Chapter 9
One hour.
One freaking little hour to get ready for a date that has me more excited than Christmas did when I was a kid.
I’m still haunted by many unanswered questions about the events of last night.
, and it’s a mission to balance everything out logically in my head.
I know I should probably be demanding answers from Aaron and finding out what the hell went on, but a big part of me wants to enjoy my date with a handsome man and just pretend that everything is normal for an afternoon.
I’m not stupid enough to think that it will all magically go away but I don’t know how to deal with it all and ignorance is bliss as they say.
Normally an hour would be plenty of time to get ready if I were getting ready for work, or lunch with Lottie, but in less than fifteen minutes I have a date with a man who has captured my attention in inexplicable ways.
This means I have to shave everywhere, moisturize everywhere and take time over my makeup for that perfectly natural look. Thank god for the spa day yesterday.
My hair has to be blow dried and not left to dry on its own to turn into a ball of frizz, and this alone takes at least a quarter of my time up.
Not only that, I have to choose something to wear.
I don’t know where we’re going, so I have no idea what to dress for and despite my recent shopping trip, I still have a fairly limited wardrobe.
With minutes to spare, I’m dressed and ready to go.
I’m going all out girlie with a summery floral skirt, a sheer tank, and cute, white, peep-toe sandals that are a touch higher than I remember them being in the store, but complete the outfit perfectly.
I’m not sure if I’m wearing the correct attire for my impending date, but I’m sure Denham will tell me otherwise.
After rushing around like a lunatic for the last hour, I perch on the edge of the couch, bouncing my knee like a frog on speed and trying my hardest to stop myself overthinking this and being nervous as hell.
It’s just a date, it’s just a date, I keep telling myself but it doesn’t help to calm the nerves.
What if he’s decided after our chat that he doesn’t want to take me out on a date anymore?
Even worse than that, what if he has changed his mind about everything and doesn’t want to know me at all?
He’s under my skin, already.
His loud bangs on the door break me out of the internal pep talk I’m trying to give myself and give me no more time to speculate. I jump up and grab my purse, checking my reflection in the mirror on the way to the door one last time.
“I’m giving you to the count of three, then I’m coming in, ready or not.” His muffled voice from the other side of the door makes me laugh and any earlier worries vanish, leaving a childlike excitement in their place.
I pull open the door to find him leaning on the framework with one hand tucked behind his back.
His eyes travel slowly up my body, lingering on each curve and taking in every inch of me.
I’m not used to being savored as though I’m on display, but I get the feeling that the more time I spend with Denham, the more I need to get used to it.
He knows what he likes and he isn’t afraid to show it.
The grin that creeps along his face is contagious and I find myself smiling right back at him.
“Arianna, you look … stunning. This is for you.” He hands me a single red rose.
“Thank you, kind sir. Such a gentleman.” I smell the pretty perfume from the rose and then place it in the middle of vase of flowers by the door.
“Nothing less for you, Trouble.”
I giggle at his affectionate nickname and ask, “Where are we going then?”
“It’s a surprise,” he says, holding out his hand for me to take. “Let’s go.”
We’re seated in a private corner of the Eiffel Tower Restaurant.
The view is spectacular and the company is just as enchanting.
So far, Denham hasn’t let go of my hand for more than a few seconds and insists on holding at least one of them across the table.
His thumb moves in slow, lazy circles along my knuckles and with each movement I find it a little harder to concentrate.
Not only are we in 'Paris', but Denham has spoken to the waiter and ordered wine for us in French too. “I'm guessing you have a lot of talents I know nothing about …” I raise an eyebrow at Denham.
His eyes lock on mine and he moves closer to me across the table. “Stunner, I have a whole load of talents and I plan on showing you every single one.” His voice is deep and dusty and not only do I hear it, I feel it.
The waiter interrupts our heated exchange. “Monsieur, madame, vous avez choisi?”
“Mes excuses, s’il vous plait vous donner un peu plus de temps?”
“Bien s?r, monsieur.”
The waiter returns to his station and I have no idea of the exchange they just had. “You do know that I have no idea what you guys just said to each other?”
“No idea at all? Well, that information could be kinda useful.” He waggles his brows at me and it earns a giggle that I can’t stifle.
