Dating A Silver Fox (Never Too Late) (7 page)

Morrie stared down at her, gauging the five or six inches that separated their heights and planning exactly how he was going to kiss her when he got the chance. He knew he’d been attracted to Lydia, but love—well that hadn’t crossed his mind until he'd made her laugh and seen that smile. It had sent his world tilting on it axis, causing all kinds of havoc.

Plus it didn’t seem hopeful to care so much since Lydia McCarthy was a shiksa. His Jewish father was probably rolling over in his grave.

“I’ll drive. If we’re going to work together, you need to know that I’m a control freak about a few things. One of them is driving,” he said.

He took a step or two and grinned as Lydia fell in beside him. He was in trouble, Morrie decided, if the starchy woman’s slightest compliance thrilled him so greatly.

“Forewarned is forearmed. What are your other quirks?” Lydia demanded, then wished she hadn’t when he stopped walking to stare down at her again.

She had never noticed until now how much taller than her Morrison was. It wasn’t all that many inches, maybe four, but it felt like he was towering over her. His gaze was…well, she didn’t know how to describe the sensation. But it made her very uncomfortable.

“Never mind. I rescind the question,” Lydia said quickly, walking again.

“Good. I wasn’t planning to answer anyway,” Morrie said, walking behind her just far enough to take in the show. “Some of my control issues have to be demonstrated.”

As they marched through the Lodge, he saw Jane talking to someone outside her office. He waved and winked. Jane shook her head and wagged a warning finger. Morrie laughed and didn’t see Lydia stop abruptly and round on him. He had to catch himself from stumbling by grabbing her.

She drew in a sharp breath as his hands tightened on her arms and their bodies collided. Then he loosened his grip, stroking up and down twice before letting go. She was warm and firm under his hands.

And he was definitely, definitely in trouble for what he was thinking.

“Your brake lights aren’t working,” Morrie informed her, dropping his hands and stepping back. And neither are mine, he thought, keeping that secret to himself.

Lydia drew in another breath and stepped to the side of him, motioning with a hand that she was appalled to find herself trembling slightly. Why? She didn’t know why. But it certainly irritated her.

“You need to go first. I don’t know which car is yours,” she said sharply.

“Oh…right,” Morrie said brightly, walking by her in relief. Leading the way, he wouldn’t have to watch her hips swaying in time as she moved.

Lydia lifted her eyes to the back of Morrison’s head. That way she wouldn’t be tempted to watch his legs tearing up the distance. For a man not even six feet tall, his stride was long. And determined. As they walked, his pace was forcing her shorter legs to take two steps to his one. He must stay in good shape to walk that fast everywhere he went.

She ran into the back of him and bounced off, only then realizing Morrison had simply stopped at the front door to hold it open for her.

“Sorry,” Lydia mumbled, face flushing. She was acutely embarrassed because she hadn’t been able to control her urge to ogle his legs after all.

Morrie just smiled as he held the door for her to go through. “It will take three or four days,” he said casually.

Lydia stopped outside and waited for him. “Three or four days for what?”

“Until we decide what we want to do about this thing we have,” Morrie said, unable to keep the smile off his face at her complete confusion. “Don’t you agree?”

“Agree to what?” Lydia said. “Morrison, you’re not making sense again.”

He pointed at his one materialistic pride and joy. He enjoyed his money, but like most men, he loved his car. It was on the list just below his children. He felt no remorse for the fact. It was twelve years old and he loved it.

“Dark blue convertible,” Morrie said.

Lydia walked to the parking lot and to the passenger’s door. Instead of letting her in remotely, Morrison walked to her side of the car, pressed the key fob to unlock, and then opened the door for her. She was hyper-aware of him watching her intently as she slid down into the soft leather seat. He lifted her seatbelt and held it out for her to take before he closed the door.

“Thank you,” Lydia said, her voice small.

She wasn’t accustomed to men being so solicitous of her. When he only grinned at her thanks, her face flamed again, her stomach ached, and she had no idea why she was suddenly so uncomfortable.

