Chapter 26 Xavier #2
"Enough to make this interesting."
She raises an eyebrow, leaning forward across the table. The movement brings her closer, close enough that I can see the subtle makeup she's applied - just enough to enhance her natural beauty without hiding it. "As opposed to what? Boring?"
"Safe." The admission surprises me. I'm not usually one for impulsive honesty, but something about the combination of wine and Savannah's presence is lowering my usual guards.
She's playing with the stem of her wine glass now, long fingers twisting it slowly, and I find myself mesmerized by the simple movement.
She studies my face, her gaze traveling from my eyes to my mouth and back again. "When have you ever not played it safe, Xavier?"
"More often than you think." I set down my wine glass with deliberate care, suddenly aware that my hand isn't entirely steady.
The alcohol is affecting me more than I'd like to admit, but it's not just the wine.
It's her. The way she's looking at me like she's seeing something she'd forgotten was there.
"Bullshit." The word comes out with enough conviction to make me blink. "You became a doctor because you wanted to fix people."
The accuracy of her observation hits like a physical blow. "Is that what you think?"
"I think you're the kind of man who notices when someone's favorite wine runs out at dinner and quietly orders another bottle. Who remembers that Logan can't handle spicy food. Who volunteers to help with wedding planning because he knows it matters, even when it's not his responsibility."
The fourth course interrupts whatever response I might have made - pan-seared halibut with lemon beurre blanc and asparagus, paired with a Chardonnay that's buttery and rich. But Savannah's words echo in my mind as we eat, making me hyperaware of every gesture, every glance.
"You're staring," she says, not looking up from her plate.
"Am I?"
"Yes. You do that thing where you analyze everything. Like you're trying to solve a puzzle."
"Maybe I am."
She finally meets my eyes. "What kind of puzzle?"
"The kind where all the pieces should fit perfectly, but something's missing."
The wine is making me philosophical, which is dangerous enough under normal circumstances. With Savannah sitting across from me, cheeks flushed from alcohol and candlelight, it feels downright reckless.
"Maybe you're overcomplicating it," she suggests.
The fifth course - beef tenderloin with blue cheese mousse and roasted shallots, paired with a Cabernet Sauvignon that's full-bodied and complex - gives us both an excuse to focus on something other than the tension building between us.
But I can feel her watching me now, studying my reactions the same way I've been studying hers.
"You know," she says, swirling the red wine in her glass, "I always wondered what would have happened if things had been different."
"Let the past stay in the past. I just want to focus on the here and now, and how beautiful you look tonight. Did I tell you that?"
"Maybe."
She smiles, and the expression transforms her entire face.
"I didn't mean to gloss over the past. I'm sorry for it. And I want to keep making it up to you."
The sixth and final course - chocolate tart with raspberry coulis and vanilla bean ice cream, paired with a Port that's sweet and rich - arrives as the restaurant around us begins to empty.
We've been here for over two hours, and I can feel the effects of the wine in the looseness of my limbs, the warmth spreading through my chest.
"This is sinful," Savannah moans around a bite of chocolate tart, and the sound sends heat straight through my bloodstream.
"Good sinful or bad sinful?"
"The kind that makes you want to do things you know you shouldn't."
She's looking directly at me when she says it, and there's no mistaking the intent behind her words. The air between us crackles with tension that has nothing to do with wine pairings and everything to do with eight years of unresolved attraction.
"Savannah..."
"I know." She finishes her Port in one swallow, sets the glass down with a soft clink. "I know all the reasons we should go home."
"We should get out of here," I say, signaling Henri for the check.
The bill arrives quickly, and I don't even glance at the total before sliding my card across the leather portfolio. Some things are worth any price, and tonight - this moment with Savannah looking at me like she wants to devour me - is priceless.
We stand simultaneously, and I have to steady her when she sways slightly. The contact - my hand on her elbow, her body warm against mine - sends electricity shooting through my nervous system.
"Easy," I murmur, close enough to smell her perfume over the lingering scents of wine and food.
"I'm fine. Just... a little dizzy."
"How much did we actually drink?"
She considers the question seriously. "Enough to make this seem like a brilliant idea instead of a catastrophically stupid one."
"Which one is it really?"
"Both. Definitely both."
I guide her toward the exit, my hand settling on the small of her back.
The restaurant has mostly emptied, just a few couples lingering over coffee and dessert.
The hostess nods politely as we pass, but I'm focused entirely on the woman beside me, the way her hips sway with each step, the vanilla and floral scent that's been driving me crazy all evening.
The cool October air hits us as we step outside, and Savannah shivers slightly. Without thinking, I shrug out of my blazer and drape it around her shoulders. The gesture is automatic, protective, and she looks up at me with surprise.
"Thank you," she says softly, pulling the jacket closer around herself.
