks for dinner by the way.”

He slowly reached over and put his plate down on the coffee table then sat back. He said, “Care to clarify that comment about gorgeous and gargoyle?”

With her eyebrows raised, she said, “Hell no. Figure it out yourself.”

“I was working on it. Just not sure where you were going with it. See, I really like you. I’d love to see you when this week is over. Maybe go to a movie, have a pizza, and take it to the beach,” he said with a light shrug. “Take it slow. Nothing too pressuring.”

“What if I want pressure?” she asked, her words shocking both of them. Instantly, she could feel her blood pounding in her veins as she sat breathless for a second. Who the hell was this talking? Surely it wasn’t her. Fear had always stopped her from being so open, so… flirty.

He sat up and tilted his eye sideways as he assessed her closer. “Meaning?”

“There’s that academic side of you, looking for answers.” Paris avoided his question, not really knowing the answer herself. Wanting to touch him, to feel him touch her as they shared their innermost secrets with each other, washing themselves of their past. Shaking her head, she looked up.

“And there’s that side of you that darts forward, drops a bomb, and then retreats in case it blows up and you’re caught in the backlash.”

“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “Does that make me a tease?”

This time it was his eyebrows that shot up. “If you do it sexually as an advance and retreat, yes, that would make you a tease.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t seeing or saying that. I’m seeing more of a baby deer darting forward in life excited and carefree but gets out a little too far and remembers mother’s warning so it dashes back to safety.” Now his voice was warm and caring again.

“Nice. I think I like that analogy. Except the mother part,” she added, thinking of her own mother. “You’d have to have a mother who cared enough to warn you. I barely remember mine. She walked out a long time ago.”

“Ever tried to look for her?”

Her headshake was so violent her hair flew out in all directions. “No. And can’t see myself ever wanting to.” Besides, she’d be tempted to punish the woman like she’d been punished. And that wasn’t going to end well.

For anyone.

The joyous lightness inside dropped as she contemplated her mother and her instinctive response to his question. Maybe that damn constable had been right after all. What did that say about her?

“Hey, why so serious? I’m sorry I brought up your mother.” Leaning forward, he placed a gentle hand on her leg.

She watched his fingers close around her kneecap and squeeze gently. A man’s touch that wasn’t out to cause pain or humiliation. How about that?

If she sat there much longer, she might just ask him to take her to bed and prove all men weren’t assholes when they had a woman vulnerable in their grasp.

But so not the way to have a relationship. As an experiment yes, relationship not.

At the word experiment, she froze. That’s what he’d been doing in this class. Right.

“Am I an experiment for you?” she said before she let herself double question the sensibility of asking. “Cause I don’t think I could stand that.” She scrambled to her feet.

“What?” he asked, shaking his head as if to question her sudden switch in conversation. “No. Hell no.”

She glared at him. “Damn well better not be.”

Walking closer, not sure what she was going to do herself, she leaned over and…kissed him.

*

Shocked and a
little overwhelmed at the suddenness of her actions, Weaver was afraid to respond in case she bolted. He didn’t mind being an experiment for her but would prefer to understand exactly where he stood in this study. Not that she’d let him know. As she eased back, a gentle sigh on her lips, he leaned forward, following her retreat.

“My turn,” he whispered and tugged her onto his lap. She made a startled sound, but he covered her mouth with his own and teased her lips open for him. Smooth and dark, he deepened the kiss until she sagged in his arms. He lifted his head, wondering at the shakiness inside himself.

With her head against his shoulder, she whispered, “Nice.”

He grinned. Finally they had found something they agreed upon.