Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Rayne
Ilove the way he says my name. Well, the name I gave him.
Loo-nah. His accent gets more pronounced when he emphasizes a word, the vowels stretching slow and warm.
I could listen to him for hours. I just love everything about him so far.
His looks, his personality, his Lego hobby, his understated charm.
A man who doesn’t try hard for attention, he just silently commands it.
What I really love, though, is how he looks at me, like he wants to eat me alive but also learn what makes me tick.
I had to hold myself back from asking about why his life is ‘complicated’ because getting deep isn’t what I’m here for.
Instead, we drift through lighter topics: music, movies, and food.
While he doesn’t share my obsession for musicals and show tunes, we both love to eat.
I tell him about my Aunt Belinda’s southern home cooking and my favorite seafood restaurant on the water, and he tells me about some of the cultural dishes his grandmother makes—like Pap, which I learn is similar to polenta, served with stewed meat and a spicy vegetable relish called Chakalaka.
“I don’t know about you, but now I’m hungry,” I say. “How do appetizers sound?”
“Like a guud idea. Since this is your spot, you choose.”
I’d told him the hotel is my mini retreat, where I come when I can’t take a real vacation. “Anything off limits?”
“No.” He lifts his glasses to scan the menu. “But I could live without foie gras.”
“That works for me.“ I order a spread of finger foods: oysters, ahi tuna on wonton crisps, truffle fries, and lollipop shrimp.
I switch to wine, and he switches to water. I assume because he’s driving… though I’m hoping he might stay the night. It’s not just sex I’ve missed. It’s sharing a bed, being held. And the Gentle Giant, with that solid mass wrapped in teddy-bear softness, looks perfect for cuddling.
When the food arrives, I pick up the breaded shrimp on a stick, aware of his eyes tracking my every move.
I dip it into the sweet-chili sauce, then slide the lollipop between my lips, bite off the shrimp, chew slowly, and finish with tongue flicks at the corners of my mouth.
Gauntlet thrown, I wait to see what he’ll do.
He breaks eye contact only long enough to squeeze lemon over an oyster and drown it in hot sauce.
With his gaze back on mine, he brings the shell to his mouth and slurps the oyster down in one swallow.
I swear my entire body blushes. He can’t possibly know this, but the slight raise of his thick eyebrows and curve of his lips says he absolutely does.
I grin back, pleased he’s game for a little foreplay. As the night deepens, the jazz gets smokier, and the heat between us slides up my dress and dampens my very thin, very blinged-out thong.
Through it all—the flirting, the food, the conversation—nothing stalls. No awkward pauses. No dead air. At one point, we land on first dates.
“What was your worst?” I ask.
“There’ve been a few bad ones, but I’d have to pick the baby-talker.”
“You mean a high-pitched voice?”
“I mean, lit-tral goo-goos and ga-gas.”
“You’re joking.” I laugh, stealing a fry.
“No word of a lie. I like to think I’m open-minded, but that’s not my thing. I prefer my women to be all-adult.”
“Where do you stand on being called Daddy?” I tease.
His smile is slow. His quip is smooth and sexy. “You’ll have to try it and find out.”
I feel that challenge down to my core. Every sign says he’d be amenable to an overnight stay, but how do I even broach it?
When I excuse myself, I stare at my reflection above the bathroom sink and cock one hip. “Hey, big boy, wanna come up to my room for the night?”
I snort, laughing at myself. I sound like a bad Mae West impersonator.
Nope. I’m off the clock. I don’t need to plan or script this. When the moment’s right, I’ll lean into it.
I wash my hands, slip a breath strip on my tongue, and refresh my lipstick.
Thankfully, the leave-in moisturizer is doing its thang.
I love my curls, but they don’t always like the summer humidity.
For work, I usually rotate between my wash-n-go style, big-roller waves, and a flat-ironed bun with a side swoop.
That has me thinking about the Gentle Giant’s livelihood.
Details? Planning? Could be project management or consulting.
He’s definitely a processor. It’s in the way his eyes sometimes sharpen, scanning as if he’s feeding data to his brain and assembling it all.
But there’s warmth there, too. Kindness.
The type of man who listens. Who cares. Not that it matters.
After tonight, we’ll never see each other again.
That thought drops a small pit in my chest.
I text Lot, keeping my emotions in check:
Me: No notes. Kitty’s purring.
I add emojis because they annoy her. Then I click off my phone, tuck it away, and return to the table.
He’s not there.
The breath whooshes out of me. Of course, he could have also made a pit stop, but it wouldn’t be the first time a man dined and dashed. I hadn’t figured him for That Guy, though that doesn’t count for much. My radar has misfired more times than is healthy.
Why do some men have to be such trifling trash? I’m spiraling down that rabbit hole when hands land lightly on my shoulders from behind, his voice warming my spine.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”
I set my purse on the table and pull myself together before turning—but not enough to fool him.
“What’s wrong?”
“I thought you left.”
His brows pinch hard. “I woohdn’t do that.”
“I know. It’s happened before, and my mind just went there.”
“He must’ve been a real m’bhuka.”
“What’s that?”
“An idiot.”
I smile then. “You’re sweet. I can see why you picked Gentle Giant as your handle.”
“I didn’t. Neo did,” he says wryly. “But you can call me DK.”
The name fits too comfortably not to be real. Initials or could be a nickname? “DK,” I repeat, letting it roll over my tongue. “Nice.”
He looks into my eyes and takes my hands in his—nothing like the earlier handshake. This is intimate. Sensual. “How would you feel about me booking a room here for us? No pressure. I’d be disappointed if you say no, but I’ll respect your decision and take it like an adult.”
I fight the urge to kiss the hell out of him. “I have a room for the weekend, and my bag’s already there, if you’d like to join me.”
“Full disclosure…” He grins. “I lied about taking it like a grown-up. I woohd’ve wept in a glass of whiskey.”
God, he’s adorable.
“Do you want to stay here a little longer?” he asks. “Order another drink?”
“No thanks. I’m ready to go now, if you are.”
“More than ready.” He kisses my cheek, giving me a nose-full of his delicious scent.
Measured and subtle. Like cedar layered over clean skin with something warm and spicy beneath it. The kind of scent that lingers on a pillow and ruins your self-control.
While he settles the bill, I grab the back of my chair—because the way my body’s swooning, my legs cannot be trusted.