Beauty from Pain (Beauty, #1)(13)

“And you are Lachlan who?”

Everyone knew me as Jack, but my mother called me Jack Henry my whole life, so I go with something that feels familiar. “Lachlan Henry.”

I’ve never used a name so similar to my real one, but I know why this is a first. Being coy with myself is useless; I don’t want to hear her shout another man’s name when I make her come. I want to hear her say my name, or at least some semblance of it.

I smile as I think about the things I will do to hear her call out my name. “And how old are you, Miss Beckett?”

“Seventeen.”

“What!” There is no way she’s seventeen. I inspect her face, studying it intently, but don’t know what it is I hope to find. Laugh lines maybe?

She watches my face. “Is my age a problem for you?”

“Hell, yeah, seventeen is a problem.” I throw my napkin on the table. All of this has been a waste. “Forget it all. This whole thing is off.”

“I don’t act seventeen. I’m very mature for my age.”

“No way. You’re not even old enough to be drinking that wine.” I lean in and whisper so no one will overhear. “I’m almost twice your age.”

“I don’t mind. I have daddy issues.” She breaks into a huge grin and I hear a girlish giggle. That’s when I realize she’s f*cking with me and has the ability to lie with a straight face. I’ll have to remember that for future reference.

I’m not amused. “I see I have a comedienne on my hands.”

She’s still smiling, seemingly pleased by my sharp reaction. “I’m not really, but you walked right into that one and I couldn’t resist. Relax, I’m twenty-two, at least until the groundhog comes out in search of his shadow. How old are you?”

None of the women I’ve been with have been playful like she is. Since I always choose older women, she’s quite a bit younger than what I’m used to. At least fifteen years. Maybe twenty. Will she wonder if I’m too old for her the same way I’m wondering if she’s too young for me? “I’ll be thirty next month. Is that a problem for you?”

“Nope. I hope to be thirty in about eight years.”

All right, Jack. You could have your hands full with this one. Are you ready for her and what she could bring?

“Are you in school or do you have a profession?”

“I’m a musician.”

Oh, that explains why she sings and plays the guitar so well. “I heard you at the club the other night.”

“I didn’t know if you were there when I sang.”

I decline telling her I was the guy sitting in the corner being a creepy stalker. “You’re very good. I’ve never heard ‘Crash Into Me’ sound quite like that before. I won’t forget it anytime soon.”

She blushes like she’s not used to hearing compliments. “Thank you. It was a pretty big coincidence that we ended up at the same vintage dinner after running into each other at the club.”

Should I tell her how I worked everything out so I could see her again? Oh, why not? “I don’t think it can be called a coincidence since I already knew you were going to be there. I paid my waitress to find out if you’d be accompanying your friend’s brother.”

She gawks at me. “So, that’s why that waitress was so damn nosy?”

I smile with pride. “Yes, and I arranged for your friend’s wine to be temporarily misplaced so I could lure him away from you. You do realize he’s quite smitten with you?”

“You’re a master of manipulation.”

I notice the way she chooses to not acknowledge my comment about her roommate’s attraction and I wonder if she is well versed in the game of manipulation as well. “I prefer to call it determination.”

“And are you always that determined to get what you want?”

I go to extreme measures to have my way, but I think I’ll keep that to myself. “Within reason.”

“I’m not certain I want to hear anymore about the tactics you use to get what you want.” That’s probably a wise choice.

I decide to let her choose our new topic of conversation. “So, what would you like to hear about?”

She shifts her attention to the glass of wine in her hand. “Tell me more about what you do in the wine industry.”

That is an easy one. I can recite this in my sleep. “My employer owns a vast majority of the wineries across Australia and New Zealand. You can call me his right-hand man. I travel from vineyard to vineyard to oversee everything from the books to the harvest.”

She nods. “I see. Do you have family?”

“Yes.” She’s waiting for more of an answer, but I don’t budge.

“Do you see them often?”

“I visit when I’m in between vineyards.”

She gives me a quizzical look. “This is like pulling teeth with you. I just want to understand you better. I’m not asking you to tell me anything identifying.”

None of the other women were interested in knowing about my family, so I’m not well prepared for how to answer. “My oldies live outside Sydney. I have a younger brother. He’s married and has two little girls. I also have a younger sister still living at home. She’s a year younger than you and studies at a culinary institute.” That’s all she’s getting from me. “What about your rellies?”