Leaning back enough to see his eyes, I try to sound confident. “Why do you think I’m afraid?” Looking at him this close, his expression, the depth in his stare, I suddenly have the urge to touch him. To lean into him and press my lips to his.
“Because I see it in your eyes and I can sense when you try to shut down your response to me. It’s a pattern I’ve come to recognize.” Moving his hand from my neck, he softly glides his thumb across my cheek, eyes roaming over the details of my face, a slow smile forming on his lips. “But I’d rather not talk about that right now, my bewitching faerie, or you might turn around and leave me here, desperate and wanting to peel off my own skin…like you always do.” He accentuates that last comment with a raised brow that’s almost like a reprimand. Regardless, it’s still unbelievably sexy, and I’m still unbelievably high on the scent of him.
Trying to play it cool, I reply with, “Peeling off your own skin seems a bit extreme, don’t you think?” I smile, hoping he will become a little less serious.
He steps back, giving me some breathing room. Yet he’s more serious when he responds. “No. Actually, I don’t. You have a very powerful effect on me, Charlotte LeFay.” With that, he turns to open my door. A perfect gentleman in every way.
Except I know what lies beneath. I know what he wants, and I know the havoc he is capable of wreaking on my heart. I have to keep my wits about me, don’t let him break through the armor that protects it, and get through lunch.
Fourteen
Ian
I close the door for Charlotte once she is comfortably seated and make my way around the front of the car, trying not to run so I can quickly get in and lock the door before she decides to disappear on me again. The woman has me paranoid with her propensity to turn on a dime and bolt from the scene, be it physically or mentally.
When she walked out the door looking more beautiful than I have ever seen her, in a dress that shows off every incredible detail of her body and a smile that was enough to bring me to my knees, a flood of desire came over me that was so powerful it drowned out everything but her. No wind, no birds, no pedestrians, no cars passing…just her. It was a singular moment, one that will be etched in my mind forever. I am now fully convinced that she has placed some kind of spell on me. I just wish she would open her mind, let down her walls, and explore the possibilities therein.
She responded to my explosive reaction immediately. It’s the same response she had the very first time we laid eyes on each other, and it has to be the most spectacular thing I have ever witnessed. To watch her body become aware of me, of my need to touch her and pleasure her. She doesn’t realize it—her submission. It’s like she’s programmed to do so the instant she senses my presence. It triggers a reaction in me that is so powerful, keeping it under control almost hurts. To stand there, doing nothing while I watch her desire blossom and spread throughout her body, ending with her nipples stiffening and screaming for me to abuse them the way I know brings her the ultimate release, is a form of torture that has me on the verge of begging for mercy. I am not accustomed to this kind of restraint.
Predictably, when her conscious mind catches on to what is happening, her fear takes over and she shuts down. Leaving me in worse condition than the description I gave her just moments ago. But she’s here now, and I’m going to make a concerted effort to keep her from fleeing. Now that I know why she runs, why she is afraid of me, why she’s built such solid reinforcements around herself, my approach is more compassionate. Adding to my list of challenges, I now have an overwhelming need to protect her and repair the damage caused by her father’s indiscretions.
Getting in the driver’s seat, I close the door only to be bombarded by her scent and the energy surrounding her. It feels like it’s attached to a fucking homing device inside my body. I turn and look at her as I start the engine. “Just out of curiosity, do you have any idea how stunning you are?”
She’s nervous, I can tell, but my compliment makes her smile. Making her smile has become my latest addiction. I intend to do it often.
“Stunning? I don’t know if I’d go that far,” she says with slight sarcasm, and it’s fucking adorable. “Although, I did put a little extra effort into my appearance today.” She gives me a sideways glance accompanied by a pursed smirk, and I can tell she’s being playful. I love it.
“Did you, now? If you were trying to impress me, it worked,” I say, attempting to keep it light and not tell her she looks good enough to eat…right here in the goddamn car.
“Actually, I wasn’t trying to impress you. It was more along the lines of revenge.”
Hmmm…that was a compliment if I’m not mistaken.
“Revenge, is it? So it was your vindictive intent to blow my mind when you walked out the door. Hoping to keep me distracted and unable to think straight through lunch…eh? How clever of you.” Little vixen.
“Yes…but my intention was to blow your mind, keep you distracted and unable to think straight for the next three days, not simply through lunch.” With that straightforward declaration, she gives me a playful wink that has me ready to pull the car over, drag her into my lap, and kiss her until neither of us can breathe.
“Well, you’ll be happy to know that you’ve exceeded your expectations… I will never be able to erase the image of how beautiful you are today, Charlotte.” I want to tell her that my eyes see her as a beauty that cannot be perfected, for it has already surpassed perfection, but she might misinterpret my honesty as poetic flattery. She doesn’t understand how she affects me or even why, and the innocence of her power is disarming.
“Then perhaps we’re even,” I hear her say under her breath as she turns her head and looks out her window.
Her mood is shifting. She doesn’t like it when I compliment her that way. The truth is, she probably loves it when I compliment her that way, she just doesn’t trust the way it makes her feel or my intentions in saying it.
