Chapter Seven
An aphrodisiac couldn’t hurt?
Lord. McKenna would bet her right shoe—which was a Jimmy Choo, and therefore something that would have to be pried out of her cold, dead hands—that an aphrodisiac would bloody well hurt right now.
The last thing she needed was to be any more infatuated with this complicated, sexy man. The man who called her eyelashes “fringy things” and was concerned about her walking in the cold and who talked about his family like they were the most precious things in the world. All in the fewest words possible.
Not to mention he’d worn a charcoal suit to dinner with an open-collared white shirt and had clearly done something to his wavy blond hair. Hot. As. Freaking. Hell.
And the man wanted to make her eat something that was going to chemically charge her brain into thinking even more about sex? Risky. But what could she say? If she said no without explanation he might wonder why…might suspect that she had a thing for him, which would make it awkward. Or she could claim a shellfish allergy? Oysters came in shells…but were they classed as shellfish for allergy purposes? Also risky.
And, if she claimed to be grossed out by what was essentially snot from the sea…well, that would make her look unworldly. At least, that’s what her father had said the one time she’d turned her nose up at them.
“Oysters sound great,” she said. Did her voice sound a little squeakier than usual?
Get it together, Prescott. Operation Self-Love is full steam ahead.
At this rate, between Beckett and the oysters, Mr. Whopper was going to get lucky tonight. Operation Self-Love, indeed.
The waiter arrived to take their order, and Beckett motioned for McKenna to go first. When the waiter asked her if she wanted the oysters au natural—their specialty—she agreed. Why not? If she was going to jump in with two feet, then she might as well jump off the highest cliff.
Wait? That wasn’t a good thing, was it?
“So…” She toyed with the fancy cutlery, grappling for something to help her focus. “Tell me more about Sherri.”
Getting him talking about the girl of his dreams should stop her crazy abstinence-induced lust. Nothing like hearing about the woman who’d snagged a guy like Beckett to make her lady parts shut the hell up.
“What do you want to know?” he asked. His expression was guarded, and his light eyes were like Fort Knox.
“Anything.” She shrugged. “How did you meet?”
“At a bar.” He reached for his wine.
God. It was like pulling teeth. “Why were you at the bar?”
“I was there after an investor dropped out of a project.” He let out a small, sharp laugh. “Drowning my sorrows.”
“And in walked the girl of your dreams,” McKenna added.
A little flurry of jealousy zipped up her throat—she remembered exactly what Sherri looked like. Blond. Polished. Classy. Not an errant sequin or speck of glitter to be found. Why did guys always want someone like that? Someone who was the opposite of McKenna?
Beckett raised a brow. “I don’t know if she walked in at that exact moment.”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean literally that second.”
“I’m a literal guy.” A smile quirked on his lips as the oysters arrived at their table.
“You don’t say.” She shook her head. “I think I’ve met instruction manuals who were less literal than you.”
“And how did you meet them?” he teased. “In a bar?”
“Very funny.” She picked up the tiny fork that accompanied their first course and pointed it at him. “You shouldn’t be mocking your date judge.”
“You’re a judge now?” His eyes flicked over her in a way that was somehow both deeply assessing and pleasurable. “I thought you were here to help me.”
“We’re here to help each other,” she corrected, eyeing the oysters like they were some kind of foreign species.
Dammit. Why had she agreed to eat these slimy things?
“Something wrong with the food?” Beckett asked.
“They’re just kind of…ugly.” She cocked her head. “I’ve made zombies that were better looking than those things.”
And of course, by zombies, she was referring to the special effects kind she’d mastered during her makeup certificate. Not the real kind. That would pose a whole new set of problems.
Beckett chuckled, the sound warming her on in the inside like a good Scotch down the back of her throat. “Speaking of which,” he said, reaching for an oyster. “Kayla mentioned she’s free next week and would love to meet you. I think she’s going to email you her details tomorrow.”
McKenna breathed a tiny sigh of relief. “Excellent.”
Now all she had to do was wow Beckett’s sister. No biggie. Most brides wanted the same thing—for you to spend an hour doing their makeup so it looked like they were wearing nothing at all.
She understood the reasoning, but it was so not her style. Give her rhinestone-studded false eyelashes any day of the week. When McKenna eventually found the right man, she was going to wear the biggest false lashes anyone had ever seen. If she didn’t send a breeze through the church every time she blinked then they wouldn’t be big enough.
“They’re not going to bite,” Beckett said, nodding to the oysters.
Right. Snotty fish time. “I’m mentally preparing myself.” She reached for a shell and held it over the plate toward Beckett. “Cheers.”
He clinked his oyster shell against hers with an amused smile. Then he reached for the little fork. Without trying to give away that she had absolutely no idea how to eat an oyster, she pretended to inspect it. That’s what people did with wine, right? See. Sniff. Swirl? Dammit, she should have paid more attention at those shitty upper-crust events her mother and father had dragged her to when she was younger.
