Jordan took the white napkin from the place setting and folded it across her lap. Had Brandon really pulled out her chair? Then she backtracked . . . he’d also opened car doors, the restaurant door, and offered to assist her out of his car. There had to be two sides to this man, because the one sitting across from her was not the same as the one she’d met a few days ago.
“Would you like something to drink while you look over the menu?” the waiter asked.
“Water, please,” Jordan said, looking up.
Eyes still glued to Jordan, Brandon said, “The same for me.”
As soon as the waiter walked away, she addressed Brandon’s intense gaze. “Do I even want to know what you’re thinking?”
He smiled, and the lighting accentuated the gleam in his green eyes. Why does he have to be so attractive?
“Just wondering if you had any suggestions.”
She picked up the menu, but there was no way she could think straight under his scrutiny. “It’s my first time here. I was wondering the same thing.”
“Right. How about we start with champagne?”
She smiled and set the menu down. “Champagne? What are we celebrating?”
“Health, strength, and new friendships, but mainly you coming out with me tonight. Thank you for that.”
Feeling shy, she lowered her gaze. It had been a while since she’d dated—only this wasn’t a date. But why would he be so kind if it wasn’t a date? He had to be pretending, trying to gain her acceptance.
“You’re welcome, and champagne sounds good.”
Brandon signaled the waiter, and within minutes, Jordan was consuming champagne like she was on a mission to get drunk. And since she wasn’t a huge drinker, the whole thing made no sense. Was she that nervous about getting to know Brandon?
“How long have you lived in Santa Clarita?” he asked.
“Since I was fifteen. That’s about . . .” She inhaled deeply, the rise of her chest causing her breasts to push against the low neckline of her dress. “Eleven—twelve years.”
A sly grin formed on his lips. “You realize you just told me your age, right?”
Picking up the champagne flute, she asked, “Is that funny?”
“Not at all. It’s just, most women lie about their age. Some want to be younger, some older, some don’t mention it at all.”
“It’s not something I’m ashamed of. It’s a simple reminder that I no longer have to listen to anyone but myself,” Jordan explained.
“I take it you’re single, as well.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, for one, your mom sort of pointed it out. And two, you said you don’t have to listen to anyone. Three, there’s no way a man would let his woman go to dinner with a guy like me, dressed like that.” Brandon pointed to her.
“Okay, Mr. Cocky, I’m going to take that as a compliment, and yes, I guess you’re right. I am single, but that’s only if you don’t hit on me.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “And if I do hit on you?”
“I’m in a serious relationship with Tony, and we are very happy together.” When he looked at her with wide eyes, she beamed. It sounded crazy now that she’d said it aloud, but she continued. “I’m very satisfied with him.” Now Tony sounded like her dildo. She supposed it was about time that she named the thing. She folded her lips, hoping he didn’t ask if Tony resided inside her nightstand. She didn’t know him well, but from what she’d gathered so far, it seemed like a very Brandon thing to say.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
She swallowed. “Nothing.”
“I have an idea, but I won’t be the one to say it.”
“Good. We can move on to the next topic then.”
Brandon grinned. “What are you having? I suggest we do the six-course Chef’s Signature Tasting Menu.”
After she nodded her agreement, Brandon placed the order, and she made the waiter aware of her allergy to nuts. She’d forgotten her epinephrine, and she didn’t want a premature ending to the night, because to her surprise, the night was actually going well.
“Are you sure you’re ready to do this with me?” Brandon goaded. “It’s a lot of food. Basically grown-man things.”
“Is that so? Then why are you having it?”
He laughed. “Oh, look who has jokes now.”
He looked at her over the rim of his glass as he drank. “If I had known you had dimples the first day I met you, I would have stayed and bothered you much longer. And I know we agreed to move on from Tony, but if he wants to stop me from pursuing you, he should know he’s no match for me—in any shape or form.”
His words stirred a deep longing, causing her cheeks and body to flame.
