Swing (Landry Family #2)(25)
“I want . . .” I take a deep breath. I know exactly what I want, but it’s not something I can explain in five minutes. Nor is it something I think matters anyway. “It’s more about what I don’t want, really.”
He watches me, his chin cupped in his right hand. “Well? I’m waiting.”
“You know what I don’t want? I don’t want to get all tied up in something that isn’t real.”
“Sounds fair. So go to dinner with me. Somewhere public, somewhere that I can’t just maul you.”
“I might like you mauling me,” I point out, pressing my lips together.
His eyes darken. “You have no idea how much I’d love to maul you right fucking now.” He leans back, his chin pointing towards the ceiling. “But here’s the thing, Dani: as much as I want to maul you, I also want to talk to you. Hear your laugh. Watch your smile. You’re making a mess of me over here.”
My cheeks hurt from smiling as I fight so hard succumbing to him. “You are too good for your own good,” I tell him.
“You haven’t seen anything yet.”
“Get out of here,” I laugh, feeling the last bit of restraint wither away.
“Fine, fine.” He unfolds himself from the chair in one simple movement. “I’m going to warn you though: be at Spora’s at eight o’clock on Saturday. My buddy, Fenton Abbott, owns it and I’ll get us a table. And, Dani—I will show up here every day if you don’t. I can be a thorny fucker.”
He’s out the door before I can get a word out.
Danielle
SPORA’S IS BUSTLING. LOCATED ON the bluff overlooking the river, it’s the hottest restaurant in the city. I’ve been here once. It was the only time my parents visited Memphis, not really me. They were here for three days for a convention. We had dinner once.
The front is dark with clear lights twinkling in the front beneath a large, red-lettered sign spelling out the name. My heels click against the sidewalk as I reach the door. A man in a suit opens it.
The lights overhead have an antique, industrial look and the bulbs cast a yellow glow over the dark wood inside. My stomach is in knots as I approach the reception desk. “I believe there’s a reservation for Landry.”
Her eyes widen. “Yes. Give me a moment.” She waves a man over from the bar lining the wall on the right. “Can you escort her to the balcony?”
“Follow me,” he says, leading me along a walkway at the front of the restaurant to a little elevator tucked on the other side. He pushes a button and the doors swing open. We enter, and as I’m struggling to not let my nerves get the best of me, they pop open again. We’re in another hallway with six different doorways spaced evenly apart. We walk to the first one to the right and he knocks gently. He waits a few seconds before pushing it open.
My palms are sweating as I prepare to see Lincoln. We’ve talked and texted over the last few days. It’s been light and funny, and I’ve found myself laughing more, smiling more, even when I’m not with him. It’s the Landry effect. I keep reminding myself this is for fun, for the off-season, to keep it in perspective. He makes that seriously hard to do.
Giving myself a quick inspection, I’m confident in the dress I chose. A navy blue lacy overlay atop a silky fabric, the halter top shows off my toned arms, and the way the bottom hits mid-thigh will hopefully give him ideas.
Filling my lungs with precious air, I fight to stay calm. I almost cancelled this a hundred times since he left my office. I shouldn’t be here. It’s only going to lead to disappointment.
My breath catches in my throat as he comes into view.
Scratch that. It’s going to lead to an orgasm and he’s not even going to have to touch me.
He’s standing at the table, a tumbler of a clear liquid in his hand. Dressed in a pair of slim-fit khaki pants, a deep brown leather belt winds around his trim waist. A black dress shirt, rolled up to the elbows and the top couple of buttons undone, and I want to devour him. Throw him on the ground and just go for it.
I wonder vaguely if the rooms are soundproof as he walks to me. It’s an unhurried movement, like he knows that every second I have to anticipate his hug or kiss on the cheek gets me one second closer to combusting. The door shuts as the waiter leaves. I force a swallow, my mouth dry and hot. The light catches on the face of his watch and just amplifies how much he looks like he walked off a movie set.
Dear God.
The glass isn’t in his hand anymore when he reaches me, and I have no idea where it went. All I can see are his arms reaching for me, and I hold my breath as he makes contact.
His right hand lands on the small of my back as he leans in and kisses me on the cheek. When he pulls back, both spots immediately feel cold.
“You look gorgeous,” he says. Taking a step back to see me better, I feel his gaze scorch a path from my eyes, down my neck, across my breasts, all the way to my feet. “Just gorgeous, Dani.”
I don’t even correct him. I can’t. I can’t find my voice.
This is the first time seeing him in something other than sweatpants or shorts. I might’ve thought I was prepared, but I’m not. He’s divine. Classy. Sophisticated. Yet, a little rogue.
He takes my hand, his palm wide and warm, and leads me to the table. Pulling out my chair like a gentleman, he waits for me to sit. Once I’m settled, he disappears for a moment before returning with a bouquet of white roses.