She picked up the little fork and watched as he used his to loosen the oyster from the shell. Right, so the little buggers were attached. Then he lifted the shell to his mouth and let the oyster slide in. He chewed a little and swallowed, the muscles in his throat working in a way that had her mouth running dry.
How did he make this look so freaking sexy?
When his eyes caught hers, making her feel shivery all over, she quickly brought the fork to her oyster. She gave the oyster a wiggle, but it didn’t seem to come loose. Beckett’s gaze was on her, she could feel the weight of it. Like all those times her parents’ rich, snobby friends had watched her fumble with which damn fork was the salad fork…as if salad was so important it needed its own special damn fork.
Stupid freaking salad.
She jabbed the oyster and let out a gasp as the fork glanced off the shell and landed in the soft squishy park of her other hand—the one holding the shell—between the thumb and forefinger. For a moment there was nothing, then pain snapped and red started to ooze out of her skin.
“Oh my God.” Her breathing came in rapid gasps as she pulled the fork back. The cut didn’t look big at all, but a thin rivulet of blood ran down her palm. A pulsing sting echoed through her body, embarrassment mixing with the pain.
“Did you just…?” Beckett leaned forward, his eyes widening. “Shit.”
He grabbed the linen napkin from his lap and wadded it up, coming around the side of the table to press it against her hand to stem the bleeding. How in the hell did she manage to make herself look like such an idiot? She told the guy to take her on a date, and what did she do? She bloody stabbed herself.
Like a moron.
“Are you okay?” Beckett was suddenly close—too close—his aftershave and the wine on his lips invading her nostrils. The warm touch of his hand holding the napkin over her sending heat flaring through her body.
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.
People were starting to look at them. A waiter was making his way over, brows creased, as more people turned to look. It was just like that time she knocked over the Baccarat vase at a charity event. She could practically feel the scorn clawing at her skin.
Who the hell buys a five-thousand-dollar vase anyway?
“McKenna?” Beckett frowned. “You’re breathing really funny. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” The words barely came out.
“Miss?” The waiter was suddenly at their table. “Is everything okay.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated.
“We had an incident with the oyster fork,” Beckett said.
We. Like they were in it together. God, she could only imagine what Gage would have done. If he hadn’t laughed at her, he probably would have left her to deal with it on her own. But Beckett was here, still touching her. Still comforting her with his free hand resting at her back.
“Here, let’s have a look,” Beckett said.
“Wait—” she protested, but he was already pulling the napkin back and blood rushed from the small wound.
It was so red. So very red.
“Oh no.” Her vision swam.
Then it went dark.
McKenna blinked, golden dots flashing in her vision. No, they weren’t dots. They were light-fittings. Groaning, she pushed up into a sitting position.
“Careful.” Beckett stern tone made her wince, but he eased her up.
“What happened?” Her voice was groggy. Her brain scrambled to try and put the pieces together.
“You were out for a second.” His blue eyes searched her face, brows knitted above his perfect nose. “Just long enough for me to carry you out here.”
“Where are we?” It looked similar to the restaurant but they were in a small room with an empty table. She appeared to be lying on a couch.
“We’re still at Tide Pool. Thankfully their private dining suite wasn’t booked tonight.” He sat stiffly beside her, looking as though he wanted to say more—or do more—but wasn’t sure how to proceed. “They’re calling an ambulance.”
“What? No!” She shook her head. “Oh God, this is so embarrassing. I don’t need an ambulance.”
The pulsing started up in her hand again. The linen napkin was now mottled with red and pink, but the bleeding appeared to have stopped. She swayed a little and wrenched her eyes away.
“I just…get woozy at the sight of blood.” She cringed. “Funny how I could make the grossest flesh-eating monster in my SFX class at makeup school and be totally fine, but at the tiniest drop of real blood…boom. Out like a light.”
His lip twitched, and she couldn’t tell if it was a smile or something else. “I’m glad I was standing next to you. You went down fast.”
Ordinarily that would have been a perfect “that’s what she said” opportunity, but McKenna was too mortified to make jokes. “Can you please tell them not to call the ambulance? I’m fine, honestly.”
“You sure?” He checked her face, though she wasn’t sure what he was looking for since he wasn’t a doctor.
“I am. I’ll even go to see my mother tomorrow so she can check out my hand, okay? I have her on speed dial if anything happens.”
“Okay,” he said reluctantly, as he pushed up from the chair. “Do you want to go back in and finish our dinner?”
And walk past all those people who probably thought she was a freak who didn’t even know how to use her silverware? No, thank you. She shook her head.
“Don’t go anywhere, okay?” he said. “I’ll be back.”