I pull out my phone to call a taxi, but Savannah catches my wrist, her fingers warm against my skin. "Wait," she says, and there's something in her voice that makes me look up from the screen.
"Xavier," she says, and my name on her lips sounds like a question and an invitation all at once.
Instead of finishing the call, I slide my phone back into my pocket and guide her into the narrow alley beside the restaurant.
It's dimly lit, private, away from the few pedestrians still wandering the downtown streets.
She doesn't resist, doesn't question where we're going.
If anything, she seems to understand the need for somewhere we can be alone, even if just for a moment.
I back her gently against the brick wall, my hands bracing on either side of her head.
She's looking up at me with those brown eyes that shift from green to gold in the low light, her breathing slightly uneven.
My blazer hangs loose on her smaller frame, and I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath the dark fabric.
"You said I always play it safe," I murmur, close enough that my breath stirs the loose strands of hair around her face.
"You do," she whispers back, but there's a tremor in her voice that tells me she's not entirely sure about that anymore. Her hands come up to rest against my chest, fingers splaying over the cotton of my dress shirt.
"You said I couldn't break the rules."
"Can you?" The challenge in her voice is softer now, breathier, and I can feel the way her body leans into mine despite the wall at her back.
Instead of answering with words, I lean down and capture her lips with mine.
The kiss is slow, deliberate, nothing like the careful, controlled man she thinks she knows.
I take my time exploring her mouth, tasting the lingering sweetness of Port and chocolate, and the unique flavor that's purely her.
She melts against me, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us.
I can feel every soft curve pressed against my harder planes, the way her body fits perfectly against mine.
When I finally break the kiss, we're both breathing hard, and I can see the surprise in her eyes - surprise and something that looks dangerously like hunger.
"Still think I can't break the rules?" I ask, my voice rougher than usual.
Before she can answer, I let one hand drift from the wall to trace the line of her jaw, fingers ghosting over her skin with deliberate slowness.
She shivers under my touch, her head tilting slightly to give me better access as I trail my fingertips down her neck, across her collarbone where my blazer has fallen open.
"Xavier..." she breathes, and I can smell the way her scent changes, becoming richer, more complex.
My hand continues its journey downward, skimming over the silk of her dress, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric.
She's trembling now, her eyes never leaving mine as I slowly, deliberately slip my hand beneath the hem at her thighs.
Her stockings are silk-smooth under my palm as I trace upward, and she presses back against the wall as if trying to steady herself.
"I love the way you smell," I murmur against her ear, my fingers finding the heat between her legs through the thin barrier of her stockings and underwear. "Sweet vanilla and arousal. It's intoxicating."
She gasps, her head falling back against the brick wall, one hand clutching at my shoulder while the other tangles in my hair. Her legs part slightly, an unconscious invitation that sends heat racing straight through my bloodstream.
"We should..." she starts, but the words dissolve into a soft moan as I apply gentle pressure exactly where she needs it, feeling the way she responds to my touch even through the layers of fabric.
"Should what?" I ask, my lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck, tasting the salt of her skin. "Go home and pretend this didn't happen? Pretend we don't want each other?"
"Someone could see," she manages, but she's not pushing me away. If anything, she's pressing closer, her hips moving slightly against my hand in a rhythm that makes my control slip dangerously.
"Let them," I say, and I mean it. For the first time in my carefully ordered life, I don't care about propriety or appearances or what anyone else might think. All I care about is the woman in my arms and the way she's responding to my touch.
But even as I say it, I know we can't stay here much longer. This is just the beginning of something that needs to be finished somewhere private, somewhere I can take my time showing her exactly how far I'm willing to bend those rules when it comes to her.
I withdraw my hand slowly, savoring the disappointed sound she makes, the way her body follows my touch as if reluctant to let me go. She's flushed, breathing hard, her hair mussed from my fingers and her lips swollen from our kiss.
"We should call that taxi," I say, but I don't step back immediately. Instead, I cup her face in my hands, thumbs stroking across her cheekbones as I memorize the way she looks in this moment - disheveled and wanting and beautiful.
"Home?" she asks, and there's no question in her voice about what will happen when we get there.
"Home," I confirm, pulling out my phone with one hand while keeping the other on her waist, unwilling to break contact completely.
As I dial the taxi company, Savannah straightens my tie with shaking fingers, smoothing down my shirt where she'd wrinkled it. The simple, domestic gesture sends another wave of want through me, and I have to concentrate to give the dispatcher our location.
"Five minutes," I tell her when I hang up, sliding my phone back into my pocket.
"Good," she breathes, rising up on her toes to press another kiss to my lips, softer this time but no less heated. "Because I don't think I can wait much longer to see just how many rules you're willing to break."
And as we wait in the dim alley for our ride home, I know that the careful, safe distance I've maintained between us is about to become a thing of the past. Tonight, I'm going to show her exactly what happens when the good doctor decides to stop playing it safe.