Chapter 8 #2
Our fondue arrived just in time to save me from the question.
The waitress placed a small saucepan on the burner in the middle of the table, with an array of bread, meats and vegetables alongside.
I hadn’t thought this through. This blouse was rayon, but that didn’t mean it would wipe clean.
Who came to a fondue restaurant for a first date?
“Who knows you best in the entire world?” I asked, desperate to steer the conversation away from my life in Oregon.
He offered me the bread basket and I stabbed a cube with my long fork.
“I have five best friends—we’ve been close since we were teenagers.”
“Nice,” I said. “Like a pack?”
“They’re human. Not wolves.” He growled, low and deep, and I swear I was a second away from pulling a Meg Ryan. Only I wouldn’t have been faking.
“You tell them your deepest, darkest secrets?” I asked.
“To the extent I have any. I’m pretty much an open book.” A hint of the frown again and my fingers buzzed with the urge to press it away.
“I read a thing online about you,” I confessed.
“Because, you know—” Obviously I was going to google a guy before I shared cheese with him.
“It said you had ‘shunned the London jewelry industry’ for years. That true?” I didn’t need an internet search to tell me that—his reputation preceded him—but he didn’t need to know that.
“Yes and no,” he replied.
I waited for him to elaborate but he just dipped a mushroom into the cheese, popped it in his mouth and chewed.
“Well, that’s not an answer.”
“No. That was me saying I don’t want to answer.” His lips curled around his words and he scanned my face before adding, “In British.”
I laughed. “I’m not fluent yet.” I met guys who kept things secret, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever met a man who was completely open about what he was hiding.
“You didn’t tell me which one of my competitors you’re interning for,” he said, clearly trying to change the subject.
“Sparkle,” I said, still proud I’d managed to secure an internship at such a well-renowned firm. Daniels & Co were arguably a better brand, but Sparkle wasn’t far behind.
Dexter froze, his breathing shallow and his eyes fixed on me. It was as if he had an invisible gun to his head and he was trying to warn me to run. And then all of a sudden, he was back to normal—all smiles and easy charm.
“Rewind there for a minute.” Okay, so it was a first date and he didn’t have to tell me why he’d stayed away from London or what his mother’s maiden name was, but we had to have some kind of exchange of information, something deeper than cheese talk.
“What was that?” I asked. “When I mentioned Sparkle?”
“What?” he asked, stabbing a piece of pepper.
“Put down the vegetable and tell me why you looked like you’d seen a ghost when I mentioned who I was interning for.”
“No ghosts,” he said, setting down his fork and taking a sip of wine.
This date had only just begun and already it was full of negatives. I was avoiding telling him things, and he was clearly holding his cards close. “You know what I think?”
He paused and looked at me, waiting for me to go on.
“I think we’re doing a dance,” I continued.
“I think you’re not saying some things. I’m doing the same, even though you said you like it when I’m completely open and you said you were an open book.
We’re skating on the surface and it’s nice and all.
I mean—you’re great to look at, and fondue is a riveting topic of conversation, but what are we doing here if we’re both trying so hard not to share who we are? ”
He blinked but didn’t move. I wasn’t sure if he hadn’t liked what I said or he wanted me to elaborate.
I sat back and pushed my glass away. “I’m trying not to give away that I live under a gray sky in a single-wide trailer and work in a factory. And that I’m wearing a one hundred percent rayon shirt. You?”
There—I’d thrown down a challenge. He might walk out, but just like Dexter had known I wanted to say yes to dinner despite saying no at first, something told me he wouldn’t balk at my invitation to tell the truth.
These three months in London would come to an end all too soon, and I wanted to make the most out of every second, including tonight.
I had to have the truth, because I didn’t have time for lies.
“It’s all connected,” he said, as if that made perfect sense. His gaze scanned the room, like he was checking for exits or perhaps deciding whether or not he was going to open up. “My parents died in a car crash when I was nineteen.”
This time, I couldn’t hold back—I had to touch him. I leaned and slid my hand over his.
“And my brother sold their business to Sparkle, right out from under my nose. I had no rights under the will because I wasn’t twenty-one. Dealing with the estate was all up to my brother. I lost my parents and their business to Sparkle. All in one.”
