Chapter 21 What’s My Name Again
what’s my name again
ROXANNE
I’m definitely living up to Duke’s nickname for me. I am Trouble because what the hell am I thinking? I told myself to let my guard down tonight because, hey, we’re not at the ranch. Dinner? How am I going to get through it and still maintain my professional boundary?
Mostly, I blame the champagne at Fern & Fable and the way Duke was looking at me when I stepped out in the red dress.
He licked his lips, and that little move made me feel attractive and wanted.
Two things I have not felt with a man in a long time.
Duke also doesn’t flinch around my scar.
When my ex saw it, he recoiled and stepped away from me, not feeling an ounce of guilt that he was the one who helped to cause it.
I just want more of Duke’s attention, at least for tonight.
We pull into the parking lot of The Pines, which is what I can only describe as a charming mountain wedding venue disguised as a restaurant. This is an intimate place, warm and romantic, and I’m pleasantly surprised once again.
“Really? Sticky floors in this place?”
“Yeah, changed my mind. You’re wearing such a pretty dress, didn’t you want it to stick to a booth with holes worn in the seat.”
“What about Jameson?” I ask when Duke opens my door.
A crooked smile lifts one corner of his mouth. “He’s wiped. He’s used to sleeping in the truck.”
I confirm this by peeking through the truck window. Jameson is snoring away, curled up in blankets in the back seat.
“He appreciates your concern, but he’s happy we’re leaving him to dream for a bit.”
Duke opens the passenger door in the back and pulls out a navy blue dinner jacket and a brown leather belt out of a kraft paper bag. My pulse skyrockets as he undoes the button of his jeans.
“Relax, Trouble,” he says, tucking in his shirt and looping the belt through the loops. “Can’t accompany you to dinner looking like I just mucked a stall. Need to look like I belong with you since you’re looking so damn beautiful.”
“Oh, thank you.” I swallow hard and glance away, my pulse tripping over itself.
He slips into the jacket and runs his fingers through his sandy hair, reining it in. I feel like I’m staring now, unable to comprehend how he turned himself into a GQ model in thirty seconds. He locks the truck and sticks his arm out.
“I didn’t realize this was a date,” I say, frozen as if I’m standing in quicksand.
“It’s not. We’re hungry and we’re feeding ourselves … in a more civilized way.”
“And you just happened to have a dinner jacket in your truck?”
“Had Mary-Kate pick it out from the men’s section. Again, I may live in the mountains, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be a gentleman.” He motions with his arm again. “Shall we?”
I nod, take his arm, and toss my hair off my shoulders while also telling myself this is no big deal. When my fingers slide into the crook of his elbow, my skin tingles in response.
With the night breeze tickling my shoulders, the realization that my scar is on full display causes me to stop just before we reach the restaurant entrance.
“I’m not sure I can do this.”
Duke stops and turns to me. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to have this on full display yet,” I say, tilting my head toward my shoulder.
Without hesitation, he takes his jacket off and slips it over my shoulders. “I don’t think you should let it run you anymore but wear this as long as you want.”
“Thank you,” I say, lifting my chin up as we walk in. I’m playing it cool, but I’ve never had a man treat me like this. Well, except for Leo.
Once inside, we’re greeted by linen-covered chairs, candles in mason jars, and a string of Edison bulbs zigzagging overhead.
A friendly hostess seats us in a corner booth that faces the stage, where people are setting up for what looks like a night of music.
We’re each handed a menu, and a separate waiter pours us glasses of water.
“This is a fairly romantic place to just feed ourselves,” I tease as I peruse the menu. “There’s even live music tonight? I hope it’s not a string quartet.”
“Journey cover band,” he says, flipping the page of the menu. “They cycle through the mountain towns. They’re amazing.”
“Oh?” My eyebrows tent as I set my menu down for a moment and take a sip of water.
His head tilts as he meets my eyes. “What?”
“Journey?”
“You pegged me for a country music lover, didn’t you?”
