We enter the restaurant through a side entrance. It’s covered with a heavy black awning, shielding us from view. The man in the suit opens the door for me and I step inside Ruma for the very first time.
The lights are dim. Everything is a deep, dark wood with pops of cinnamon and cream and touches of a frosty blue in the decor. Somehow the mixture is exotic and inclusive at the same time.
The entire back wall is lined with floor to ceiling windows that look out across the Pacific Ocean. I could pull up one of the cushioned settees that sit along the walls and watch the waves roll in . . . if Fenton wasn’t waiting on me.
The thought of seeing him again makes me giddy. I scan the room but don’t spot him.
“This way, please,” the maitre d’ says.
I follow the man through a set of inlaid wooden doors and into a smaller room. I don’t see anyone, just a few pieces of furniture, a painting, and an expensive Oriental rug.
My pulse beats wildly, strumming nearly out of control. I’m in way over my head here and I’m starting to feel like I’m in quicksand. I’ve never been to a private dining room before; not even with Presley. But to do it on a first date? With Fenton?
Panic begins to swamp me, the magnitude of the moment hitting me full-on. My steps falter a bit as I step further inside the room.
Fenton is standing in front of the windows that line this room too. One hand is pressed against the glass, the other holding a phone to his ear. He looks in complete control, dominating, and it makes my mouth water.
His charcoal grey suit is stretched across his wide shoulders, his legs shoulder-width apart. It’s the sexiest thing I have ever seen.
Lord help me when he turns around.
The door closes softly behind me. As if in slow motion, Fenton turns. The setting sun is to his back, almost like the universe is showcasing his splendor in case there was any doubt of his perfection.
He slips one hand in his pocket, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I’ll call you later,” he says into the phone and puts it in his pocket too.
All I can do is take him in. He’s doing the same as his gaze caresses me from head to toe. Even from the other side of the room, I can feel him skirting my curves, skimming my jawline. It’s visual intercourse, if that’s even a thing, and I’m ready to climax.
The top button of his shirt is undone, his tie gone. A dark belt wraps his narrow waist, giving him a look of sophistication. His jaw has a spattering of stubble and I wonder what it would feel like beneath my fingers.
The energy in the room crackles as he draws near. My breathing is rapid-firing and I take a deep breath to try to sort it out before he reaches me. I fumble with what to say and what to do. I’m not the smoothest on dates anyway, but with this Adonis? God almighty. I don’t know him well enough to know how to even address him. Come to think of it, I know three things: his name, he’s gorgeous, and he currently holds all the power. And I’m ready to remove all of my clothing. So I guess that makes it four.
“How are you, Brynne?” I hear the words, but can’t help but feel that it’s his eyes that are really doing the talking. He’s focused solely on me. A circus could be performing on the rug across the room and I have a feeling he wouldn’t notice. And neither would I.
“Did you have any problems finding the restaurant?” he asks.
“No problems,” I all but whisper. I can’t find my voice. It’s probably off swooning somewhere right along with the rest of me.
“I was getting worried. You had ten minutes and I was calling you,” he smiles.
“Am I late?”
“Just a little.”
“Did you think I was standing you up?”
A low chuckle rumbles through his chest. “I was more worried something had happened.”
“Well, I’m here,” I blush at the sentiment. “And fine.”
He takes me in again, head-to-toe, his smirk deepening. “And beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I say, trying to look the part of a woman that should be here with him. A supermodel should be standing by him to complete the picture.
He heads to a table that I didn’t notice before. It’s in the corner of the room near a bay window with an unprecedented view of the waterline below. I follow him across the large room and he pulls out my chair and I sit.
The table is a small, dark wooden circle with numerous candles in varied sizes sitting in the center. It’s beautiful and romantic and so elegant that I have to pinch myself to believe it’s for me.
He sits as a knock raps on the door. A few seconds later, two impeccably-dressed servers slip inside. With just a nod, they place heated trays in front of us and fill our glasses with a deep red wine. I watch with amazement at their efficiency. They are almost gone before Fenton calls out.
