Savor (Billionaire Bachelors Club #3)(15)
I might’ve gone in search of those photos again last night. Staring and drooling and wondering what the heck I can do to garner this man’s attention. How much more obvious do I need to be?
He’d dressed to impress today because he met with reporters from a local news station for a video interview about the winery earlier this afternoon.
Matt most definitely impressed me. I love it when he wears suits or at least a dress shirt and tie, which is not often enough in my humble opinion.
“I’m kind of hungry, I guess,” he finally answers, his gaze locked on the computer screen as he taps away at the keyboard with his typical index-finger pecking. I have no idea what he’s working on, but it’s definitely holding his interest better than I am. “But I don’t have time to eat.”
“Want me to bring you something then?”
He looks at me once more, peering over the top of his monitor, his gaze narrowed, his expression skeptical. I’m sitting across from his desk, feeling a little rumpled, a lot tired and wishing I looked as perfectly sexy as he does. “You don’t need to do that,” he says carefully. “Maybe you should go on home, Miss James. It’s late. You’ve put in a long day.”
What, go home to an empty apartment and more Lean Cuisine? I don’t think so. “I don’t mind picking you up something to eat, Matt . . . er, Mr. DeLuca.” I try to keep it formal between us, and he does the same, but we both slip on occasion. There’s something a little fun about addressing him so properly. Makes my wicked thoughts of him all the more lurid. “I could call in an order from somewhere you like and have it here for you within thirty minutes.”
“I don’t know. I’m not even sure what I’d want.” He rubs his hand along his jaw. I can hear the rasp of stubble against his palm, and my knees literally go weak. I would love to know what that slightly rough face would feel like against mine, or even better—how it would feel between my thighs.
Thank goodness I’m sitting down, or I swear I’d collapse because my legs are so wobbly.
“I’ll take care of everything,” I say, my mind scrambling as I stand. “I’ll order some food and deliver it to you before I leave for the night.” I start to leave the office, wondering if he prefers Italian or Chinese when he says my name in that deep, delicious voice of his.
I stop and slowly turn to find him looking at me, his expression one of pure gratitude. “Thanks a lot for taking care of me these last few days. I know I’ve kept you far busier than you should be.”
Smiling, I try to ignore the mass of butterflies fluttering in my stomach at his words. “You’re welcome. And it’s my job, right? I’m just doing what I’m supposed to.”
“Not necessarily a part of your formal job description, but I suppose.” He smiles. “You should join me.” At my confused look he explains further. “For dinner.”
“Oh, I-I couldn’t.” I shake my head at the same exact moment my stomach decides to grumble loudly, and I rest my hand over my front, horribly embarrassed. I can feel my cheeks heat, and I’m tempted to duck and run.
But I stand my ground instead, trying to pretend it didn’t happen.
Soft laughter escapes him as he quirks an eyebrow at me. “Not hungry, huh?”
“Fine. I’m starving.” I roll my eyes. Are we flirting? It feels like it but . . . not. Ugh, he’s so confusing. “But I’m sure you don’t want to eat with me. We spend enough time together, don’t you think?”
“Do you want to eat with me?” he asks, his dying laughter replaced with this foreign gleam in his eyes. “I don’t mind if you don’t. Come on, Bryn. Let’s have dinner together at my desk. It’ll be exciting.” He laughs. “We can go over the caterer menu one more time. Exciting right?”
“All right,” I agree, trying my best to stomp down the giddy sensation that wants to take over but it’s so hard. It’s bubbling to the surface ready to burst out all over Matt. “Let me find a restaurant. What do you prefer, Italian or Chinese?”
“Italian, of course,” he says, and I’m thankful.
I prefer Italian too—especially the DeLuca variety.
“DAMN, THIS IS good,” Matt says as he eats another forkful of lobster ravioli. “And you said the restaurant is nearby?”
Enraptured with watching him eat, I nod silently, but realize he’s not even paying attention to me, so I answer, “Yes, they’re not too far from here. Little place that doesn’t look like much but is packed inside.”
So packed, I drew quite a few stares as I went to the register and purchased the food, waiting for the bag to be brought out. I could tell they weren’t tourists. They were probably wondering who the heck I was and not like I could announce it to everyone. I stood there, smiling shyly at everyone who was blatant enough to check me out.
This city, the entire area, has a very small town feel. I understood. Whenever a stranger showed up in Cactus, everyone went crazy wondering who they were. It set the gossips buzzing for days.
That’s what I’ve turned into. I’m the girl who sparks gossip and makes people wonder who the heck I am. Even when I was trying my best not to get any attention whatsoever, it still happened.
“What did you get?” Matt points his black plastic fork at me. His eyes are alight with interest.