8. Roxie
As I rushed away from my sister, I heard her yelling at Todd about me leaving. Clearly, she’d planned an afternoon without the children, yet she’d neglected to mention that to me. But that explained why she’d gone through so much effort with her hair, makeup, and outfit.
I tried to block it all out as I made my way toward my lunch date. My thoughts explored what Henry may have planned. Bringing my bathers was a clue, so I started with that. Maybe we were going to sit on the beach and pick up our conversation from where we’d left off last night. Or swim in a swanky rooftop pool, sipping on cocktails with fancy umbrellas secured by pineapple wedges. Or languish in a hot spa dosed with healing minerals and gaze at each other over the therapeutic bubbles.
They were all lovely thoughts, and I’d be happy with any one of them.
My creative mind could conjure up all sorts of wonderful ideas, but if my history of dating was a reliable precedent, then chances of anything fancy were remote. Men tended to go with the safe options. Like dinner at a cheap Italian restaurant that was overcrowded and noisy, providing the perfect distraction should the conversation stall. Or a noisy bar that offered the same, except it usually proved to be quicker and cheaper, should either of us feel the need to abandon the date after just one drink.
That was my experience with Derek. He’d ordered the drinks at the bar. . . house Pinot for me and a double Black-Label scotch on the rocks for him. I hadn’t realized he’d started a bar tab until he’d taken off. I had actually sat at the bar for a good twenty minutes before I realized he’d gone. I had pretended everything was just fine and drank two more glasses of wine before I paid the bill and staggered home, nursing my broken ego.
Then there was Parker and his asshole identical twin, Dex. These men were gorgeous as fuck. It’s true. They’d make the saliva evaporate from any hot-blooded woman’s tongue.
Trouble was, they knew it. Women were conquered simply to place notches on their headboards. . . so to speak. I knew for a fact they didn’t have headboards. At least Dex didn’t. The twins competed against each other, and sadly, women fell for their allure.
Including me.
I’d never forgiven myself for falling for Dex’s seduction routine. He knew how to sweep me off my feet. And I fell fucking hard. It took him a total of two weeks to get me into bed. And by the time we got there, I would have let him do whatever he wanted. And he did. It was after a work party. I’d had a few wines. Too many, actually.
That’s my excuse for letting him seduce me. It was the first time, and the only time, I’d had sex more than once in a night. Dex was a machine. Dex the Sex Machine. Ha ha. The sex had been good, I admit that. But at the same time, sex was all it was.
He never intended to have a relationship with me. And I had absolutely no idea why that bothered me. I’d known what he was like. What they were both like, actually. Dex and Parker. . . the deviant twins. A couple of the women at the studios had loudly voiced their opinions of them.
Yet I’d let Dex in. Literally.
A couple of birds flew in front of me, dragging my mind back to the present as they ducked and swooped up into the flowering Poinciana tree.
I tripped over the curb and yelped as I fell forward, landing on my hands and knees on the sidewalk. Goddammit.
Cursing my stupid feet, I prayed nobody had noticed my fall as I stood and dusted off my hands. I’d cut my right palm, and blood oozed from several jagged wounds.
I didn’t have tissues in my bag, and I cursed again. I licked my thumb, and as I wiped the blood away from my palm, I continued walking toward the café. With a bit of luck, Henry wouldn’t be on time, and I could duck in and grab a few napkins.
The end of the road appeared, and there was only one car parked in the cul-de-sac. It was silver, low to the ground, and the top was down. It was sleek and sexy, but the man leaning against the side elevated its appeal to drool-worthy.
Henry.
He looked like he was posing for a magazine shoot. Sexy Silver Fox Monthly. Or something like that. He wore peppermint-colored knee-length shorts and a white linen top with the sleeves rolled up. A couple of his buttons were undone to reveal just a hint of the chiseled chest I knew was there. Henry knew how to dress. His style was all class.
When he waved at me and smiled, I had to resist running to him and jumping up to wrap myself around him.
Fear of face-planting was the only thing stopping me.
As I approached, he gave me a smile that seemed so genuine that an unexpected rush of familiarity flushed through me. It was like we’d known each other forever. No, we did not just know each other; it was like we knew every little intimate detail about each other. It was such an extraordinary feeling that I had to remind myself that this was our second date.
“You came.” He repeated my words from last night.
“Of course. How could I resist after our fascinating evening?” I nearly exactly repeated his response from last night, too.
“Very clever.” He burst into laughter, and it was the most glorious sound I’d ever heard. It didn’t seem forced, like most laughs I’d heard on first or second dates. This was natural and lovely.
My breath hitched as we stepped toward each other. When he touched my hip and leaned in to kiss my cheek, I positively swooned at the scent of him. Henry didn’t just know how to dress; he was the full package when it came to first appearances. And no matter what happened on this date, I was already having a good time.