Then he continued as if he hadn’t noticed the fire he lit in her. “So where did you live before age fifteen?”
Raising her champagne glass, she welcomed the cool fizziness hitting her tongue and sliding to the back of her throat. “Nebraska. In a small town.”
“Really? I would never have known. Are you more of a country girl, or do you prefer the city?”
“The city. A fast-paced lifestyle soothes me. But I like Nebraska. I go there sometimes, mostly to relax and unwind. It’s small and welcoming. Christmas is never the same unless I’m there. My grandparents still live there.”
“I suppose you’re going this year? What do you like about a smaller town?”
Her gut tightened at the genuine interest he seemed to have in her. “Definitely going. I haven’t seen my grammy in two years. And I like that everyone looks out for each other. It’s pure. It’s not about what you own. You know, like, who has the biggest house, or the most expensive car. It’s . . . humbling.”
Brandon chewed his lip as the waiter placed the first course of their meal in front of them. Now she was the one admiring him. He wasn’t wearing a tie, and the top few buttons of the white dress shirt beneath his three-piece suit remained open.
“You should eat. It’s not the same when it’s cold,” he said, giving her a mischievous smile. “You call her Grammy?”
“Yeah, so?”
“How old are you again?”
She glared at him. “Whatever. What do you call your grandmother?”
“Mrs. Kuvat.”
“No, you don’t. Liar.” Since her appetite was missing, she sipped from her glass. She should have been starving; her last meal had been more than seven hours ago. “How old are you, by the way?”
“Thirty, and no, I’m not looking for a baby mama.” He flashed her a sexy grin, and her stomach knotted. “It’s a joke, but you’d be surprised.”
She wasn’t surprised. Brandon did seem like the kind of guy girls go for, and she was finding that she also really liked him. Two glasses of champagne and her control was dissipating.
“Well, don’t be surprised when I say you’d be the last person I’d make father of my child. As I said, you’re not my type.”
She’d been lying—to herself and him—all night. He was her type in every way; that’s what scared her the most, but he didn’t need to know that.
“If women really make offers like that, why don’t you have any kids?” she asked. “You’re thirty years old. You should have at least three by now.”
He grimaced. “Many women have offered to have my child—or worse, poked holes in condoms. Seriously, it’s crazy. My sex life has lost excitement because I’m always trying to protect my—oh, sorry. Going in the wrong direction with this.” He chuckled. “Do you have kids?”
Jordan shook her head. Something told her he wasn’t your average Joe.
“I’m a busy guy, and a woman has never held my interest long enough to start that kind of relationship,” he continued. “After . . .” He dropped his head and shook it after a moment. “I mean, I never wanted to. When I have kids, I want to be ready. I need to be able to watch their every move and make sure they don’t have the freedom to possibly turn out like me.” He drank the rest of the champagne in his glass and summoned the waiter.
She smiled to lessen the tension as she sensed a change in his mood. Were kids a touchy topic or something? “So you’re going to be one of those strict dads?”
Brandon nodded. “Yup, I’m going to be their father, friend, teacher, and bodyguard. Whatever it takes to keep them away from these bad kids on the streets—me being a prime example.”
Jordan giggled. “Wow, you’re serious. Did you turn out that bad?”
With a smirk, he said, “A decent woman doesn’t want a guy with commitment issues—like you, for example. So even though I’ve been living a promiscuous lifestyle, my kids will have an unsoiled reputation. No sex until eighteen.” He held up a finger. “Sorry, I said the S-word. But yeah, if it’s a girl, thirty.”
Oddly touched by his admission, Jordan waved off his apology. Sex with a stranger wasn’t up her alley, and neither were one-night stands or casual sex. There was no hope for this to be anything but dinner. He’d just clarified that for her. But her main question was to herself: When had she started thinking she wanted it to be more?
“What you’re saying is impossible,” she told him. “Kids rebel against rules.”
