probably be working with crime labs all the time. Law & Order is my favorite TV show, and from what I see, those prosecutors seem to be experts on al that stuff.”
Brandon’s smile was soft and breathtaking. He reached out and ran his finger down her nose. “What an astute little saloon owner you are, Laura Tanner. Why do you think I chose that kind of lawyering?”
And for some reason Laura couldn’t figure out, suddenly the occupation of criminal prosecutor became the most noble profession she could imagine.
* * *
IN THE NEXT few hours Brandon slowly came to realize he was on the best date of his life. Over the five-course meal he’d personal y planned—but Juice had prepared—he and Laura talked about everything from books to movies to their opinions of public schools versus private ones, and how wel or badly each prepared their graduates to go on to college.
“I’m beginning to see a pattern here,” he said, as he enjoyed watching her finish her meal. The woman could really pack it away. He enjoyed that about her, too.
She swallowed a bite down with a sip of water. “What’s that?”
“Everything returns to higher education with you.”
Her lashes lowered, and her only answer was a shrug.
“You’re passionate about it,” he pointed out.
“I just believe anyone who wants the opportunity should have it.”
“Did you get the opportunity?” he asked gently.
Her eyes flashed. “Not yet. But I will.”
Had he just unleashed a miniature tiger? “What do you want to study?”
“Everything,” she said with conviction.
Brandon had to laugh. “You’re going to be in school a long, long time.”
She pushed her plate aside and crossed her arms atop the table and leaned forward. “I hope so. I want to know it al .”
He wanted to lean forward and kiss her and soak in that passion, transforming it into another kind altogether. To resist temptation, he leaned back and swirled the wine in his glass. “I think you know a lot about plenty of things already.”
She waved. “That’s just dabbling and smal stuff I’ve learned from newspapers and books. I mean, I want to know how to understand Shakespeare. He’s a wordy, convoluted fel ow, if you ask me. But there has to be something good in his work, and I want to find out what it is.
“I want to learn calculus and physics and computer science and English literature and study every possible topic under the sun. I’m sure I won’t like them al , but I sure want to try them all.” “I want you,” he said, because he just couldn’t help it.
Laura peered at him through narrowed eyes, sipped her wine, then peered again. “You want sex. It wouldn’t matter if it were me or a couch pil ow.”
“You’re wrong about that. Couch pil ows don’t talk back.”
Her goblet clinked on the table. “You’re expecting me to talk back?”
“I sure hope so.”
She laughed. “You’re in trouble, Brandon. I don’t like sex enough to even consider uttering a word, other than maybe, ‘Get it over with.’”
Now he sat forward. “What if I bet you a mil ion dollars I could get you to sing the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’ while I ravished you?”
She stared at him for two seconds, her jaw slack, before she launched a baby carrot at him. He ducked just in time.
Straightening to check and see if she was brandishing more food or other implements, Brandon saw she was unarmed, except for the angry looks she was sending his way. “What?” he asked desperately.
“I could take being attracted to you! I could take maybe liking you enough to be wanting to get barn-loft close with you.
But thinking you could make me sing the national anthem at a time like that is the most arrogant, ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. How arrogant are you? And how many women have you had, anyway?”
He didn’t have a clue what “barn-loft close” meant, but it sounded intriguing and worthy of checking out. So did just about every other thing Laura said.
Brandon
Brandon’s smile was soft and breathtaking. He reached out and ran his finger down her nose. “What an astute little saloon owner you are, Laura Tanner. Why do you think I chose that kind of lawyering?”
And for some reason Laura couldn’t figure out, suddenly the occupation of criminal prosecutor became the most noble profession she could imagine.
* * *
IN THE NEXT few hours Brandon slowly came to realize he was on the best date of his life. Over the five-course meal he’d personal y planned—but Juice had prepared—he and Laura talked about everything from books to movies to their opinions of public schools versus private ones, and how wel or badly each prepared their graduates to go on to college.
“I’m beginning to see a pattern here,” he said, as he enjoyed watching her finish her meal. The woman could really pack it away. He enjoyed that about her, too.
She swallowed a bite down with a sip of water. “What’s that?”
“Everything returns to higher education with you.”
Her lashes lowered, and her only answer was a shrug.
“You’re passionate about it,” he pointed out.
“I just believe anyone who wants the opportunity should have it.”
“Did you get the opportunity?” he asked gently.
Her eyes flashed. “Not yet. But I will.”
Had he just unleashed a miniature tiger? “What do you want to study?”
“Everything,” she said with conviction.
Brandon had to laugh. “You’re going to be in school a long, long time.”
She pushed her plate aside and crossed her arms atop the table and leaned forward. “I hope so. I want to know it al .”
He wanted to lean forward and kiss her and soak in that passion, transforming it into another kind altogether. To resist temptation, he leaned back and swirled the wine in his glass. “I think you know a lot about plenty of things already.”
She waved. “That’s just dabbling and smal stuff I’ve learned from newspapers and books. I mean, I want to know how to understand Shakespeare. He’s a wordy, convoluted fel ow, if you ask me. But there has to be something good in his work, and I want to find out what it is.
“I want to learn calculus and physics and computer science and English literature and study every possible topic under the sun. I’m sure I won’t like them al , but I sure want to try them all.” “I want you,” he said, because he just couldn’t help it.
Laura peered at him through narrowed eyes, sipped her wine, then peered again. “You want sex. It wouldn’t matter if it were me or a couch pil ow.”
“You’re wrong about that. Couch pil ows don’t talk back.”
Her goblet clinked on the table. “You’re expecting me to talk back?”
“I sure hope so.”
She laughed. “You’re in trouble, Brandon. I don’t like sex enough to even consider uttering a word, other than maybe, ‘Get it over with.’”
Now he sat forward. “What if I bet you a mil ion dollars I could get you to sing the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’ while I ravished you?”
She stared at him for two seconds, her jaw slack, before she launched a baby carrot at him. He ducked just in time.
Straightening to check and see if she was brandishing more food or other implements, Brandon saw she was unarmed, except for the angry looks she was sending his way. “What?” he asked desperately.
“I could take being attracted to you! I could take maybe liking you enough to be wanting to get barn-loft close with you.
But thinking you could make me sing the national anthem at a time like that is the most arrogant, ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. How arrogant are you? And how many women have you had, anyway?”
He didn’t have a clue what “barn-loft close” meant, but it sounded intriguing and worthy of checking out. So did just about every other thing Laura said.
Brandon
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