“I’ll call if we need anything else,” he says.
The one girl turns and looks at Fenton. She does a quick read of his features before nodding. “Yes, sir.” And then they’re gone.
He lifts the lid in front of him and I follow suit. A small cut of steak, a lobster tail, and steamed vegetables are artfully arranged on a plate.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered a variety,” he says.
“It looks fabulous.”
I watch him slice his steak, the way his entire body moves captivating me. He’s so intentional with everything he does. And when he looks up at me, I feel the same intent. He doesn’t just glance at you, he sees you. You know it. You feel it. It’s impossible not to acknowledge it.
I’m caught in the moment and am grateful when he breaks the silence.
“Did you have a good rest of your day?”
“I did,” I say, finding my footing. “Right after I made sure you didn’t tamper with anything in my phone.”
His hands pause mid-air until he realizes I’m joking. “Funny.”
“I wasn’t entirely kidding,” I laugh.
“Brynne, I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. Unless, of course, you wanted me to.”
I gasp. My jaw hangs open for a split second before I can recover.
Fenton grins, a twinkle in his eye. “I’m only teasing. But I will admit to looking at a few of your photographs. It was only so I could identify you. Well, that was the reason at first. And then I realized how beautiful you are.”
“Thank you,” I say, still getting my wits about me. He’s throwing so much my way—compliments, overtones, insinuations—that it’s hard to stay focused. Even in the chaos, I feel a smile stretching across my cheeks. “I suppose I can live with that.”
“You did change your password, right?”
I bite my lip.
“For the love of God, change it. Or just hand it here and I’ll change it for you.” He quirks a brow and I can’t help but giggle.
“I bet you’d love that.”
“I can’t say I’d hate it,” he laughs. “But in all seriousness, do it. You don’t want some random person breaking into your information.”
“Someone random like . . . you?”
“I’m not a random person.” He watches my brows shoot to the ceiling and sighs. “Okay, I am kind of random in this situation. But I’m a responsible, trustworthy man. The world smiled at you when I found it and not some undersexed teenager.”
My cheeks flush and I take a sip of my wine to try to bide myself some time. He watches the glass lift to my lips, my tongue licking the moisture off them as I place the crystal back on the table.
“So,” I say, feeling brave, “It’s safe to assume you aren’t undersexed?”
His lips twitch and I wonder if he’s fighting a smile or a smirk. Either way, I struggle with my own to prevent them from lurching across the table and planting them on his.
“At this moment,” he grins, “I feel a little . . . needy.”
“No one likes a needy man.”
“Is that so?”
I nod, watching him feel me out.
“What do people like?”
“People in the biblical sense? Or people like . . . me?”
My heartbeat pounds so hard that I feel a touch lightheaded. I’m usually not so forward, especially on a first date. But he makes it so easy, so natural, that I fall into step with his banter without even thinking about it.
His features light up, his head cocking to the side. “Let’s go with you.”
“Okay, then,” I say, surprising myself with the confidence in my voice. “What do I like in a man? I’d have to say I’m partial to alpha males that make me laugh. And confidence and intelligence are always, always hot.”
“I’m four for four.”
I laugh. “I’ll agree that you don’t seem to be lacking in confidence.”
His laughter mixes with mine and I love the way it sounds melting together. He notices it, too, because our voices ring out longer than necessary, and when they die out, we both seem to miss it immediately.
“So,” he says, sitting back in his chair and taking a sip of his wine, “what did you do today after you cleared me of wrongdoing?”
“Presley and I looked at some getaways. We’re thinking of going away for a weekend before I go back to school. Someplace fun and relaxed.”
“Those are my favorite places. When I go away, I want to shut down and zone out.”
“Don’t we all,” I sigh. “That’s exactly what I need right now. Just to get away from the craziness in my life and have some fun.”
“Traveling is one of life’s simplest pleasures. I do it as often as I can. It’s in my blood, a nomad’s heart.”
