Chapter 23 #2
A familiar figure welcomed us when Davis knocked.
Cole Fenwick, Gentle Flight's winemaker, ushered us inside.
I always thought of Davis as massive, mostly because I was relatively small, and he eclipsed me.
Cole reminded me that, where Davis made me feel diminutive, Cole towered taller still, well over six feet, with his lanky swimmer's body.
"Welcome. I've left dinner in the oven and the table is set. Enjoy your evening."
Cole slipped away with a smile, no doubt headed to his own cottage on property.
"You arranged all this?" I asked, awed as I took in the romantic setting Cole had left behind.
Lit candles illuminated a low table in front of the couch. The blinds had been left open, showcasing the trees and hills in the distance behind the vines.
"You deserve something special."
My heart melted. No one had ever gone to this much trouble for a single date before.
"What's for dinner?" I asked around a lump in my throat. Crying at this juncture would definitely embarrass me and likely make Davis uncomfortable.
"Wine, salads, bread, and lasagna."
"Oh." The small sound was all I could muster around the tears pooling in my eyes and clogging my throat. So much for not embarrassing myself. Frustrated, I pinched my arm, hoping the pain would distract me from the emotions hijacking my evening.
"What's wrong?"
Davis's concern should have been gratifying. He cared. But it only frustrated me further. I hated when I let tears get the best of me. I didn't want to be crying, but I also couldn't seem to stop. My chest was tight, and I sniffled, trying to keep from crumbling into a total mess in front of him.
"Hey, Bee. Are you crying?"
His cautious question, his wide eyes and panicked expression, made me wish I could snap my fingers and suppress it all – shove the foolish sentimentality back inside where it belonged.
"No-o," I said, my voice cracking in the middle, a dead giveaway that I was lying through my teeth. I sniffed again, wiping surreptitiously at my eyes, anger at myself making them water harder.
Davis tugged me into his arms, wrapping me in a hug and squeezing me tight.
I absorbed the gentle pressure, inhaling deeply, filling my lungs with Davis. His embrace felt like glue, pulling me back together, bonding me to him. His silent acceptance helped me relax into his arms and calm my shaky breath.
"Thanks," I mumbled into his chest, not ready to look at him and dreading the moment when he let me go.
So much for seducing Davis tonight. Tears didn't really do it for most men.
He stroked my back, soothing me, and I heaved another breath, relieved when I could exhale unobstructed. I loved that he didn’t pepper me with questions. He just let me be, holding me close.
"Sorry."
The muscles in his chest shifted, and I could feel the head shake more than see it, my face still hidden. "Bee, you don't need to apologize. I've got you. Safe place to land, remember?"
Tears threatened again at his pledge. Silly man, thinking kindness would stop the waterworks.
“Can you tell me what has you upset?”
I sighed, feeling silly. How did I explain that sometimes I cried when I was deliriously happy?
“I’m actually happy. Sometimes it all just feels like too much, and the emotions get the best of me.”
“You sure?” he asked, still sounding concerned.
“Positive. I’m a happy crier. It has a tendency to hit at the most embarrassing times.”
“Bee, you never have to be embarrassed with me. If you need to cry, cry. Just be sure to tell me you’re happy, because my heart can’t take thinking I’ve made you sad.”
I teared up again. “That’s so sweet,” I said, my voice breaking in the middle. I flapped my hands in front of my watery eyes.
"You're gonna have to growl to get me to stop," I warned, adding a sheepish grin. “Please growl at me. I really do want to stop.”
He squeezed me one last time, a hug tight enough that I felt it to my toes, before releasing me. "Cut the waterworks, Bee. Cole prepared a killer lasagna for us, and we don't want to waste all of this privacy, do we?"
He spread his warms wide. I half-expected him to twirl like a Disney princess, but something darker overtook his expression, sending a shiver down my spine.
“I’m looking forward to making you scream later. I even bought you lozenges for that sore throat.”
His voice was husky, and I stilled, caught between laughter and lust, reminded of the large box of condoms sitting far out of reach in my bedside table.