His skin was weathered, long past the shine of youth, yet not even close to the aging I’d seen on many men Henry’s age. His eyes had a stunning youthfulness about them, expressive and sparkling in the sunshine. His lips were an interesting shade of cinnamon, begging me to kiss them.
When he eased back, his piercing blue eyes glimmered as if he was about to get up to mischief. “I’m so pleased you could make it. Do we have the whole afternoon together?”
I giggled a nervous giggle that made me feel like a virginal teenager. “We do.”
“Excellent.” Henry opened the passenger door and reached for my hand.
I pulled back. “Oh ummm, I just need to grab a napkin.” I turned my hand over, showing my bleeding palm. The blood had dribbled toward my fingers, and it looked much worse than it was.
His breath hitched. “Oh, Roxie.” His squared-out jaw and intense eyes were the picture of concern as he reached for my hand and examined the wound. “How’d you do that?”
I shrugged. “Fell over. I’m a klutz, remember.”
The worry on his face almost broke my heart. “Okay, wait there.” He dashed across the parking lot to the cafe.
The weather wasn’t too warm to be unbearable, and a slight breeze licked the sweat off my nose and upper lip. Yet it didn’t stop sweat dribbling down my lower back, and I already regretted my decision to wear my hat. My hair would be plastered to my forehead, and I hoped Henry wasn’t taking me somewhere that required me to remove it.
I placed my bag onto the passenger seat and was removing my sunglasses when he returned with a bottle of water and a wad of napkins.
He led me to the front of the car, so we stood in the shade of a tree, and the drop in temperature was instant. Henry cracked open the bottle and held my palm in his hand. “Let me know if it hurts.”
“It’s fine.”
He poured the cool water onto my hand and gently dabbed the napkins to the wound. I was fascinated by his hands. Soft and supple. Nails neatly trimmed. Possibly manicured. That thought was troubling; I myself had never even had one.
I shoved the idea aside as he patted my hand dry. The cuts no longer looked hideous, and the bleeding seemed to have stopped.
Henry tugged a neatly folded white handkerchief from his pants pocket, flicked it out, and as he went to drape it across my palm, I tugged my hand back. “Oh, it’s okay, don’t ruin?—”
“It’s fine, Roxie.” The way he said my name, with a sense of familiarity, had me melting. I had a curious feeling we’d known each other forever. He was so comfortable to be around it was hard to believe we’d known each other for just a few hours.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He tied the handkerchief in a knot at the back of my hand, then looked into my eyes, grinning. “Mental note. . . must carry Band-Aids when dating Roxie.”
I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth. It was nice to know he was already considering another date.
While Henry ran back across the road to dispose of my bloodied tissues, I climbed into the car. I’d never been in a car with the top down before, and although the idea was fun, the sun beaming down on me was not. I tugged my dress over my knees and wished I’d thought to put sunscreen on before I’d left.
Henry hopped into the driver’s seat. “Okay, you ready?”
“Sure am.”
He kicked the car into gear and reversed out of the lot. Within ten seconds of cruising along the road, my broad-brimmed hat flicked up. I tugged the sides down to my ears and pictured my image to look like a prairie woman.
Our conversation was easy, covering superficial topics such as the weather and how gorgeous the moon was last night. Neither of us mentioned the skinny dipping or my amazing orgasm.
“How long have you lived on the Gold Coast?” he asked.
“About twelve years.”
“Do you like it here?”
I pondered his question. “I love my job. I love being near my sister to help her out. But I really don’t know the coast very well.” I shrugged. “I don’t get out much.”
“Good.”
My jaw dropped. “Pardon.”
“This way, I get to show you a whole new world.”
I chewed on my lip. In two days, Henry had already shown me a new world. I giggled. “Okay. Sounds like fun.”
“I hope so.”
I was already having fun.
We cruised across the bridge that crossed over the Tweed River and headed back toward Surfers Paradise. At the top of the hill, I glanced past Henry to view the ocean. It was so magnificent; it took my breath away. Beyond the shoreline, dark blue water stretched as far as I could see; the sun glistened off it like it had been sprinkled with glitter. A scattering of clouds dotted the sky, and a handful of boats dotted the water. It was perfect. Especially with Henry in my view.
Once we reached the abundant hotel towers and equally abundant traffic, Henry slowed down enough that I could let my hat go. He didn’t say where we were going, and I didn’t ask. I liked surprises. Especially when it was a handsome man giving them.
After about twenty-five minutes cruising along the road that ran the length of Surfers Paradise, he pulled off the highway and onto the road that led to SeaWorld. When he turned into Marina Mirage, I glanced at him. “What are you up to, Henry?” It occurred to me that I didn’t even know his surname. I’d just got into a stranger’s car without even thinking.
That’s how women ended up handcuffed in a psycho’s basement.