As apprehensive as I was to be alone with him, I’m surprised at how easy things are. He seems to feel it too, because his shoulders aren’t rigid anymore. It’s nice.
“What do you do for work?” I ask, glancing at my food but not yet settled enough to eat.
“I’m in business.”
“I saw that.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “You cyber-stalked me?”
“Of course I did! You really didn’t think I was just going to meet you here, did you?”
“Yeah,” he says in disbelief. “I kind of did. Do you research all your dates?”
I shrug. “If I went on a lot of dates I would.”
Peering at me over the rim of his glass, he decides to press the issue. I fire a warning glance, a look that says that topic is off limits for the moment, and he relents.
“The web didn’t give me much,” I comment, “other than you seem to work a lot in Vegas. Just so you know.”
“I do a lot of different things and much of that is based in Las Vegas. The web told the truth.” He takes another sip of his wine before continuing. “My parents owned companies that I’ve taken over since their passing and consolidated under one big umbrella. They were very different people, so we do a lot of different things.”
“How do you keep it all straight?” I ask, steering away from giving him my condolences on his parents. Something tells me it isn’t a topic he wants to discuss.
“I have people that run the different sectors. And they have managers that run each individual brand beneath them, so I’m not dealing with them on a day-to-day basis. I just look at the reports and make sure we’re hitting benchmarks, working towards our end goals. That kind of thing.”
“I see. You’re everyone’s boss.”
He laughs, the sound stoking the desire growing in my core. The way his Adam’s apple bobs, the animation on his dazzling face, the sound of his smooth voice dancing across the table causes the rest of his words to evaporate into thin air. I can’t concentrate, as much as I want to. All I can do is try not to combust right here in the middle of dinner.
Lord, help me.
“Yes, I’m everyone’s boss,” he says as my ability to pay attention comes back. “I might get that on a plaque for my wall.”
“You should really think about it before you do it. I don’t know how well received it would be by your employees.”
“True,” he grins. “So, enough about me. What do you do? You mentioned you go to school?”
“Yeah,” I say, loving that he paid attention to that little detail. “I want to be a teacher. My grandparents were ministers and it really gave me a desire to help people and kids are my weakness.”
“That’s honorable.”
“It’s where my heart is. My parents wish I’d do something that made more money. And maybe I won’t have a Ferrari in my life, but I’m okay with that, you know?”
His features are soft, the smugness that usually hovers around him is gone. Something about the way he’s looking at me is so intimate, so pure, it makes my skin break out in shivers.
“I do know,” he confesses. “And I love that you know that. So many people get caught up in the materialism of life.”
“But you probably have a Ferrari,” I note, looking at him through my lashes.
“I don’t have a Ferrari. But I could if I wanted one.” He leans back in his chair and watches me. “I have a lot of nice things and I’m grateful for that. I work hard for them. My parents busted their ass for them too.” He taps his chin and searches for words. “Sometimes the things that are the hardest to get aren’t material. They aren’t things you can bust your ass for.”
It’s as if a thick blanket is snuggled around the table, blocking out everything else. Even the waves that I’ve been watching out of the corner of my eye are now forgotten. Something passes between us, some level of understanding that I can’t place but is assuredly there. We sit at the table, watching each other, until he finally breaks the silence.
“You surprise me,” he says, picking up his glass again.
“How’s that?”
“When I first saw your pictures, I expected . . . let’s say I didn’t expect you.”
When I went to pick it up, I certainly didn’t expect you either.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I flush.
“It is most definitely a compliment. You’re quite a woman—smart, gorgeous, witty.”
My cheeks heat at his confession. I’ve been told all of those things before, but never with that sincerity and never from a man like him. I’m not sure there is another man like him. He makes my clothing want to combust without a word, yet when he adds language to the mix, it only makes it better.
“What’s on your finger?” he asks.
I glance at my hand. On the inside of my pointer finger on my right hand is an open heart. Presley has one, too. It’s our ode to the best friend heart necklaces we used to give our friends when we were little girls. One night after a bottle or two of wine, we hired an Uber driver to take us to the tattoo parlor and got them.