It wasn’t like she didn’t go out occasionally with men. Maybe it had been a while and she was out of practice. It was hell getting old, Lydia decided, closing her eyes briefly as she looked for courage enough to handle her situation.

She felt Morrison slide into the driver’s seat, but schooled her expression not to pay too much attention. Then he looked over at her with the most knowing, satisfied smile a male had ever bestowed on her. Lydia thought she might just throw up in his floorboard if he didn’t stop looking at her that way.

“You know. This car was made for you. You look right at home in a convertible. What kind of car do you drive?” Morrie asked, truly curious, more so when Lydia swallowed hard and looked liked she wanted to bolt. He started and reversed out of the parking spot, just to make sure she didn’t.

“It’s just a car. Nothing like your car. This is a nice car,” Lydia said, rubbing the seat.

Morrie laughed as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Why won’t you tell me what kind of car you drive?”

Lydia cleared her throat and turn to stare out the window. “I don’t know,” she said.

The snickers and snorts from the driver seat were more than she could handle. She turned back to give him a glare but ending up smacking him on the arm with more force than she knew she had. She didn’t know who was more shocked by her physical attack, him or her.

“Ouch,” Morrie said on a laugh. “What was that for?”

“Laughing at me,” Lydia said tightly, face flaming up again. At this rate, she was going to have to wear anti-redness makeup around the man. “But my behavior was inexcusable. I’ve never struck a person in my life. I’m shorry—I mean sorry. Shit—I can’t talk around you.”

She stared out of the window before finally closing her eyes again. Why was she making a total fool of herself with a man she didn’t even like?

Morrie laughed so hard at Lydia’s total mortification that he thought he was going to have to pull the car over.

“Shorry?” he repeated, when he could get a breath. “Am I making you
that
nervous?”

In answer, she reached over and smacked his arm again, but with less force this time. “You are not a nice man.”

“Yes I am. I’m a very nice man,” Morrie declared. “If I wasn’t, I’d slap you back or pull this car over and put us both out of our misery. I want to kiss you too.”

“
I do not want to kiss you. Don’t be ridiculous
,” Lydia said with a sniff.

“I won’t if you won’t,” Morrie said firmly, fighting the urge to laugh again. “I can’t believe you swore at me. I must really be throwing you off your game. You are unfailingly polite.”

“I wasn’t swearing at you. I was. . .I was swearing at myself because I said ‘shorry,’” Lydia stated, using her hand to shove him against the car door when he dissolved into laughter again.

“You must lift weights. You’re really strong for an old lady,” Morrie teased, wondering if he was going to have twin bruises tomorrow. It had been a long time since a woman had marked him. But it didn’t surprise him this one would.

On some level, he just instinctively knew what was hiding inside that stiff, toned body and those amazing clothes. He looked forward to finding out if his instincts were right.

“Just drive. Don’t talk to me,” Lydia ordered, crossing her arms to keep her hands from grabbing hold of him and shaking until he stopped laughing at her.

Morrie smiled at her attempts to constrain herself, wondering what else was going to erupt out of Lydia McCarthy because of him. And he wasn’t the least bit ashamed of wanting badly to find out. Baiting her verbally was like setting off fireworks and having to jump back before they blew up in your face. It made him feel younger than Walter Graham.

“Being with you is like being back in high school. I was a good kisser back then so it was pretty easy to make the girls happy,” Morrie said. “Want to find out if I’m telling the truth?”

“Stop bragging. Just drive. Don’t talk anymore,” Lydia ordered, her face flooding with heat. This time she turned her gaze out the window and kept it there.

But every few minutes, she felt Morrison turn to look at her and laugh. She almost fell out of the car trying to get away from him when they pulled into the country club parking lot.

Chapter 6

Later, Lydia promised herself, she was going to go back over every moment of the afternoon and figure out precisely where she had gone wrong. She had said no, distinctly remembered saying no. So why was she now sitting in her favorite Italian restaurant listening to Morrison Fox humming as he read the menu?

