by Nikki Groom
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 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 decides after our chat that he doesn’t want to take me out? 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.”
“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. 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 sûr, 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 do you have any 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. “Spike.”
“Spike? Spike is your brother?”
“Yeah.” He frowns “you didn’t see that?”
“Clearly not,” I say sarcastically. “So your mom named him Spike King?” I try to hold in my laughter.
“You’re funny,” 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. Don’t get me wrong, 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 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.”
Over lunch, our conversation is light and easy. Denham makes me smile and he’s very affectionate with little touches here and there that make my whole body hum. The wine he ordered to drink with our meal is going down very well, and before I know it we’re finishing the bottle. Well, I mean, I think I’ve finished nearly an entire bottle. Come to think of it, Denham still has half a glass and I’m sure it’s the same half he started with.
I’m feeling fuzzy around the edges, so I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. As I straighten myself out and reapply my lipstick, I decide I’m only going to have water from here on in, hoping the fresh air will do me good when we leave. I can’t remember the last time I was tipsy like this; I’ve kept control of myself and my sensibility for so long, yet I didn’t even notice I’d let that guard slip.
When I return to the table I see that Denham has ordered a dessert for two. Ever the gentleman, he stands before I’m seated. “Everything okay?” He frowns and holds a hand out for me to take.
I smile wide and nod. “Yes, I just … I didn’t realize how much wine I had drunk ...” I look away, feeling a little ashamed.
“And that’s a problem because …?” He bends his knees until his eyes are level with mine.
“I don’t want you to think I make a habit of this,” I whisper.
“A habit of what Ari?” He laughs.
“You know … getting drunk on a first date. I mean, I’m not drunk, just a little tipsy, but it’s the first, first date I’ve been on since … well, since …”
“Arianna …” He says my voice so softly but it still stops my train of thought.
“Yes …” My voice is just as quiet only it feels small.
His lips meet mine, gently at first but then with more pressure as he moves into me. The rest of the world falls away and as far as I’m concerned we’re standing alone at the top of the Eiffel Tower. When Denham breaks away, reality comes screaming back to me as the rest of the diners start to cheer and whistle at our very public display.
How does he do that? He makes me feel like we’re the only people in the world. I’ve never been one for public displays of affection, mainly because Jonny used to use them to pretend to the world how happy we were. But Denham isn’t Jonny, he’s the polar opposite. I might be so embarrassed that I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it. I quite like the fact that Denham isn’t afraid to show all these people how he feels toward me. It’s a genuine gesture.
He’s everything I’ve never had and all I could possibly want.
“You ready for dessert?” he asks with a smirk.
I nod and take my seat. There is one glass bowl placed in the middle of the table filled with what looks like chocolate sundae and my mouth starts to water just looking at it.
Denham scoops some onto a spoon and looks at me expectantly. “Open ...”
“What?”
“Open your mouth, Ari, and close your eyes.”
“I ...” I’m lost for words again.
“Please,” he asks hopefully.
And just like that, my eyes close at his gentle request. It feels weird to close my eyes in the middle of the restaurant and not know what to expect or when to expect it. It’s another test of my trust to a degree, albeit a small one. I make true to my promise not to open my eyes, but the sounds around me have my senses on high alert.
“Keep your eyes shut,” he orders in a soft, husky tone.
The first touch of the cold ice cream makes me shiver. He sweeps my lower lip, wetting it just enough that my tongue instinctively moves to taste it. The sound of a low growl from Denham confirms that it isn’t just me enjoying this. He moves the spoon from one side of my lip to the other before gently allowing the sweet ice cream to slide off and on to my tongue. It’s delicious and I groan in appreciation. I might have my eyes closed, but I can feel Denham watching me and the waves of heat coming from him.
“Is that good Ari?”
“Mmmm yes, very.”
I feel him come close to me again. This time the spoon is replaced with his thumb as he runs it across the length of my bottom lip, tugging gently and wiping away the remaining melted ice cream. As hard as I try, I can’t control my reaction to his touch and I open my eyes.