“It’s possible that I may have.”
“Nope. I’m into what you high falutins would call yacht rock.”
“Yacht rock? Like easy listening?”
“Steely Dan, Cristopher Cross, Journey, LRB. The best.”
“Wow, I believe it’s also called dad rock. You’re not secretly a fifty-year-old father of teenagers, are you?”
He chuckles. “No. No. I’m not a father of teenagers. If we’re going by stereotypes, I would say you only listen to opera music and drink ice-cold martinis.”
“Because I live in New York you somehow think I listen to opera music?”
“You’re sophisticated, cultured … am I close?”
I close my menu and tap my fingers on it. “My stepfather has season tickets to the Metropolitan Opera House, and I would go with him frequently. I do enjoy a good opera as well as an ice-cold martini.”
Which I order when the waitress comes back. Duke asks for a Pinot Noir. We clink glasses and fill the time before our entrées arrive with stories of our families since we both have wonderful stepfathers.
“Where is your biological father now?” Duke asks.
I shrug, suddenly not wanting to talk about the other mountain man who deserted me.
“I’m not sure. Probably floating from mountain town to mountain town being a ski instructor.
My mother didn’t want to live that life.
She had drive, wanted a career. When she met Preston Denning, he whisked me, my mother, and my brother Carson to Manhattan to give us a better life. ”
“And what about the other mountain man who was in your life?”
“I don’t think it’s right to discuss exes on a first date.” Damn it, as soon as I see Duke’s eyebrows arch and a playful grin grace his lips, I regret letting that one slip. “I mean, this isn’t a date, but if it were … anyway. I’d rather not talk about my ex.”
“Understood. We could at least circle back to your rules for dating. I know number one is that you don’t believe in love at first sight.”
“That’s right. I need more time to get to know a person before I can confirm it’s love.”
“What else would you need to know?”
“There’s so much more to know. For example, how do you organize your cutlery drawer?”
He leans in. “Uh, I don’t.”
“Well, that’s a strike against you.”
“You have really high standards,” he says, taking a sip of wine. “I hope you find a man who can live up to them someday.”
“It’s when I had low standards that I got in trouble. Now, I demand organized cutlery drawers, no thumb rings, and someone who isn’t going to abandon our relationship every time he’s on a quest to conquer a new mountain.”
“You know, that seems easy enough. Anything else? Wait, I bet,” he pauses, bringing his fingers to his chin. “You don’t like red roses because they are cliché and wasteful.”
“You’ve been taking notes from Allie and Leo, haven’t you?”
“I’m good a figuring out what makes people tick.” He leans back spreading his arms wide against the back of the booth.
“You can put that smirk away. You’re only partially correct. I love flowers, just not roses.”
His smirk transforms into a full-blown grin. “Noted.”
Our food arrives and the timing is almost cinematic—steaming plates placed between candlelight and good conversation.
I swirl a forkful of linguine, grateful for something to do with my hands while Duke pours more wine. We eat slowly, falling into a warm rhythm of teasing and real talk, like we’ve known each other longer than a week.
When our plates are cleared and we waved off the offer of dessert, I slide closer to him in the booth when the music starts. I don’t even try to sing along with him as he belts out the lyrics to “Don’t Stop Believing” and “Open Arms.” I sit back and listen. He really is an amazing singer.
I take his arm again as we walk back to the truck, and we laugh on the way home about the waitress who thought we were a married couple and about the woman who thought the cover band’s presence meant she could stand up and sing along like it was an actual Journey concert even though she couldn’t carry a tune.
“I’m just happy she didn’t take her bra off and whip it at the stage,” I say.
Duke laughs as he pulls into the driveway of his house. “Give me a second, want to drop Jameson off so he can get a potty break and head up to bed before I help you with your bags.”
“Oh, I can walk or … I mean, you don’t have to help me with my bags,” I protest, but he doesn’t hear me. Part of me is not sure how much more I can take being alone with Duke without throwing myself at him again. If we had actually been on a date, it would have been the best one I’ve ever had.
