Saving Grace (Love Under the Big Sky, #2.5)(9)

“That will be fine, thank you.”

I frown up at him. A ski instructor has a usual table?

She leads us through the restaurant to the back of the room, tucked in a corner with wide windows that look out over the ski hill.

He seats me in the corner and sits with his back to the room, facing me.

“I didn’t think men liked to sit with their backs to the room,” I say. There’s no way in hell he’s a f*cking ski instructor.

“A gentleman always seats the lady so she can look out to the room,” he replies matter-of-factly, perusing his menu.

“I like that.” I clear my throat without opening the menu. “Who are you, exactly?”

His eyes whip up to mine in surprise. “I’ve told you who I am, darling.”

“You lied,” I reply, without emotion in my voice. “Let me guess. You own the joint.”

“Hey, Mr. Baxter, what can I get you both to drink?” a waitress with the name Babs pinned to her shirt asks as she approaches the table, interrupting us.

“We’ll need a moment, please.” His eyes never leave mine as Babs walks away.

“I own this lodge, yes,” he replies, and holds my gaze steadily.

“So that whole, ‘Don’t lie to me, love. That’s one thing I won’t have. There’s no need of it,’ was just, what? A line?”

“That’s fair, Grace, and no, it wasn’t a line.” He snaps his menu shut and scratches his fingers through his hair.

“So you played me. Good job.”

“No.” He grabs my wrist to keep me in place as I move to leave and clenches his jaw shut. His grip isn’t hard or biting, but just enough to let me know that he wants me to stay. “Please let me explain.”

“I feel foolish,” I whisper. Way to go, you clumsy idiot. Just another way to make a fool of yourself.

“No, love.” He shakes his head and clears his throat. “If anyone should feel foolish, it’s me. I didn’t mean to mislead you.”

“You mistakenly failed to mention that you own this damn lodge all day long?” I ask incredulously. “Do you think I’m stupid as well as clumsy?”

“You’re neither stupid nor clumsy, Grace. When you approached me this afternoon, I was speaking with the boy who was supposed to be your instructor for the day.”

“You employ toddlers?”

Jacob’s lips twitch with humor. “He’s a very young-looking nineteen and an excellent skier. You were mistaken when you assumed I was to be your instructor today.”

“My mistake. I apologize.”

“I apologize, Grace. I just instantly liked you. With your immediate apology for your clumsiness and your sense of humor and your gorgeous hazel eyes, I just . . .” He blows out a breath and searches for his next words. “I just wanted to spend the day with you.”

“Look, Bax,” I begin.

“Jacob,” he corrects me softly. “I like the way Jacob rolls off your spectacular tongue.”

Oh, God, he’s good.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m here under false pretenses.”

“Everything else I told you today is true. Everything. I just didn’t mention that I owned the lodge. I was a ski instructor at sixteen, in Switzerland during winter holiday with my family. I’ve been skiing since I was four. I didn’t lie.”

I sit back and watch him carefully as Babs returns to the table.

“Are you ready to place your drink order, boss?”

Again, his eyes stay on mine. “Stay. Have dinner with me.”

“Why didn’t you correct me right away?” I ask bluntly.

“Because I didn’t want you to treat me differently when you found out about my status here.” His face is sober and honest, and I feel just a little pity for him. It can’t be easy to have the money he has, to always wonder if someone is interested in you as a person, or you as a wealthy person.

“I’ll stay,” I reply after a long silent moment.

“Thank you.” His smile is wide and genuine as he cocks a brow. “Now, what would you like to drink? I, for one, could use a glass of wine.”

“I’ll join you in that,” I reply, with a nod. “Pinot Noir?”

“Excellent.” He rattles off the name of an Oregon wine I recognize and then pulls my hand to his lips, nibbles my knuckles, sending shivers up my arm. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“The second chance.” We settle into a companionable silence as we browse the menu. Should I have let him off the hook so easily? Am I so desperate to get laid—if that’s even where this is going—that I’m willing to forgive his lie by omission and have dinner with him? I glance up to watch him read the menu, and realize that it doesn’t have much to do with wanting a quick f*ck and everything to do with this weird attraction I feel toward him, the whole package.

But that doesn’t mean that I have to bare my soul to him. He didn’t see fit to come clean with me, and perhaps I should keep the same attitude, keeping most of my own secrets closely guarded.

“I want a big hunk of meat for dinner.” I rub my flat stomach as I return to the menu. “Steak. Potatoes. Oh, God, you have huckleberry cheesecake. That’s going to be in my belly before this night is out.”