Opposites Ignite by Sadira Stone (crime books to read .txt) 📗

“Well, I could do Chinese designs—got plenty of those at home—but everyone and his brother does dragons.”

Eddie arched an eyebrow. “Do they all look alike, though?”

Kiara smacked the bar with her palm. “My dad collects these masks from West Africa. They’d make great tattoos.”

“And if you want flower ideas, my ma does Swedish embroidery,” River added. “Their living room is drowning in pillows.”

Lana bounced on her toes. “And my tía brought back this gorgeous tapestry from her trip to Machu Picchu.”

Rosie sat up straighter and beamed. “You guys are the best!” She smooched Lana’s cheek. “I’m feeling inspired. Bartender, gimme a—what’s the special tonight, River?”

“It’s called a Zipper.” He shot Eddie a grin brimming with mischief. “Eddie’ll make you one.”

“Great!” She hopped off her stool and scooped up her notebooks. “I’m gonna camp out over there. Gotta strike while the iron is hot.”

Eddie bit back his disappointment and got to work on the drink. How unfair—he started the ball rolling on the folk-art idea, but Lana got the kiss he craved. He was used to being overlooked, but coming from Rosie it stung.

Before delivering her drink, he swung by the kitchen where Shelby, Diego’s assistant, was pulling a fresh batch of tots from the fryer. “Hey, Shel, I need an order of mushroom-Swiss tots.”

“Sure thing, champ.”

He told River he was taking his break, then carried the tots and cocktail to Rosie’s table.

“Here you go.” He slid the greasy goodies toward her, careful not to smear her sketchpad.

Glancing up, she surveyed his offering and rumpled her forehead. “For me?”

“It’s your favorite, right?”

“Aww, Eddie. You don’t have to feed me.” She squeezed his hand. “But thanks.”

His inner caveman grunted happily. Who needs to hunt mastodon when you’ve got tater tots?

She popped a tot into her mouth, carefully wiped her fingers on a paper napkin, and picked up her pencil.

He cleared his throat. “So, you want to sketch that phoenix on Babka’s quilt?”

“Could I?”

“As it so happens, Mama’s been hounding me to ask you over. She wants to feed you.”

“And grill me?” Her gaze fell back to her swiftly moving pencil.

“Most likely. But you can inspect her tablecloth—” He nudged her foot under the table. “And help a friend out.”

The slide of her leg against his sent a flash of pleasure zinging northward.

“Well, since you’re my muse and all, I guess I owe you one.” She sipped the cocktail, and her eyebrows shot up. “Excellent muse juice.”

“I’m your muse?”

One corner of her mouth quirked up. “Thanks to you I’ll have three unique designs for my portfolio—the eagle, the phoenix, and the Russian flowers. That’s worth another night of pretending to be your girlfriend.”

Eddie winced. Okay, he’d started the whole fake-dating scheme, but couldn’t they move past that? He’d bared his soul to her last night, pouring it all out at her feet—his career dreams, the tangle of family duty and love holding him back, everything!

Pushing up from her seat, Rosie leaned across the table and pecked his forehead. “You’re going to make some lucky girl a fabulous boyfriend.” Her tone was breezy, but he caught the flicker of something darker shadowing her smile.

Watching her sketch, her blue curls shaking softly from her hand’s jerky movements, he felt resolve crystalize in his chest, clear and sharp. He was going to be her fabulous boyfriend. He’d make her see how right they were for each other, even if it took a mountain of tots, an ocean of cocktails, a flood of ideas, a torrent of praise.

You’re going to be mine.

Chapter Eight

Rosie paused at the Volkovs’ front door and gave her outfit a final once-over. Her modest top let a few tattooed rose petals peek out, but everything else was covered by her long sleeves, skirt, and heavy tights. More toned-down than her usual look, but a reasonable compromise for dinner with Eddie’s parents. Besides, it was too damn cold to show off her ink.

Whether she and Eddie succeeded at pulling off this charade until his cousin’s wedding, she did care about remaining his friend. Almost scary, how much she cared. Three weeks since falling into his bed, two weeks since falling asleep on his couch, she still couldn’t stop thinking about him—the ease and comfort of talking through the night, the sexy rumble of his voice, the gleam in his chestnut eyes. If only he weren’t so strait-laced and serious. Plus, they worked together, and no way would she be responsible for Eddie losing his job, not to mention her own.

But if they didn’t work together, she’d never have met him—so there you go. Just friends.

When she raised her fist to knock, the door flew open to reveal Alina, arms wide, beaming. “Rosie, at last. Welcome, welcome.”

Eddie stepped into the hallway holding a platter with an enormous log of pastry. He flashed an apologetic half-smile. “Hi. Just let me set this on the table.” The rich scent of meaty, oniony goodness made her stomach rumble.

“There you go.” Alina patted Rosie’s tummy. “I like a woman with a healthy appetite.”

Awkward! Rosie surrendered her coat and bag and followed Alina into the dining room. The TV was off this time, but Eddie’s dad sat in the same spot on the floral couch, his nose in a newspaper.

“Vadim,” Alina snapped. “Our company is here. Enough sports page.” She inclined her head and stage-whispered, “He pretends to check the scores every evening, so he doesn’t have to help.”

“Bull dookie,” the older man said as he pushed himself up. “I do the dishes. Don’t make me sound like a sexist dinosaur.” He clasped Rosie’s hands and fixed her with an intense gaze eerily similar to Eddie’s. “Welcome to our home, Miss Rosie.” He lowered his voice. “Good luck.”

“Sit, sit.” Alina beckoned them all toward the table.

“Jeez, Mama, give us a minute.” Eddie moved to her side. “Can I say hello to Rosie first?”

“Make it quick.”

Eddie hooked her arm and pulled her into the hallway, out of his parents’ line of sight. “Hey.” He shoved