Distracted √

Distracted: Chapter Three

Spence poured Erin another glass of wine. "You know, that is fascinating," he said.

She monopolized the conversation during dinner with her detailed explanation of book outlines and the importance of schedules.

"Really? You think so?"

"No. I'm saying that so you'll drink more."

Erin steeled herself against his smile, his soft voice and the spreading warmth of the red wine. She finished her steak and salad, and progressed to slathering butter on thick slices of brown bread.

Meanwhile, Spence cracked open crab legs, mounding the pink and white meat on the plate. He ate slowly, spearing the crab meat with a tiny fork then dipping it in one of several containers of drawn butter in front of him. Erin swore he'd been eating for an hour.

"Can't you go any faster?"

"You can help, you know," he said, offering her the pliers.

"Ewww. No."

"Why don't you like seafood?" he asked, sucking on a cracked leg.

"It all tastes the same to me. Gross."

"You should try this. It's not gross." Spence offered her a forkful of white crabmeat dripping with butter.

"No. I don't like it." She stuffed a piece of bread into her mouth. "Besides, I'm full."

Spence eyed her puffed cheeks, then tilted his head, a faraway look in his eyes. "Do you hear that?"

"What?" Erin listened for sirens. Life in the city numbed her to loud noises.

"They're playing our song." He wiped his hands on a napkin, stood and pulled her to her feet. They glided toward the empty terrace and swayed in the dark, his free arm around her waist.

"I don't hear anything," she said, putting a hand on his chest and pushing away.

"Listen," he whispered. He lifted her hand to his shoulder, then pulled her close and danced. Below, in the restaurant's kitchen, a radio played a reggae tune.

She stepped out of his embrace and put her hands on her hips. "You realize this is not a date."

Spence shrugged, then leaned over the terrace rail and looked at the boats moored in Silver Lake Harbor. "Over there is Anchorage Marina. That's where my mom runs the dive shop. That's where I keep my boats."

"Boats? You have more than one?" Erin asked, approaching the rail and peering into the dark.

"I've got a few. You'll like them."

"I'm sure I will," Erin said. "I've seen photographs of them. Fancy yachts filled with beautiful women."

He grinned. "I wouldn't call them yachts. I've got a sport fisher and a sailboat. I've also got a small Boston whaler. Nothing fancy. They're work boats."

"Work boats?"

"Sure. I do a lot of exploring when I'm considering what to paint. I work from photographs I take in the wild."

"Right. What about all of the beautiful women?"

"All women are beautiful to me, darlin'."

"Mmm hmm. I'm not your 'darlin'."

Spence studied Erin's face, assessing her green eyes, sooty lashes and honey blonde hair. Soft, full lips crowned a dimpled chin. She tried to hide a smirk and it dimpled her cheek. But it was the determined look that narrowed her eyes, the stubborn tilt of her chin that he found most attractive.