“Nonsense,” he says. “I want to walk you back to your room. I’ll just be a minute.”
When he returns moments later, he hops in the truck, shuts the door, but doesn’t start the truck right away. He watches me in silence, something dark and restless stirring behind his eyes.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I lied to you just now.”
“Excuse me?”
“Me wanting to drop Jameson off wasn’t just about wanting to help you back to your room with your bags.”
My eyebrows tent. “Oh?”
“I want to try something,” he says, sliding closer to me and in this moment, I swear the air between us could power the ranch’s entire grid.
“What?” I ask, my voice just above a whisper.
“It’s a bit risky, but I think you can handle it.”
His eyes keep dancing over my mouth and heat blooms under my skin. He leans across the center console and reaches out, skimming my cheek with his finger.
“Do it,” I breathe.
I barely manage a gasp before his mouth is on mine, hot, and hungry.
He kisses me like he’s searching for something buried deep, and I open for him like I’ve already given him the map.
He pulls away, but his hand is still touching my face in the gentlest way.
His eyes search mine as if he’s waiting to see if I’m going to slap him or beg for more.
I close my eyes for a second as I try to find my breath. “What are you doing to me?”
“Trying to show you that not all mountain men are cut from the same flannel.”
This time, I reach for him, and my tongue parts his lips and then it’s all heat and hands and hunger.
My hand fists in his shirt as I crawl across the seat to get in his lap.
Every nerve ending is tingling and alive as his hands grip my hips, fingers splayed like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me.
My knees are anchored against the seat on either side of him, and I can feel the low rumble of his breath as I rock forward—slow, testing.
His erection pushes against his jeans as my aching thighs tighten around him.
He groans into my mouth, and the sound makes my entire body go taut as his lips move from my mouth to my jaw, then lower, his stubble brushing heat down my neck. My fingers slide into his hair, and I whimper as the fire in me rises.
His mouth hovers near the curve of my throat. His chest rises against mine, and his voice comes out wrecked.
“Mercy, that sound,” he says, teeth grazing my skin. “It’s gonna ruin me.”
My breath catches in my throat, a sharp intake that betrays my longing.
I want this. I want him. I tug his shirt up and our mouths barely break when he tosses it to the side.
Every line of muscle is hot and dewy with sweat.
I can no longer maintain the charade of indifference, the facade that I don’t yearn to kiss him every single time he passes by.
I press my lips harder against his, desperate to draw him nearer, to dissolve into him completely. His hands travel up my thighs with a tantalizing slowness, and when they slip beneath my dress, an electric jolt courses through me, making me arch urgently into him.
“Faraday,” I say, husky and breathless. I barely realize what I’ve done until he freezes, his lips go still, and his hands stop roaming.
He tilts his head back. “Still can’t call me Duke, huh?” He gently brushes a stray piece of hair out of my face. The pad of his thumb skims my cheek as his gaze lingers on me.
My lips part, but I can barely speak. “I—”
His eyes finally leave mine as he looks past me. “You know, I think we’ve had enough stimulation for one day.”
I shift, regain my composure, and slide out of his lap as he reaches for his shirt.
The silence is deafening as he drives me back to the lodge, but the true gentleman he is, he opens my door, grabs all my shopping bags, and walks me back to my room.
He nods and greets different residents as we head to the elevator.
“Thank you for today. I really had a wonderful time,” I say when we reach my door.
I open it, he steps and sets the bags down by the door.
“I’m sorry, I—”
He leans in, his lips so close to me, I can almost taste them.
“The day will come when you will say my name, Roxanne.” His gaze drifts to my mouth and then back to my eyes.
“And when you do, we’ll finish what we started tonight because I’m going to pick you up, toss you on my bed, and take … my … time.”
He straightens, that infuriatingly calm confidence back in place, and walks away without another word, leaving me trembling in the silence he leaves behind.