I groaned. I hadn't planned for this. Leaning back, I squinted up at Davis, his face calm and composed, even after my emotional outburst. Maybe his plans had caught me by surprise, but I had faith in Davis's attention to detail.
"Did you bring everything we need?" I asked, not hiding the hopeful lilt in my voice.
"Probably that and more," he answered, expression enigmatic. "I like to be prepared."
And more? My thoughts raced with the possibilities, and I leaned away, examining Davis more closely.
"Are you into kinky stuff?" The words popped out before I could reconsider them, but Davis didn't seem to mind my direct question.
"I'll never do anything you don't want."
"That wasn't a no," I pointed out, chuckling when he arched a playful brow.
He was teasing me. Wasn’t he? I shifted, pressing my thighs together to ease the sudden ache there.
"Let's eat dinner," he said, escorting me to the couch. "Have a seat, and I'll be out with plates in a minute. Would you like a glass of wine or water?"
"Both, please," I said, my mouth dry.
Something about Davis made me think I needed to hydrate.
But the way he'd avoided my question indicated that relaxing my inhibitions a bit might also be necessary.
I didn't exactly consider myself a prude, but I'd never moved beyond vanilla in my sex life.
If Davis was going to bust out blindfolds and toys, I needed fortification.
I snorted. Fortification for fornication. It sounded like a band name.
That little bit of humor helped restore my equilibrium.
Davis brought out glasses for us both, before returning with plates heaping with lasagna, garlic bread, and a tossed salad in vinaigrette.
"Davis, this is so much food!"
I laughed at his bemused expression, shaking my head. He could probably put it all away and still manage any sexual gymnastics he had planned. Me? Not so much. As delicious as dinner smelled, I wanted to save room for sex. I colored at the idea of explaining that to Davis.
"I'll eat anything you don't want," he offered generously, and I bit my lip.
"Just tell me there's no dessert."
He leaned back, gazing at me from beneath hooded eyes. That glance was enough to ignite a fire, and I clenched my thighs together.
"Well, I wouldn't exactly say there's no dessert. But…"
"But what?"
He scratched his head, looking sheepish. "I brought a few sweet things to play with."
See, my instincts were right. Gruff, private exterior with a gooey chocolate center.
"So you're saying I should save room?" There was a teasing edge to my voice.
He glanced at his lap, my gaze following his. At least I wasn't the only one with a dirty mind. "Yeah, that'd be great," he answered, voice husky. He cleared his throat, shifting his gaze to mine. "No pressure though."
"I'm sure everything will be too delicious for me to resist," I said lightly.
Our foreplay hadn't moved beyond words, but the subtle tension between us still made it difficult to choke down dinner. Which was a shame, because it was delicious. I drank liberally to help wash it past the obstruction in my throat. Davis’s sweet gestures had me in a choke hold.
He and I chatted, touching on lighter topics like his work and mine, which helped me relax as the sun set over the horizon. Not everything between us was about sex. There was genuine liking there too.
"When do you want to take Bee-gonia up?"
Davis's question caught me off guard, but it shouldn't have. His integrity was rock-solid. He'd offered to come with me on my test flight, and no doubt for him, it was a done deal. My nerves were my own problem. But it was sweet he wanted to help.
"You don't have to go up with me, but I was thinking this Saturday if the weather holds."
He nodded. Just once, but the quick affirmative shake of his head reassured me. It restored my own confidence in my piloting abilities. Davis was a pretty cautious guy. If he was willing to fly with me, put his faith in my abilities, I had to have at least as much trust in myself.
We lingered over dinner, Davis helping to clean my plate when I tapered off, not wanting to be too stuffed for what I hoped would come next. Me.
"More wine?" Davis offered, gesturing to my empty glass. I nodded, and we cleared the table together, putting the dishes in a tub for housekeeping. The tiny kitchen was too small for a dishwasher.
We settled back on the couch with fresh glasses of Gentle Flight's Pinot, and I sighed, relaxing into the cushions.
"Do you want to hear what I have in mind for dessert?"
Davis's question dropped like a hand grenade in the silence.