“This?” I ask, holding it up for him to see. “It’s a heart.”
“What’s it for?”
“Presley has one, too. It was a random decision late one night. When I look at it, I smile. I think of her and her loyalty and the laughs we share. It’s our thing, you know?”
A dark shadow flitters across his face. I’m intrigued, but don’t ask.
“Presley—she’s your best friend?”
“Yeah, strangely. We don’t really have that much in common, other than we like each other,” I laugh. “Do you have friends like that?”
He shakes his head and sits back in his chair. “No, I don’t. But I like what you just said.”
“What’s that?”
“That all you have in common is that you like each other. I like that.”
“It more poetic than true, really. We both like the beach and we both like vodka,” I laugh.
“All the makings of a true friendship.”
“Definitely. But some days, I really think that’s all we have. She’s never worked a day in her life and never will. Her father owns some big corporation of some sort and they are loaded beyond comprehension. My family isn’t poor by any means, but my parents have always made me have a job. They said it’s character building.”
“I agree. Hard work purifies the soul.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, but I’d rather be purifying my soul teaching and not working for minimum wage at a bookstore.”
“Ah, don’t knock books,” he says, pretending to grimace.
“I’m not knocking books. Just the pay scale.”
He laughs and begins to slice his steak again. “I love to read. Always have. I remember reading The Iliad in fifth grade and never looked back.”
I file that snippet away for later. If there is a later.
I look at him and grin.
Please be a later.
He nods before pulling in his brows. He leans back and pulls his phone out of his pocket. His features tighten and he glances up at me. “I realize how rude this is, but this is a call that I’ve been waiting on for a week. I really need to answer.”
“Go, please . . .”
He stands and jets off to the other side of the room. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I can tell it isn’t a pleasant conversation. His hand runs through his hair, his shoulders stiffening more and more as the conversation goes on. Despite being obviously angry, he’s still hot as hell. Maybe hotter, actually. His body moves so powerfully, so confidently, the suit flexing and moving around his body like it was made for it. Maybe it was.
He slips the phone into his pocket and turns his back to me, pausing for a few long seconds before facing me again. He comes towards the table, the frustration melting into a grin that, in turn, melts me.
“I hate to say this, trust me when I say that, but I have to get to the office. I—”
“It’s okay,” I say, rushing to stand. I smooth my dress down and try to play off my piercing disappointment. I can’t look him in the face for fear he’ll see just how much.
I inhale a deep breath of his musky scent and commit it to memory.
There will not be a later.
“It’s not okay,” he groans. “I’m not happy about this and if there was any way at all I could get around it, I would. But it’s something that requires my immediate attention.”
He tilts his head to study my face. I don’t look away. I just let him see what he wants.
“One of the pleasures of being everyone’s boss?” I ask.
“Something like that.” He bites his lip before releasing it with a flourish. “Are you going away with Presley this week?”
“Not this week. I have to work.”
He takes a deep breath and holds it. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Oh really?”
My stomach twirls with anticipation. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but the glimmer in his eye tells me to hold on tight.
“I have a business trip this week. I’d like you to go with me.”
What?
I furrow my brows, sure I’ve misunderstood him. Yet when I look up, I can see a twinge of uncertainty hidden just beneath the surface.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
His face darkens, the uncertainty gone. “I’d like you to accompany me this week. It would be a few days out of town. I’ll take care of everything. Just join me.”
“I . . . I can’t.”
“Why not?”
I take a large gulp of air and it does nothing to calm my thundering heartbeat. I have no idea why he thinks this is a good idea, but even after spending the last hour or so with him, I still barely know him. Do I like him? Yes. Absolutely. Would I have gone home with him? Again—without a doubt. But out of town? That’s entirely different.
“I really can’t. I have to work,” I say, keeping it simple.
“I’ll double your pay.”