“Ten years from now, I’ll create a tracking device used in the body.” His face lit up. Apparently, he thought he was on to something. “It will have sensors that can be programmed, and also a lie detector, to notify when a lie is being told or the person isn’t where they’re supposed to be, so parents won’t have to worry. It’s perfect, and it’s going to be a success. Just wait for it.”
“That’s so silly. I need to warn you, you’re not giving a very good second impression,” Jordan said, taking a drink.
“Sorry if I sound strange, ranting away. I’m not usually this open when I go on dates. But then, this isn’t a date so . . . I don’t have to waste time being charming and impressive. It’s kind of great, actually!” He laughed.
Shit, he wasn’t pretending, and she guessed he didn’t know how charming his honesty made him. “You’re like a twelve year old stuck inside of a thirty year old, you know that?”
He raised his eyebrows. “That’s probably why I still look like I’m twenty, and you, well . . .”
“I hope you get someone pregnant,” Jordan retorted.
“Ah, blasphemy! Knock on wood, woman.” He set his fork down and gave her his full attention. “That is just mean. You know, I think you know enough about me. Matter of fact, too much. Let’s hear about the excitement that goes on in Ms. Jordan’s world, starting with why you’re consuming more champagne than food.”
“Oh crap, that’s three whole glasses. It’s no wonder I was feeling so at ease with you.” Jordan eyed her empty glass as if the contents had been poured down her throat against her will.
“Uh, hello, my great conversational skills?” Brandon chuckled. “But really, you should eat a bit more. We’re on the fifth course, and you’ve only been picking bits out of each one so far. You know what happens when a lady gets tipsy from more champagne than food. I’d rather you hit on me while you’re sober, just saying.”
“You wish.” She felt a wide smile on her face, along with the rising need to have him. He was the first person in years she’d considered being with. But it couldn’t happen, not after all he’d revealed. He was bad for her.
“Come on, tell me about you. Who’s this woman sitting across from me?”
“I’d much rather talk about you. I need enough dirt to roast you if you ever disrespect me again,” she said, eating a bite and setting her fork on the plate.
“Roast me? Are you the type?” he asked, calling the waiter over. “You don’t look it. Let’s see. Tell me if I’m right or wrong. You live for your career.”
She nodded. She had a goal, and she wouldn’t stop until she fulfilled it. “It makes me independent, and I love what I do.”
“Your list of friends doesn’t go much further than the two girls I saw you with yesterday.”
“I like friends who aren’t fake. I mean, I do have other friends, like the people I work with.”
“Would you like a refill also, miss?” the waiter offered, holding the bottle above her glass.
“No, thank you.”
“Yes, fill her up,” Brandon interceded. “Don’t—” he added, stopping her before she could object further by covering her hand on the table with his.
It was a friendly gesture to get her attention, but also a warm and soothing distraction. Her throat dried and butterflies swarmed her lower abdomen—yet another reason not to have more to drink.
“I think I’m on a roll here,” he said. “So, if your friends consist of those two women, to you, that means you’re committed to your career and have trust issues. To me, it sounds like your life is boring. And the worst part is, I think you may like it that way. Conclusion, you’d never roast me. You wouldn’t dare; it’s not in you. It would mean you’d have to step outside of your bubble.”
His voice was raw and dangerous. And she couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or insightful, maybe a bit of both.
“That’s very kind of you to observe, but you don’t know me.”
“I think I do,” he taunted. “To be honest, I’m surprised you’re even here with me.”
Brandon, the first man she’d decided to have a casual dinner with since Todd, was purposefully trying to push her buttons. How absurd. Todd had done the same thing. Was that her type? Handsome men who had the power to make innocent hearts drown in tears?
He was right. Why was she here? Had she not learned?
The horrid person Todd turned into after drinking flashed before her eyes. Her time with him would haunt her for the rest of her life. She’d tried so hard to forget, but thoughts of their relationship were always at the edge of her mind, eating at her from the inside out.
