Time Out by Jill Shalvis

different from the body language she’d sported when she’d run out here—and smiled. “Better?” he asked.
    Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t look at him. “Go away.”
    “Can’t.”
    “Why not?” She waved at the bartender, but he didn’t see her, so she sighed. She had her hair up tonight, but a few golden-brown tendrils had escaped, brushing the nape of her neck.
    She was heart-stoppingly beautiful to him, and just looking at her made him ache. He ran his finger down that nape and was rewarded by her full body shiver. Encouraged, he put his mouth to the spot just beneath her ear, smiling when she shivered again and sucked in a breath. “How’s that not-a-date date with your non-fixer-upper going?” he asked.
    “I think it’s me.” Looking morose, she propped her head on her hand. “I’m the fixer-upper.”
    Hating that she felt that way about herself, Mark swiveled her bar stool to face him. Her mascara was slightly smudged around her eyes, making them seem even more blue. She’d nibbled off her pretty gloss. She was wearing a little black dress, one strap slipping off her shoulder. Running a finger up her arm, he slid the strap back into place and left his hand on her. “I think you’re perfect,” he said softly. Beautiful, and achingly vulnerable, and…perfect.
    She went still, then sighed and dropped her head to his chest, hard. “Now who’s the liar?” she whispered.
    With a low laugh, he tipped her head up and stared into her glossy eyes. She was half baked. “I mean it,” he told her. “You don’t need to change a goddamn thing.”
    Her gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth, and her tongue darted out to lick her dry lips. The motion went straight through him like fire, heading south. She stood up, her hands on his chest now, but he didn’t flatter himself. She needed him for balance. Her high heels, black with a little bow around the ankles that he found sexy as hell, brought her mouth a lot closer to his. Her fingers dug in a little, fisting on the jacket of his suit.
    He placed a hand on the small of her back, holding her to him, right there where he liked her best, when she murmured his name and sighed. “I’m going to instigate now.”
    His heart kicked. “Instigate away.”
    Just as their lips touched, a low, disbelieving male voice spoke behind them. “Rainey?”
    They turned in unison to face Jacob, who was holding Rainey’s shawl in his hands. Mouth grim, eyes hooded, he handed her the shawl, gave Mark an eat-shit-and-die look, and walked out of the theater.

7
    THE BARTENDER BROUGHT Rainey a third glass of wine. She looked at it longingly but pushed it away. “All I want to know,” she said to Mark, “is why. Why are you so hell-bent on sabotaging my dating life?”
    Mark couldn’t explain it to her. Hell, he couldn’t explain it to himself. But apparently it was a rhetorical question because she began a conversation with her wineglass, something about men, stupidity, and the need for a vacation in the South Pacific. While she rambled on, Mark texted James.
Lobby. Now.
    Mark then stole Rainey’s keys from her purse, and when he saw James appear, he shifted out of earshot of Rainey. “When the ballet’s over, take Rainey’s car back to the motel.”
    “Do we have to wait until it’s over?”
    Mark handed him Rainey’s keys. “Yes. I’ll retrieve her car for her later.”
    James looked past Mark to see Rainey sitting at the bar. “What’s the matter? Is she sick?”
    “Indisposed.”
    James knew better than to try to get information from Mark when Mark didn’t want to give it, but it didn’t stop a sly smile from touching his lips. “I take it you’re not going to be indisposed too.”
    Mark just looked at James, who sighed and left.
    Mark turned back to Rainey, still seated at the bar, still talking to herself.
    Nope, not to herself.
    There was a guy seated beside her now, smiling a little too hard. “Hey, gorgeous,” he said, leaning in so