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” I squeezed his hand.
“Sparkle had tried to recruit my mother—over and over—as a designer. And had poached other members of staff. My parents’ business was small but it produced beautiful jewelry. Sparkle had wanted to own them for years. When they died . . .”
“Sparkle pounced.”
The warm, flirtatious smile had disappeared and the ridge between his eyes was deeper now. I wanted to fix it. I wanted to make it better. “They took advantage,” he said. And I’d bet he’d spent his entire life making sure no one else was ever going to take advantage of him again.
“What did your brother say? Was he sorry?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t know. We haven’t spoken since.” He flipped my hand over and linked his fingers through mine.
I couldn’t imagine going a single day without my sister, let alone years. “Wow. And did he start his own jewelry business like you did?”
“Last I heard he worked in the back office at one of the banks in the City.”
His brother should have been protecting him, not selling off the family business. “I bet that’s a huge motivation for you. Creating Daniels & Co and being so successful.”
“A little,” he replied. It was just two words, but they unlocked a lot about the man in front of me. I couldn’t imagine what such a betrayal by a member of my family would do to me.
Dexter’s brother wasn’t the only one who had betrayed him. Sparkle shared the blame. I was working for the enemy. “I bet you want to beat Sparkle in this competition, huh?” I asked.
“A little,” he repeated. “I want to kiss you more.”
I bit back a smile. He was lying. But I could live with that. “What are the odds, do you think?” I asked, thinking out loud.
“Of me kissing you? That’s up to you. What do you think the odds are?”
“Hmm, well, given your form, I’d say . . . three to ten?”
“Three to ten?” he asked, his brow crinkling in confusion. “That’s specific.”
“I have no idea what I’m talking about,” I confessed. “I’m not a girl who makes bets.”
I liked this guy. Against my better judgment, I was here at dinner with him.
“It would be complicated, wouldn’t it? Me on the Sparkle team and everything?
” I had my reservations about Dexter. He was devastatingly handsome and I wasn’t in London to be devastated.
And I wasn’t exactly the ideal woman for him.
I hadn’t had anything to do with taking over his family business, but I was working for the people who had.
He sighed and sat back a little in his seat, cold air filling the distance between us.
Despite myself, I wanted him to kiss me.
And that was the problem. Because I couldn’t remember ever being on a date and wanting so badly to be kissed.
First dates were all about thinking about whether the date would end in a kiss.
Until tonight, the answer had always been absolutely not or maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Once or twice it had even gotten to you never know, it might be amazing.
But the idea of kissing Dexter didn’t make me think.
It made me feel a thousand feelings—the fluttering swirl in the base of my belly, the shiver at the bottom of my spine, and the pulsing heat under my skin. I couldn’t wait for him to kiss me.
He glanced up at me as if trying to weigh the pros and cons.
“It’s not like you were the one who bought my family business.
We just won’t discuss the competition,” he said, nodding as if it were the easiest answer.
I’d suggested the same thing, hadn’t I? It was the only way I could justify sitting here tonight.
Work was work. This was . . . not work. And even if I was in London to lay the foundations for the rest of my life, Autumn would be quick to tell me I couldn’t work one hundred percent of the time.
I needed time to recharge. That’s what Dexter would be for me—a trip to the spa, but in male form.
“I’m not the enemy?” I asked.
“You don’t look much like the enemy,” he replied, leaning forward, closer than before, the air between us thickening.
The clatter of the restaurant faded into the background, and all I could focus on was the rise and fall of Dexter’s chest, the way his lips parted and his gaze burned into me.
He slid his hand around the back of my neck and dropped a kiss on the side of my mouth.
I shut my eyes, as if blocking out at least a part of Dexter—the sight of him—would make this moment more manageable. Otherwise, I ran the risk of being completely overwhelmed.
“I’m not your enemy,” I whispered as he pressed his lips on the other side of my mouth.
He growled and I opened my eyes to find him shifting away from me.
“The things I want to do to you,” he said, his voice raw and coarse. I reached out to him, stroking the five o’clock shadow covering his jaw. I ached to know how the rough stubble would feel between my legs.
“Tell me,” I said. I wanted details, to know what he was thinking. I knew that whatever it was, in that exact moment, I would have said yes. To anything.