“Artesian, I’m trying to help you,” he said. “Can’t you see that? I love you like no one else. This is a waste of time. Is this what you really want to do when we get married? Sit at home and draw? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Todd, please, you’re drunk,” she cried, trying to pull the sketches she worked on for years away from him as he staggered with them to the fireplace. Her entire vision—
“Jordan,” Brandon said. “Are you okay?”
Emotion flooded her eyes, and she couldn’t look at him. She shouldn’t have accepted his offer of an alleged “hang out and get to know me” dinner. She wasn’t ready.
“Excuse me,” Jordan muttered before rushing to the bathroom. She looked in the large mirror above the sinks and realized a tear had escaped. She pulled a tissue from a box on the counter and dabbed at the line beneath her eye. Brandon couldn’t see her like this.
After a few long breaths to calm herself, she walked back to their table. Dinner would soon be over. Next time, she would listen to her instincts when they told her to stay away from guys, especially the ones like Brandon, who was starting to remind her of Todd.
She seated herself without making eye contact and took a drink to calm her nerves. Then she picked up where they’d left off. “It makes life easy, organized . . . less painful. That’s why I live this way, and I won’t apologize for it.”
Pushing his plate to the center, Brandon crossed his hands on the table and leaned forward. “You don’t have to apologize for your choices, and I’m not asking you to. You’re right. I don’t know you, and I don’t know your past. But I can tell it has something to do with how you live your life now. You’re hiding to prevent something from happening again, but that’s inhibiting you from moving on. You’re putting off the opportunity to have new people in your life who are surprisingly interesting and trustworthy. Like this guy,” he said, cocking his head and pointing his thumbs toward himself.
Brandon didn’t know her, yet his advice hit home. The asshole was right. Again.
Jordan sighed, circling her index finger around the top of her flute, wondering if it was a good idea to finish it. “What, are you a psychiatrist now?”
“No. The same asshole. I won’t lead you on, Jordan, because—I don’t know.” He let out a breath and shook his head. “You’re beautiful, and I want you to be happy. I like watching you smile, and I also know I won’t be the guy you end up with. But after talking to you tonight, I’d still like to have you around.”
For whatever reason, a strong connection was forming between them, and after that last comment, Jordan found herself re-evaluating him. Now she wondered if he was someone who should be in her life. Brandon’s candor made him sincere, and that was probably what she needed. Who said they had to date? They could be friends, like she and Richie were. She wouldn’t even know how to handle a man like Brandon romantically, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to learn, not when she’d be vying for his attention on the regular.
He tossed an impish glance her way, and her body heated. She was too attracted to him. Friendship would never work.
“I think you need something sweet to balance things out. I’ll take you home right after dessert?” Brandon proposed, checking his watch. “Whoa, you’ve survived an entire two hours with me. Impressive. Actually, I’m more impressed with myself. I’ve been a good boy, haven’t I?”
Jordan rolled her eyes but smiled. “I’m not going to stroke your ego; it’s big enough.”
With a dark gleam in his eyes, he assessed her, and she wanted to melt into the chair. She didn’t know when it had happened, but Brandon had taken control of her emotions. And they were bringing about a sexual urge so strong, her mind was coaxing her into thinking it would be okay if she had this one night with him. It would be okay if she traced all the muscles beneath his clothes with the tips of her fingers, okay if she gave herself to him. She wriggled in her seat.
Shit, he was right about wanting to flirt after drinking. How did he know? Was he having the same feelings? Or worse, he’d experienced it before with other girls who’d been all over him after just one dinner and champagne.
Am I just one of those girls, unable to resist the charming Brandon Kuvat?
Holding his gaze, she let herself feel the attraction she’d been trying to squelch with the devious bubbly. Was that why she’d drank so much? She was always the babysitter when she went out with her girlfriends, not the one who needed to be babysat.
Jordan brought her glass of water to her mouth when she realized she must have been staring at him for who knows how long—and possibly like he was dessert.