…
Beckett thanked the Tide Pool manager with a brusque shake of the hand as he settled the bill. Or rather, as he tried to settle the bill. The manager insisted that what little food they’d eaten be comped, so that Beckett and McKenna would return for another romantic dinner in the future. Beckett didn’t bother to correct the man that there wasn’t supposed to be anything romantic about his date with McKenna. In theory, anyway.
She’d seemed more embarrassed than hurt, which was fine by him. Better that her ego be a little bruised than anything be wrong with her physically. The second she’d slumped against him, his heart had leaped into his mouth and he’d rushed to hide her away from those gawking eyes. People were animals when it came to that stuff—couldn’t they mind their own business instead of ogling some poor woman who’d fainted?
That moment on the couch—when her eyes had still been closed and her lips parted—something had struck him in the chest. He cared about her, in some way. He was worried for this quirky, sparkly, funny woman who was basically a stranger. Well, maybe not a stranger…but he didn’t really know her.
Shaking off the weird thoughts, Beckett pushed open the door to the private dining area. McKenna was sitting up, her blue eyes looking more alert than a few moments ago. She also appeared to have cleaned up her hand in the private bathroom there. The napkin was gone, and so was the blood.
“Do we have to amputate?” he asked with a mock serious tone.
She rolled her eyes, but a smile pulled at her lips. “It’s touch and go. I’ll have to keep an eye on it.”
He held out her coat, which he’d collected from the manager. “How about we get some fresh air?”
She nodded. “Good idea.”
She let him help her into the coat, slipping one arm into each sleeve. Against his better judgment, he swept her hair out from the collar. It was silky and thick, the purple ends glistening like magic under the intimate lighting. That was McKenna in a nutshell: magic. Otherworldly.
Like she’d been born in another realm and had been dropped off on Earth by mistake.
He smoothed his hands over her shoulders and she turned, blinking up at him with those big blue eyes, those fringy mink lash things making her look like a doll. A perfect porcelain doll. Something glittered on her eyelids. Black and sparkly like the sky at night. Smudgy. And, God, sexy as anything.
McKenna’s breath hitched. “Gee, it’s, uh, warm in here.”
“Yes.” He couldn’t seem to say anything else.
“We should go outside now.”
He didn’t want to. Right then, he wanted nothing more than to lean forward and press his lips to hers. To see if she tasted like sprinkles and cupcake icing. To see if it would be as all-consuming as he suspected.
“After you,” he said stiffly, pulling himself away and shrugging into his own coat.
Her heels clicked quick and sharp across the floorboards as she all but ran from the room. Christ. What was he doing acting like he wanted something with her? They were here so he could get his ex back. The woman he wanted to marry.
He followed her outside and shoved his hands into his pockets. It was a typical Melbourne winter night—a damp chill on the air, drizzling rain that would relentlessly soak through your coat without you noticing it. The Southbank boulevard gleamed with moisture and a dark river reflected the glittering city lights.
Beckett popped his umbrella. It was one of those small travel-sized ones that folded up small enough to fit into the deep pockets at his hip.
“You really do think of everything, don’t you?” McKenna immediately stepped closer to him, sheltering herself. “I bet you were a boy scout.”
“Briefly,” he replied.
They stood aimlessly at the edge of the river, watching one of the night cruise boats floating along. Most of the guests were inside, save for a brave soul who stood with an umbrella in one hand and a drink in the other.
“Sounds like there’s a story there,” she said.
“Not really.” He smiled at a memory. “I just preferred LAN parties over camping.”
“LAN parties. Like those geek meet-ups where you all hooked your computers up and played games overnight.” She looked up at him. “Or what was it called when you would take the contents of someone’s computer? Leeching?”
Beckett raised a brow. Now that was not something he expected her to know. “Are you a secret nerd, McKenna?”
“Uh, no. But my brother Jason used to go to them all the time. I think that’s how he used to get his porn.” She wrinkled her nose. “He hosted a small one years back while my parents were at some gala dinner. I snuck down to see what they were doing…”
“And?”
“I saw a lot of boobs and things getting blown up. Can’t say I was too keen to ever get involved after that.”
Beckett nodded. “Ours were mostly friends playing multiplayer first-person shooters like Counter-Strike. Highly nerdy and unattractive, I can assure you.”
She grinned. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Hand-eye coordination is a valuable skill to have.”
Something about the way she said it made him think she wasn’t referring to video games. McKenna’s cheeks were flushed pink and she gave a little shiver next to him.
“You’re cold,” he said, frowning.
She raised a brow. “You asking or telling?”
“You’re shivering.”
“Ah, telling. Got it.” Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “This is going to sound terrible since I just abandoned our dinner but…”
“You’re hungry.”
“Getting real good at anticipating my feelings, aren’t you?” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “I’m sorry I ruined the fancy dinner.”
“It’s okay. It was only a fake date, anyway.” He bumped her with his elbow. “Come on. This way.”