Ever since my conversation with Nana last night, I am able to read her more accurately. Her reactions make sense now, no matter how misplaced they may be.
Changing the subject so I don’t lose her completely, I ask, “Have you been to EDGE at the Four Seasons before?”
“Yes, I love it. That was a great choice. They have a ceviche that’s to die for.” She’s back to smiling; neutral conversation will have to do for now.
“Excellent! We’re almost there. Are you hungry?” I say as I downshift into a turn.
“Yes, especially now that we’re talking about award-winning ceviche.”
I have a sudden urge to take her to every five-star restaurant in the world to get ceviche. I think Jackson’s right—when I finally scale the walls of her fortress, I will never want to leave.
Pulling into the portico, I put the car in park as the valet approaches to open her door. I would have preferred to be the one holding her hand to help her out of the car, but it would have seemed strange to request it. I don’t get the chance to hold the door for her, either, as the doorman does his job, but I gesture for her to enter first so she, as Jackson put it, knows I’m capable of being a gentleman.
Walking to the entrance of the restaurant, I can’t help but put my hand on the small of her back. It may be going too far, but right now I don’t care because I’ve already spotted five different men staring her down like a predator to prey, and something tells me she’s oblivious.
After a personal—albeit nervous—greeting from the hostess, we are seated at a table that isn’t what I’d consider private, but it’s not in the middle of the damn restaurant, either. Before we sit down, I give Charlotte a sarcastic look and hold out my hand as if to say, Does this meet your criteria?
She laughs. Then, rolling with the punches, she says with a shrug, “It’ll do.”
The waiter brings us water, and I take the liberty of ordering us a bottle of white wine. I can tell Charlotte is skeptical as her eyes shift from the waiter to the table then back again. Yet she doesn’t refuse. After he’s retu
rned and filled our glasses, I order us both a ceviche. Winking at her, I jokingly say, “I was going to get one to share but reconsidered, thinking it may have done in any chance I had at impressing you.”
She laughs out loud. “Smart man. Unlike most women, I am not afraid to eat. I intend to take full advantage of your invitation.”
God, she’s amazing.
“And just for the record, you’ve already impressed me, so you don’t need to keep trying.”
“Oh? You’re surprisingly full of compliments today. We’re five minutes into our lunch date, and you’re already impressed to the point I no longer need to try. You’re not setting me up for disaster, are you?” I give her a look filled with skepticism.
She laughs again, and the pleasure of hearing it makes the hair on my neck stand. Reaching for her wine, she holds it up, proposing a toast. “To reverse psychology.”
Bringing my glass up to hers, I still play like I’m skeptical of her motives, even if I know she’s only teasing. “To reverse psychology.”
We each take a sip and set down our glasses, but she continues holding the stem of hers, swirling the wine around in the glass. She stares at it a few more seconds as a smile appears on her beautiful mouth. This one, however, is not mischievous; it’s tender and endearing. When she looks back up at me, her eyes are soft with deep emotion.
“I’m referring to my portrait. Being impressed…I mean.” She looks down again, almost shyly. “I love it…very much. It just…” She looks up at me and laughs. “See! I’m still speechless over it!”
My heart is pounding. I wasn’t expecting her to say that, and the smile on her face has me wanting to fill a room with portraits of her. She really does love it—I can see it in her eyes, and all I can think is that I want her to think of me that way. I want to reach across the table and touch her. I want to kiss her, to hold her in my arms and beg her to trust me.
“It makes me very happy that you feel that way. I was actually nervous about giving it to you. I haven’t drawn anything in quite a while, and even though I thought it was beautiful, I wasn’t sure if you would think so.” I can hear the shyness in my own voice. Normally that would bother me, but sitting here with Charlotte, knowing the raw truth in her words, makes it okay.
“I can’t imagine anyone not thinking it’s amazing. And I’m beyond flattered at your impression of me. Of course, some people might think it’s inappropriate… She is naked, after all.” Her cheeks flush pink, complementing the shy look on her face. “I think she’s very beautiful, Ian, and it’s deeper than just physical. It’s as if you gave her emotions and strength…a soul.” She pauses, shaking her head. “I hope you don’t think I’m crazy for saying that.”
All I can do is stare at her. She sees the meaning in the drawing, but not herself. “You are everything you see in that drawing and more, Charlotte.” I can’t help reaching over and curling my fingers around hers, rubbing them gently with my thumb. I probably shouldn’t have done that, because she’s looking at our hands and her expression has suddenly shifted to that of fear, and it isn’t superficial. She does fine with harmless banter back and forth, but when it runs deeper, she shuts the door.
I’m saved by the waiter as he brings our ceviche and places them in front of us. I let go of her hand without a word, hoping the thick tension surrounding us is short-lived.
We thank the waiter, pick up our forks, and dive in. It’s delicious with the perfect balance of salt and lime, not too much onion or pepper, and plenty of fresh fish. The look of pleasure on Charlotte’s face as she tastes her first bite sends a jolt of arousal down my spine and straight to my cock. I quickly look down at the bowl in front of me so she can’t see any evidence of what came over me, and I pray she can’t sense it, either. I have a vision of her excusing herself from the table and not returning. Shifting the conversation to something generic, I compliment the dish and she wholeheartedly agrees. From there, we move on to safer ground.