“Fenton—”
“Triple it. Quadruple it.” He steps closer to me, pulling me even more into his realm. “When I saw your picture this morning, there was something in your eyes that reeled me in. Yes, you’re insanely beautiful. And now I know you’re intelligent and funny. But there’s still something behind those blue—or is it green?—eyes that I want to discover.”
He takes another step to me until our bodies are nearly touching. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I’m being obliterated by everything about this man and his proximity. He knows it. He’s using it to his advantage.
“Just come, Brynne,” he says huskily.
“I have to work.”
“I’ll pay you more than you’d make all month to call in sick and go with me.”
His words shock me back to the present. It sounds so cheap. So immoral. So hot, yes, but still.
“Listen, if I didn’t just get that call, you and I both know what would’ve happened after dinner.” His eyelids hood, his lips pressing together in an undeniable smirk. He leans in, his breath glancing my skin. “And you’d’ve loved every fucking second of it. I promise.”
I gasp, more from his bluntness than it being some revelation. Because what he said is true. Or I hope it would’ve been true. I think. Maybe.
Shit.
Heat pools between my legs. I clench my thighs together to try to ease the ache that’s growing out of control. The way he’s looking at me only intensifies the throb—like he’s going to devour me.
Please. Do.
“Am I wrong?” His question is more of a taunt than an actual inquiry. And one that I don’t feel needs answered because it’s pretty self-explanatory by the energy between us right now. I know his cock is hard for me; I saw him adjust it. So of course he isn’t freaking wrong.
“Are you serious right now?” I ask.
“Serious as a heart attack, rudo.”
His fingertips find the side of my face. They lazily draw from my temple down my cheek, across my jaw, and down my neck. My skin feels like it’s on fire, my entire body heated to the point of explosion. He pins me in place with his grey eyes.
“Are you denying it? You think you wouldn’t go home with me tonight? Do you want to pretend you’re not wondering what I’d feel like slipping inside you? Because I know you are. You want me so badly you can’t think of anything else. And right now, my cock is so fucking hard for you I’m tempted to toss you across that chair over there and indulge.”
I gasp.
He snickers.
“Go with me,” he whispers.
“As what? A fuck buddy?”
He watches me carefully, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t think of it like that.”
“But that’s what it is, isn’t it?”
“I despise that term.” He leans back and changes tactics. “Our timing tonight is terrible and I have a trip this week anyway. So why not use it to spend time together.”
If his phone hadn’t rung and the night had played out, I would’ve gone home with him, for free, if he offered. Hell, I’d probably have skipped all the way there. And as I look him in the face, see the desire laced wickedly through the grey specks of his irises, I feel my resolve wane.
“Think of it this way,” he says, taking a different approach. “I’m simply acknowledging your time is valuable and that you’ll be missing work. Your presence is worth it, a commodity, of sorts.”
“So I’m your secretary, for lack of a better word?”
“Sure,” he shrugs. “You’re my employee for the week. Your job is to entertain yourself while I’m working during the day and entertain me when I’m not.”
Every synapse in my brain misfires, wetness pooling between my legs. He watches me try to rein it in, his lips pursed together in a “job well done” sort of way. I can’t even smart something off because I can’t think about anything other than him touching me, kissing me, his cock driving inside me.
“So that’s a yes?”
I want to agree. I desperately want to agree. But as I shake my head, the fog lifts just enough for me to realize the potential problems with this situation . . . and the possibility that I may not be as willing to go away with a stranger when I’m not standing in front of him so keyed up. I have to be smart. As impossible, and stupid, as it seems, I have to say no.
“No, Fenton. That’s a no.”
He steps back, a look of disbelief on his face. “What?”
“I can’t go with you. I’m sorry.”
Turning on my heel, I head to the door. I have to get away, get some air, before I succumb to him. I’m just a hairbreadth away now. One touch from him and I’ll be a goner, agreeing to everything he says, complying with everything he asks.
My hand is on the door when his voice rings through the air. “Brynne?”
“Yeah?”
“When you change your mind, call me.”