Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(26)
“If you say so.”
“Don’t try to play it off.” I was proud of how normal I sounded when my insides were doing things that were anything but normal. Fluttering, skipping, twisting. My doctor would have a field day. “We’ve passed a milestone. Rhys Larsen’s first compliment to Bridget von Ascheberg, and it only took two years. Mark it down.”
Rhys snorted, but humor filled his eyes. “One year and ten months,” he said. “If we’re counting.”
Which he was.
If my heart skipped any more songs, it’d have no playlist left.
Not good. Not good at all.
Whatever I felt toward Rhys, it couldn’t develop past what it was now. So, in an effort to rid myself of my increasingly disturbing reactions to my bodyguard, I agreed to go on a date with Louis, the son of the French ambassador to the United Nations, when I ran into him at an event a month after my movie night with Rhys.
Louis showed up for our date at seven o’clock sharp with a bouquet of red flowers and a charming smile, which wilted when he saw the scowling bodyguard standing so close behind me I could feel the heat from his body.
“These are for you.” Louis handed me the flowers while keeping a wary eye on Rhys. “You look beautiful.”
A low growl rumbled behind me, and Louis noticeably gulped.
“Thank you, they’re lovely,” I said with a gracious smile. “Let me put them in water and I’ll be right back.”
My smile dropped when I turned my back to Louis and faced Rhys. “Mr. Larsen, please follow me.” Once we entered the kitchen, I hissed, “Stop threatening my dates with your gun.”
I hadn’t needed to see him to know he’d probably pushed his jacket aside just enough to flash his weapon.
Louis wasn’t the first guy I’d dated in New York, though the last time I’d gone on a date had been months ago. Rhys kept scaring off my romantic prospects, and half the men in the city were afraid to ask me out for fear he would shoot them.
It hadn’t bothered me until now because I hadn’t cared for my previous dates, but it was annoying when I was actively trying to move on from whatever weird hold Rhys had on me.
Rhys’s glare intensified. “He’s wearing shoe lifts. He deserves to be threatened.”
I pressed my lips together, but a quick glance at Louis’ feet through the kitchen doorway confirmed Rhys’s observation. I thought he seemed taller. I had nothing against shoe lifts per se, but three inches seemed excessive.
Unfortunately, while I could overlook the shoe lifts, I couldn’t overlook the utter lack of chemistry between us.
Louis and I dined at a lovely French restaurant, where I struggled not to fall asleep while he rambled on about his summers in St. Tropez. Rhys sat at the next table with a glower so dark the diners on his other side requested to move tables.
By the time dinner ended, Louis was so flustered by the menacing presence less than three feet away he knocked over his wineglass and nearly caused a server to drop his tray of food.
“It’s all right,” I said, helping a mortified Louis clean up the mess while the server fussed over the stained linen tablecloth. “It was an accident.”
I glared at Rhys, who stared back at me without a hint of remorse.
“Of course.” Louis smiled, but the mortification in his eyes remained.
When we finished cleaning up, he left a generous tip for the server and bid me a polite good night. He didn’t ask me on a second date.
I wasn’t sad about it. I was, however, pissed at a certain gray-eyed pain in my butt.
“You scared Louis half to death,” I said when Rhys and I returned home. I couldn’t control the anger from seeping into my voice. “Next time, try not to unnerve my date so much he spills his drink all over himself.”
“If he scares that easily, he’s not worthy of being your date.” Rhys had dressed up to adhere to the restaurant’s dress code, but the tie and dinner jacket couldn’t mask the raw, untamed masculinity rolling off him in potent waves.
“You were armed and glaring at him like he killed your dog. It’s hard not to be nervous under those conditions.” I tossed my keys on the side table and slipped off my heels.
“I don’t have a dog.”
“It was a metaphor.” I unpinned my hair and ran my hand through the waves. “Keep it up and I’ll end up like one of those spinsters from historical romance novels. You’ve scared off every date I’ve had in the past year.”
One thing that hadn’t changed after all this time? My refusal to call him anything except Mr. Larsen, and his refusal to call me anything except princess.
Rhys’s scowl deepened. “I’ll stop scaring them off once you get better taste in men. No wonder your love life is in the dumps. Look at the twerps you insist on going out with.”
I bristled. My love life was not in the dumps. It was close, but it wasn’t there yet. “You’re one to talk.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I haven’t seen you date anyone since you started working for me.” I shrugged off my jacket, and his gaze slid to my bared shoulders for a fraction of a second before returning to my face. “You’re hardly qualified to give me dating advice.”
“I don’t date. Doesn’t mean I can’t spot worthless idiots when I see ‘em.”