That’s the kind of action that could really turn you off because it can really look pervy on some guys, but I’m that smitten with Denham King that I can’t think of a single thing he could do that would put me off him.
I’m pretty sure he could pull faces at me all night and all I would do is laugh.
Unless it’s the face he’s making now.
The 'I can see straight to your soul' look. The 'heated, strip you bare, emotionally and physically' look.
I may as well be sitting here in my underwear.
I feel my cheeks flush as tingles spread all over.
He’s devouring me. He turned me down in the early hours of this morning, but he’s making it clear that it wasn't due to lack of desire. His withdrawal is him being chivalrous. I’m out of my depth and totally unsure how to handle a man like him.
A man honest in his actions as well as his words.
“So,” I say, needing a break in the intensity, “what do you recommend?” I pick up the menu and study the words as if my life depends on it.
He hooks a finger over the top of my menu and pulls it down so I can see his eyes. “Will you let me order for you?”
I study him for a moment. He’s asking me to put a little trust in him. “Sure, but I don’t eat mushrooms.”
“You don’t?”
“Nope … or snails.”
He chuckles “No mushrooms or snails. Got it.”
After ordering what sounded like loads of food, we settle into comfortable conversation about where we grew up, how many different places I’ve lived and outline the dynamics of our families. This didn’t take long for me as I have no aunts, uncles, brothers or sisters. Just my mom.
“So, Lottie said you have a brother, do you have any more brothers or sisters?” I ask, wanting to know everything about him.
“Yes. You’ve met my brother, and I have a sister named Tara.”
“I’ve met your brother?”
“Yes.” My confused face clearly shows I have no idea who he is talking about, and he frowns. “Yeah, Spike.”
“Spike is your brother?”
“Yeah.” He frowns. “You didn’t see that?”
“I didn’t, I—” I haven’t really been paying attention to anything. “So your mom named him Spike?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No, he’s called Preston but no one calls him that. He was born with a mohawk of black hair, so I called him Spike the day he came home. It’s kinda stuck ever since.”
“Now that I think of it, he does look like you. He’s younger, right?”
“It’s that obvious, huh?” he says with a smirk.
“No! Sorry, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”
“I know. Yes, he’s twenty-seven. And Tara is twenty-three.”
He looks at me intently and I study his face. I’m not surprised Preston is twenty-seven, he looks his age, but Denham … I’m having a hard job placing his age. He doesn’t look old, but he’s wise and his eyes show that he isn’t a young nave twenty something.
“And how old are you, Denham?” I say quietly, softly looking up at him from under my lashes.
“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a person’s age?”
I know he’s just kidding with me from the smile in his eyes. “Well, I’m guessing you know how old I am from your little findings, so it’s only fair.”
“Yes, I do.” He smirks and then I sense a little hesitation. Maybe he’s older than I thought and he’s unsure about how I’ll feel about our age difference. “I’m thirty-four.”
I smile back at him and lean across the table to reward his answer with a kiss. It’s gentle and lingers just a fraction longer than he was expecting. I’m hoping it lets him know that there isn’t much that would deter me from getting to know him better.
“There’s quite a gap between you and Spike …”
“Yes, my mom and dad had trouble conceiving. It seems that when they resigned themselves to the fact that it wasn’t going to happen easily for them, it happened. Then four years later, Tara surprised them again.”
“It must have been fun growing up in a busy house, with other kids to play with …” I wriggle one of my hands free to pick up my glass of wine.
“Yeah it was, plenty of arguing, especially between Spike and Tara as they’re closer in age.
That all stopped when Dad …” His voice softens, and his fingers loosen from around mine but I tighten my grip which makes him look up into my eyes.
“My dad died …” his voice catches and it’s clear that it’s still painful for him.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “We don’t need to talk about it.
This is a date, remember? Plenty of time for the serious stuff another day.
” It’s clearly hard for him to talk about.
I want to know everything about him. But I also know that this is our first official date and I want to remember it for all the right reasons and not the ones that could ruin the memory.
“I will tell you all about it, Ari. Just not today, okay? I want today to be about us, nothing else.”
“That sounds perfect.”