“I’m not much of a fan of dinner parties.” He cleared his throat into the silence. “You ever hear of murder mystery dinner theater?” She shook her head slowly, as if trying to discern his angle. “There’s a place down in Atlanta—Agatha’s, I think it’s called. From the time my sister and I entered middle school, my mother used to drag us there for our birthdays. These actors would put on a big whodunit on stage while everyone ate ribs.”

A spark lit her eyes. “So bad it was good?”

“Exactly.” Oh God, she’s so damn pretty and I’m stuck talking about dinner theater. “We started off hating it every time, but then my mother, she’d start laughing. She’d laugh so loud, the actors would forget their lines. Soon none of us could keep a straight face.” He shrugged. “I think that’s why I can’t enjoy dinner parties anymore. They pale in comparison.”

“I hate be the bearer of bad news, True Blue, but this one is going to keep the disappointment streak alive.”

“Now, see, you missed the point of the story.” Beck sidestepped an ottoman and risked a move in her direction. “I was going to tell you that this dinner party already beat the others. Just from having you walk in.”

The plastic bag of beef jerky hit the floor, spilling its contents. On reflex, Beck stooped down to pick it up, which was a grave mistake if he’d ever made one because it put him eye level with her thighs. He tangled a hand in the plastic bag so he wouldn’t touch her. Ducked his head so he wouldn’t look, either. Just a peek had been enough to dry his throat and make his dress pants feel three sizes too small.

He started to shove the packets of jerky back into the bag, but stilled when he felt Kenna’s hand brush over his shaved head. “I told you, Major. You’re allowed to look at my body.”

“Not right now, I can’t.” His tone was harsh so he softened it. “Wouldn’t be right in your father’s house.”

She hummed in a low, soothing way that made him close his eyes. “Not a lot of men would care.”

“Those men aren’t worthy of your time.” He twisted the plastic in his fist. “Speaking of which, I’d like to know if you’re spoken for, Kenna.”

“No. I don’t let men speak for me.” A few beats of silence passed during which thick, consuming tension drained from Beck. “Why aren’t you pissed at me?” she asked, her nails trailing down his neck and back up. “For not telling you who I was.”

Her touch was torture and he never wanted her to stop. Ever. But he forced himself to move away before he lost the battle and looked at her legs. Maybe even let his hands encounter that supple skin. “I’m not pissed about that. I’m only curious why.” Beck rose from his crouched position, watching her breath go shallow when he reached his full height. Did she like tall men? He hoped so. “I’m only angry that you left. Before I could…”

“Before you could what?” She moved closer, just close enough to graze his rib cage with her breasts and turn his cock to steel. “What would you have done to me, Major?”

Breathe, man. In and out. “I won’t say the words under your father’s roof.”

She traced his belt buckle with a single finger. “But you would tell me outside?”

“Only if you’ll give me the chance to do what I say.”

Confusion and indecision flashed in her green eyes. “I assumed you would go out last night to celebrate being back. Finding a girl to pick up where I left off wouldn’t have been hard.” She swiped a palm against her skirt as she stepped back. “You didn’t…do that?”

“I went out for a couple beers by myself.” He hadn’t wanted to, but the silent gray apartment had forced him out, just to encounter the noise to which he’d grown accustomed, back in the bustling Army facility he’d lived in so long. He should have gone to find Cullen, have the discussion he’d been putting off, but he’d wanted to give his friend one more night with a clear conscience. A luxury Beck didn’t have. “There were girls there, yeah. Smiling and dancing. But I couldn’t take my eyes off the door hoping you might walk in.”

“Jesus,” she breathed. “Stop saying things like that to me.”

“Why?”

“I—you should save those pretty sentiments for someone who will appreciate them.”

The flush on her cheeks told Beck she appreciated them just fine, but he wouldn’t call her on it. Not just yet. She might get angry, and he had plans to kiss her this time around. “So you want me to detail how I’d like to touch you. You want me to look at your body, but you draw the line at me saying nice things.”

“That about sums it up.”

He scratched his jaw. “You’ve given me something to think on, Kenna.”

Sutton swung open the kitchen door then, calling them to the table. Beck threw a wink at Kenna and gestured for her to precede him.

* * *

Kenna twirled a forkful of pasta and let it unwind. Her appetite had apparently gone on sabbatical. Or the floating lust balloons bumping around in her stomach simply left no room for food. Although battling the urge to climb across the table and straddle the major’s lap was eminently wrong, considering her father sat three feet away, that’s exactly what she wanted to do. Highly unlike her in so many ways. She’d been at dozens of these dinners with her father, honoring one soldier or another. Mostly it turned out to be an excuse for the lieutenant general to relate his own stories. And usually the guest sent a discreet glance or nine at her cleavage throughout the meal. A perfect amount to remind her men only wanted one thing, thus justifying her plans to remain unattached. It wasn’t a cynical practice. Just a little reward for being practical. Seeing the male-female dynamic for what it was. A necessary function that rarely survived in the long term.

Beck hadn’t glanced at her rack once. Not once. He was a giant, sexy, unassuming phenomenon, and she didn’t like it. Upstairs in the old brain chamber, that is. The upstairs chamber that housed intelligent thought wanted to put him in a clean-cut category. One that made sense and didn’t throw her ideas about men into a freaking tailspin. Downstairs, however? Downstairs liked his resolve very much. Couldn’t wait to break through it when the timing was right. Shake him up again like she’d done yesterday.

Those were the two key parts of Kenna she was comfortable addressing. Upstairs and downstairs. The middle…the middle was off limits. That clumsy, clunking organ in her chest shouldn’t have sped up when Beck said sweet words. It should have disregarded them as a line. A ploy to get into her pants and finally lose that pesky virginity. And she might have pulled it off if he would just stop smiling that half smile at her across the table and start looking at her boobs and not her eyes. What was wrong with him? This bra was a man assassin, pushing those puppies up in a way that usually had members of the opposite sex groaning when she passed. She might as well be wearing a hockey jersey for all the attention Beck paid them.

Oh, it was on. In more ways than one. As soon as they were alone, she would snuff out this wayward blip on the radar screen and everything would make sense again. She’d slake her mega-watt—frankly, embarrassing—attraction for Beck tonight. He would head back to Georgia in a matter of days with his newfound knowledge of the female body and set to work using it right away, probably snatching up some chesty milkmaid or whatever the hell they had on tap down there. She’d be nothing but a fond memory to him and she could go back to meaningless, road trip hookups every few months.

Beck’s gaze met hers, one dark blond eyebrow cocked as if she’d voiced the thought aloud. Could this man read her mind? Back in the living room, she’d gotten that sense. Best to remember he was apparently one of the Army’s sharpest minds. Not just a peach farmer who not only remembered the manners he’d been taught, but stuck to them like Gorilla Glue.