He holds my gaze, his eyes burning holes into me and dips into the chocolate sauce with his index finger. He lifts it to my mouth, bold, unabashed and waits patiently while I hesitate briefly to part my lips. This doesn’t feel like two people sharing a dessert, it feels like a slow, torturous, delicious foreplay, one that has me fidgeting in my seat and wanting to throw caution to the wind and give in to him completely.
“Taste ...” he insists quietly before gently slipping his finger into my mouth.
I close my lips over his finger and swirl my tongue around it, keeping my eyes locked on his. I suck gently until all the cream is gone and I just get a taste of Denham. His gentle insistence makes me feel like I can do anything, and I feel bold from his reaction to me.
“Fuck,” he hisses, pulling his finger out and straightening himself in his chair.
I smile knowing that while it certainly affected me, I can get away without it visibly showing, but he can’t and this is a far too public place to be taking this any further.
“You’re killing me, Stunner,” he breathes out.
I laugh softly. “I know the feeling …”
He smiles, warming me from the inside and making me feel more alive than I’ve ever been. “Eat up,” he says, handing me a spoon.
After leaving ‘Paris’, we wander along the Strip with Denham’s arm wrapped around my shoulder and my head nestled into him like we’re made to fit. The fresh air clears the fuzziness that is lingering from the alcohol and I’m beginning to think that this could be one of my favorite places to be, tucked in close to his warm chest and held fast by his strong protective arm, surrounded by a bubble of happiness. It’s comfortable, but it’s easy to feel comfortable with him. He makes it that way.
I look up at him and smile. “Denham, where are we going? Have you forgotten where you live?”
“No.” He chuckles. “I haven’t forgotten where I live, and just to correct you, you live there too now, remember?”
“I haven't forgotten. So where are we going then?”
“I don’t know … anywhere.” He shrugs and pulls me closer into him. My arms move further around his waist until we’re squeezed together tightly. “I don’t want our first date to end, so I thought we’d just keep walking.”
I don’t want it to end either. So far it’s been amazing. “You know if we keep walking, we could end up in Mexico.”
“Wouldn't be far enough,” he states.
“I'm not sure I could walk that far in these heels.”
“Your feet hurt?” He looks down at me, his handsome face marred with a frown.
“No, not yet, but if we walk to Mexico they will.”
>
“I’ll carry you.” He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and turns me so I’m flush to his body, pulling me closer with his hands on my hips. Even when I’m in heels, he’s taller than me. I angle my head a little to look up at him. I’m close enough to see every whisker, every crease in his handsome face.
“I might be too heavy.”
“Arianna, you’d never be too heavy. I’ll always be strong enough to carry you.”
I don’t think we’re still talking about Mexico; the look in his eyes tells me it couldn’t be further from his thoughts. I watch his lips part as he moves closer to me. They touch mine with the pressure of a butterfly— a sweet, sweet kiss, full of promise and I’ve never been kissed like this before. His sincerity steals my breath away. He presses harder then pulls away and I feel bare. My lips immediately miss his.
“Breathe, Arianna. I love that I make you breathless, but if you stop breathing every time I kiss you, I’m going to stop kissing you.”
I laugh and take a deep breath. “Okay, I’m breathing.” I pull my shoulders straight. “Where to now? Mexico?”
Before I can blink, I’m scooped up in Denham’s arms. I let out a squeal as I wrap my arms around his neck and he marches back in the direction of the hotel.
“I can walk. Honestly, my feet aren’t hurting, I promise.”
He stands still and looks at me. “I know, but I want to carry you.” He places a gentle kiss on the end of my nose and continues to walk down the Strip. I know this is Las Vegas and crazy stuff happens here so we probably don’t look out of place, but it still feels kinda weird. I’m so used to keeping up appearances that it feels strange to let go without a care.
“People are looking at us like we’re crazy,” I say.
“You care?”
“No, but ...”
“But what? Are you happy? I don’t mean in general but in life. I mean right now, this very minute, being carried along this street, are you happy?” Denham stops walking again and waits for my answer.
“Yes.”
“Well then, who gives a shit what these people think? I’m happy, you’re happy. What else matters?”