After placing our orders for the main course and finishing our first glass of wine, we easily keep the conversation flowing with questions about each other’s career. I am impressed with her background. She worked to get where she is as the general manager of a five-star resort, regardless of who owns it. She clearly earned her position. I take a sip of wine, not taking my eyes off her as she animatedly talks about her excellent employees, potential renovations, board members with no foresight, and ideas for the future that will keep The Clara Sea’s five-star ranking for a long time running. I am enjoying this more than I anticipated. She is fascinating. My God! Look at her! Her slender hands helping her tell her story, moving here and there, fingers acting out little details. She smiles a lot when she’s talking and every now and again she pulls her hair over her shoulder, only to brush it back over minutes later.
“Tell me about your business. Surely that’s enough about me.”
Ah…no. Should I tell her I could sit and listen to her talk about herself for days? Probably not. “What would you like to know?”
“Hmmm…lets go with the obvious…how did you create such a successful development firm?” And so I told her and found that she is genuinely interested in my business and what I’ve dedicated so much of myself to. She continues asking smart questions, comes up with accurate conclusions, and is inquisitive about things she doesn’t know or understand. I’m finding her to be an enchanting conversationalist and am thoroughly enjoying myself. It appears Charlotte is, too, as her demeanor is relaxed while she is smiling and laughing with ease.
She takes the liberty of pouring us each another glass of wine, which finishes off the bottle, then surprises me with, “So a little birdie told me that your favorite person in the world is your grandmother. Is that true?” She looks proud at having that card up her sleeve.
I wonder why Jackson told her that? Probably an attempt at boosting my character after my monumental fuckup of an introduction.
I chuckle, “Jackson told you that, did he? Did he also tell you she’s one of his favorite people in the world, too? Nana is quite special to me, yes. I’m closer to her than I am to my parents, whom I love and respect. We just don’t have the same connection that Nana and I have. She’s my grandmother, but she’s also my friend. I think you would like her very much.” I have every intention of introducing them, preferably soon.
“That’s very sweet, Ian. How lucky you are to have her in your life.” I can tell she’s happy for me, but I also see the sadness behind her words.
“My uncle James is like a father to me, but he travels a lot and has a home in France, so I don’t get to see him that much. He has four other resorts in various countries around the world. But we talk all the time.” She pauses. I know she’s thinking about her parents and how they have obviously been left out of the conversation.
She probably assumes I’ll ask about them, so instead of waiting for that awkward moment, she tries to brush past it. “My father passed away when I was seventeen. James is his brother. He’s been like a father to me ever since. My mother passed away a week after I turned twenty. It was a rough few years, and I don’t know how I would have made it through without him. He’s very special to me.”
It doesn’t go unnoticed that she made that statement more about her uncle than her parents. Out of respect, my response is short but sincere.
“That’s terrible, Charlotte. I’m so sorry.” I reach over and squeeze her hand, as a show of sympathy more than anything else. “I can tell by the look on your face that you don’t want to talk about it, so I won’t ask. Should you ever want to, though, I’d be happy to listen.”
She gives me a look that says she appreciates me not prying further.
“Thank you for that, Ian. I’d rather talk about Nana, anyway. I assume she lives nearby?”
“Yes. I surprised her three years ago with a townhouse on the water. I like to spoil her because she makes such a big deal out of it and acts like she’s mad at me for doing too much, but the happy gleam in her eyes always gi
ves her away.” Thinking of Nana’s antics brings on an uncontrollable smile. “She’s a character, though. Hopefully when you meet her she doesn’t pop out with some inappropriate question that pertains to sex or something else extremely personal.”
The look on Charlotte’s face is one of disbelief.
“I’m not joking. She’s a tiny eighty-eight-year-old woman with the sweetest voice and biggest heart, but she loves to talk trash.” Both of us laugh at the absurdity of it, transitioning us away from the sad subject of her parents.
“There is something adorable about that. She should meet my best friend, Erika. She’s the queen of trash talk. They’d probably keep each other in stitches for hours.” She reaches into her purse to look at her phone, then her eyes widen. “Ian! It’s almost 3:30! Oh, my gosh, I can’t believe how much time has passed. I really need to stop by my office for at least a few hours today. I’m sorry, but I really have to go.”
She’s antsy, and I can’t tell if it’s because her story’s true or that she’s shocked she just spent three and half hours with me and that’s well past her limit.
“Of course. Would you like me to take you directly to the resort? I can send a driver to escort you home later.” Or maybe show up there myself, drive you to the airport, put you on my plane, and hold you captive in the Bahamas for two weeks.
“No. That’s not necessary. Really. But thank you.” She starts to gather her things and stands. “I don’t want to burden anyone, and plus, I’m a bit of a control freak and prefer to have my own car available when I need it.”
She doesn’t realize that one innocent statement has set my blood on fire with need. She also has no idea how liberating it will be when she hands over that control and lets me take her mind, body, and soul to places she doesn’t know exist. I am hoping today was a step in that direction.
The Essence of Fate Page 14