“How do you feel?” he asked, his eyes piercing. “You seem . . . distracted.”
“I’m fine.” Her cheeks scorched as she looked down at her mostly untouched food.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
Is Brandon being bossy? How adorable. Well, you’ve met your match, Kuvat. I’ll have you for breakfast . . . I could have him for breakfast. He’s so hot. I bet he tastes . . . Oh, shit. She tried to pull herself together, but when she looked at him, she couldn’t stop grinning.
He shook his head in disbelief. “Excuse my French, but you are so fucked up right now.”
Jordan rested an elbow on the table and set her chin in her palm. “I’m not. I’m good.” She giggled, biting her lip. “I swear.”
He held up a spoon. “Okay, prove it to me. Take this spoon from my hand.”
It was a simple task, but when she reached to grab the spoon, he shifted it to the side. Without thought, she reached for it again, whacking her glass of champagne. He was either super fast, or her brain was processing things super slowly, because he managed to stop the glass before it spilled.
“Proven.”
“No, you cheated,” she argued.
He laughed. “No, I didn’t. You were so focused on grabbing the spoon, you forgot the glass was there. Now I’m sure there’s something about drinking and judgment somewhere . . .”
“No, you tricked me.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe it was my way of knowing whether you’re drunk enough to tell me all the dirty details about my new friend, Jordan. The ones I know she’s hiding.” Brandon thanked the waiter as he removed their dinner plates and replaced them with dessert. “May I have the check, please?”
“Yes, sir, and please let me know if you need anything else,” the waiter said, looking at Jordan.
Jordan smiled as the waiter walked away. “I love chocolate, but right now it looks sickening.”
“Do you feel nauseous?”
“No. Just constrained. I need to move. Walk it off.”
“We will as soon as I pay, but you need to put something else in your stomach.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“Who’s the twelve year old now?” He laughed, scooping a piece of the ice-cream dessert from the plate and lifting it to her mouth.
She shook her head. “No. What are you doing?”
“Come on, or I’ll do the choo-choo train.” He grinned.
“You wouldn’t,” she said, getting her poise back in fear of the impending embarrassment.
He raised an eyebrow in challenge, and she forced herself to consume the bite. But soon after, she pulled out her cell phone. When had she become this irresponsible? She was beyond tipsy with a stranger. What was she thinking?
“Who are you calling?” he asked, watching her put the phone to her ear.
“Someone I trust, who is not a stranger. No offense.”
“What?” Brandon asked, a hurt expression on his face. “Why?”
“Adrianna, are you busy?”
“Maybe, why?”
“I’m out, and I drank too much. I think you should come get me.”
“Who are you with and where?” Adrianna asked.
“Brandon, and a restaurant.”
“Seriously? You never drink enough to get drunk. Anyway, if you’re with Brandon, you’re overreacting. Let me talk to him.”
“What? No, you can’t talk to him.” Brandon reached for the phone, and she pushed his hand away. “Adrianna—”
“Hey,” Brandon said after retrieving the phone. “No, I have it under control. I don’t know why she called you . . . I see . . . She is completely safe, I promise you . . . No, I don’t want that to happen to me . . . Okay, got it.” He handed the phone back to Jordan.
“Is she coming to get me?” Jordan asked, drinking more water.
“No. I’m not a complete douche, Jordan. I would never take advantage of you. And if you think I would, I’m highly offended. I won’t touch you at all unless you’re falling over or something. You have my word.”
“This is Los Angeles; anything is possible.” She shrugged. “And you’re still kind of a stranger. I’m just trying to be safe.”
“You’re safe with me, I promise. Also, Adrianna said you were a lightweight when it came to drinking, so why would you knowingly do that to yourself?” His probing gaze caused Jordan to pick up the spoon and toy with the tartufo on her plate.
Because I like you. No, no, no.
I can’t—he can’t—shit. Calm down, Jordan. It’s not like he can read your mind.