“I like shrimp. How’s the seafood here?” Morrie asked, ignoring his mouth wanting to twitch at Lydia arranging and rearranging the items on the table between them.

They needed wine, he thought. Either Lydia was nervous about being with him or she had a severe OCD problem. Lifting a hand to their smiling server, Morrie gave her a wink and smile as the girl hurried over.

“Red or white, Lydia?” Morrie asked, watching her sit back and make a sterling effort not to fidget in her seat. His mouth twitched again, but he held strong.

“Just water is fine,” Lydia answered tightly.

He looked at the nervous young woman waiting on his order. “Water for both of us, but also bring two glasses of your best house white.”

“Ms. McCarthy typically has red, sir. We have her preferred wine in stock,” the server said softly.

“Really? So Lydia’s a regular here. Wonderful. Two glasses of her preferred red then. I like trying new things,” Morrie said, winking at the young woman again when Lydia sat straighter and glared.

“I don’t need wine,” Lydia said sharply.

“Lydia, your stress level is the reason wine exists. One glass. It will help you relax,” Morrie said.

“
I am not stressed
,” Lydia denied firmly, leaning on the table.

“Nervous then?” Morrie asked, leaning on the table to mirror her.

When she pulled back and sank as far into her seat as possible, his laughter broke free at last.

“I swear on all that is holy I do not intend to bite you,” Morrie protested. “At least, not tonight. Not until you ask me to. Now will you relax?”

“Why am I here with you?” Lydia demanded, appalled that the question was so close to a wail. “I don’t want to be here. I want to go home.”

The sommelier appeared to pour their drinks. The server appeared with fragrant bread that made her mouth water. When the server mixed the oil and seasonings for dipping, Lydia’s stomach decided to betray her by growling loudly.

“My God, I don’t believe this. Embarrassment is a permanent condition around you,” she said, putting her face in her hand.

When she could bear to lift her gaze again, the server was gone and she was met with another knowing smile—sans laughter thankfully. But the smile was accompanied by a chunk of bread being pressed towards her mouth.

“Here. You didn’t need to go home to a lonely house and dinner for one. I wasn’t looking forward to it myself,” Morrie said. “Look, we’re just two friends doing volunteer work together having dinner. What’s the big deal?”

When Lydia didn’t take the bread immediately, Morrie reached over and picked up her hand, which felt really right in his. Instead of putting food in it as he’d originally planned, Morrie used it to tug her body over the table far enough to press the bread he still held in the other hand to her mouth. “One bite. One sip of wine. If you still want to go home then, I’ll have the server pack our dinners to go. I want to feed you. Let me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lydia said, sighing and opening her mouth in defeat. She wasn’t trying to be completely rude. Morrison just brought out the worst in her. Lord knew, she’d suffered through many worse social occasions.

Lydia bit into the mouthwatering warm bread, moaned and sighed as she chewed. With her free hand, she took the rest of the bread from his fingers, trying her best to ignore the knot of tension his touch had caused again. A ragged breath of relief escaped when he finally turned loose of her hand. She tried to cover her reaction up by giving voice to some of the questions making her brain hurt.

“Why are you doing this, Morrison? Why are you putting moves on me you know I don’t want? There are plenty of women at North Winds who are interested in trading places with me right now. I know damn well you know it. I bet there are plenty of women in others places who would too. I’m almost seventy. What the hell are you thinking? I could die tomorrow. Go flirt with a fifty-year-old,” she ordered.

Morrie leaned back, getting comfortable in his chair again.

“Yeah, I’ve been dating a lot these last couple of years. I miss being married, miss having a wife. After a few years of being a lonely widower, I realized my grief wasn’t going to bring my wife back. Maybe I do press hard when a woman appeals to me. I’m aggressive. I know this about myself—just as much as I know that I’m happy to be sitting across from you right now. How well do you know what you want and don’t want?”