Wherever It Leads(23)

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too. Some people are just really hard to deal with. I wonder sometimes if they get off on just being complete jackasses.”

I laugh, having had those same thoughts before myself. “I think they do. You can completely bend over backwards for some people and it’s just not enough. They’ll press you for more and more. Or they’ll turn you around and bend you over again and stick it to you from behind.”

A waiter slips in and places a covered dish in front of each of us and is gone within seconds.

“I ordered for you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” I say, lifting the lid. “This looks great.”

“I hope so. I didn’t want to spend any more time here than we need to.”

“Good idea.”

His eyes sparkle with promise, making my mouth water. He’s so different than any guy I’ve been with before in every way. He puts them all to shame.

We begin to eat, a comfortable silence descending on the table. Every move he makes is done in a way I’m realizing is the way he does everything—exquisitely. Each motion is purposeful, every movement executed in a precise way. He may be incredibly good-looking, but that aside, just being around him is intoxicating. I catch myself wanting to know more about him, what makes him tick.

This is a rebound, not a date.

“What did you do today?” he asks, taking a bite of his food.

“I called Presley and took a nap. I laid out for awhile today at the pool.”

His jaw drops an inch. “You were in a bikini without me?”

My insides do a flipflop, tumbling head over heels. The idea of him being annoyed by that little fact never occurred to me, but the stormy look on his face makes me deliriously happy.

“What else am I supposed to lay out in?” I taunt, watching the storm darken.

“Without me? A trash bag.”

“Fenton!”

He shakes his head and suppresses a growl. It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. Ever. “Look, Brynne, I know I told you to do whatever you wanted while I was gone. And I want you to enjoy yourself—I do. But I need you to do those things clothed.”

“So the fact that a guy bought me a drink is probably a no too?”

His jaw drops wide open, but I start giggling before he can comment. “Fenton, I was kidding. About the drink anyway. I was in a bikini, a very little red one that Edie said you’d love . . .”

“I’d love. Me. That’s the part you seem to have missed.” Everything about the way he looks at me tells me he’s serious. But the tug at the corner of his mouth makes it feel playful and I run with that.

I shrug casually. “It’s a good thing I’m not sure if there were guys at the pool today or not, since I spent the whole time imagining what you would look like shirtless.”

A faint rumble drifts to my ears and the smirk that melts me trickles over his lips. “Good girl.” He composes himself before continuing. “You do look like you caught some sun. You’re golden.”

“I didn’t stay long,” I report. “The sun is so hot. And there were so many people.”

“You aren’t a fan of large crowds?”

“Not really. I’d prefer watching a movie at home over going to the theater any day.”

“And I bring you to Las Vegas.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “But for the record, I’m the same way. I always feel like I’m strange because I don’t like going out in public. But maybe I’m more normal than I thought . . . or you’re just weird too.”

The waiter comes by and checks on our table. Fenton has a quick conversation with the man and I wonder if they know each other. They have a much more natural rapport than anyone I’ve seen him with yet. I don’t have time to think about it much because before I know it, he’s gone.

Fenton takes a sip of his wine, watching me over the brim. He places it back on the table and relaxes back in his chair. “So what do you normally do when you date?”

“I don’t know. Dinner. A movie, if the guy is uncreative,” I confess. “I’d rather go to the beach with a picnic or to a play or ballet though, really.”

“I haven’t been to something like that in years.”

“I make sure I see The Nutcracker every December. There’s nothing like it. And if I can sneak another one in, I try to.”

He drops his napkin on the table, his eyes wistful. “My mother loved ballets and plays and operas. We would see something on Broadway every year for her birthday.”

“She sounds fantastic,” I whisper.

“She was.” He nods his head solemnly. “My father was a successful businessman. When they married, I think he expected her to stay home and just enjoy being taken care of. But not my mother,” he laughs. “She started her own endeavors, built her own empire in a way. But where my father’s was purely aimed at making coin, my mother’s was aimed to make a difference in the world. She was fearless.”

I watch him gaze across the room, deal with the memories he’s feeling. A small grin touches his lips before he looks at me again.

“So who are you more like? Your father or your mother?” I ask.

“I’m a mix, I think. Somewhere in the middle,” he shrugs. “I’m like my dad in that work comes first. It came before anything besides my mother, and I think she was an anomaly. If he hadn’t found that exact woman, I think he’d have been a bachelor his whole life.”