Until April (Until Her/Him #10)(18)

“Right.” He comes to where I’m standing to drop a soft kiss on my lips. “I’ll be downstairs waiting.”

“Be there in ten minutes,” I promise, and he lifts his chin before disappearing out of sight.

I slide through my dresses, then remember an outfit I bought a couple of months back but haven’t had a chance to wear yet. Taking off my bra, I find a set of nipple pasties and put them on, then take the emerald-green tailored crop top off its hanger, put it on over my head, and zip up the side. I then grab the high-waisted matching wide-leg trousers and pull them on along with my nude heels.

Dressed, I look myself over in the mirror. With the high waist of the pants, only a little skin is showing, and the top is surprisingly sophisticated. Still, I feel sexy, which is a win. I grab my beige clutch off the shelf and slip off my heels so I can carry them downstairs with me. I might be an expert in walking in six-inch heels, but navigating my slick wooden steps in them is never a good idea.

I reach the kitchen and smile when I see my flowers, then frown when I don’t see Maxim inside or out on the deck. Figuring he is downstairs I grab my cards, phone, and lip gloss out of my bag, placing them in my clutch before I make my way down to the first floor. After I slip on my heels, I open the front door, hearing Maxim speaking to someone. Curious, I step outside, and through the dark, I see him standing next to the driver side door of a running black SUV with dark-tinted windows, talking to a good-looking man with obvious Polynesian descent and a very scary expression.

The man spots me first, since Maxim’s back is to me, and I see his dark beard move as he says something, probably telling Maxim that I’m outside. He turns my way, his expression unreadable, then he taps the open edge of the window, and the driver takes that as his cue to drive off.

“Who was that?” I ask as the SUV disappears around the corner.

“You look beautiful.” He walks toward me, and I step back when he reaches out for my hand.

“Who was that?” I repeat, narrowing my eyes on his.

“A friend of mine.” He pulls his car keys from his pocket, and I see the doors slide up out the corner of my eye. “No one for you to worry about.”

“No one for me to worry about?” I rest my hand on my hip. “What does that even mean?”

“It means he’s not someone you need to think about. Are you ready to go?”

“So I shouldn’t think about the scary guy in the very suspicious SUV you were just talking to in the dark?”

“Gene will be happy to know you find him intimidating.”

“Gene?”

His jaw shifts, and I can tell he doesn’t want to elaborate.

“He works security for my family and me.”

I blink, sure that I heard him wrong, because normal people do not have security. “He works security for you and your family?”

He doesn’t answer, just lifts his chin in an affirmative.

“Why do you need security?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m sure having a reason to have security is.” I sigh, then shake my head, because he’s giving me nothing, and his body language is screaming that’s not going to change. “Am I in danger?”

“Never,” he says firmly, and I study him for a long moment, trying to figure out what to do.

It’s obvious he doesn’t trust me enough to tell me why he and his family need security, which lets me know where we stand. Then again, maybe that’s what I needed. Maybe I needed a reason to stop thinking this is some kind of fairy tale, a reminder that we don’t know each other, that sex doesn’t mean more than two people finding pleasure in each other. Heck, for all I know, he gives flowers to every woman he sleeps with, and his family is used to having random women in his life, so they don’t think it’s a big deal to invite them to dinner.

“Right, we should go.” I tuck my bag under my arm and go to the door to lock up before I get into his car. When he gets in, I can feel his eyes on me, so I turn my head his way, hold his gaze, and wait for him to say something. He doesn’t. Instead, he sighs, starts the engine, and backs out of my driveway.

It doesn’t take long to make it downtown to the restaurant, something I’m grateful for, because the normal easy silence between us is thick enough to choke on. After he parks in one of the parking garages near Jeff Ruby’s—the upscale restaurant Melanie made reservations at—we both get out. Like normal, he waits for me to meet him near the trunk, but this time I walk past him, digging in my bag to prevent him from taking my hand. But that only lasts about a minute, because with a curse, he takes my clutch and wraps his fingers around my wrist.

I glare at him as he leads me across the street and get even more annoyed when he doesn’t even acknowledge the fact that the lasers I’m shooting at him are actually making his head explode in my mind. When we reach the restaurant, he opens the door but keeps hold of me as we walk inside like I’m going to run off.

As if. I don’t sneak, and I don’t run.

“Hi, how can I help you?” the very handsome man behind the podium asks, eying Maxim with appreciation before acknowledging my presence with an easy smile.

“We have a reservation under Kauwe,” Maxim says, tightening his hold on me when I wiggle my fingers.

“It looks like your table is ready.” The ma?tre d looks between the two of us, then grabs some menus and heads into the restaurant that is absolutely gorgeous. A large bar takes up the center of the room with chandeliers spaced sporadically throughout the ceiling, and a backlit wall of glass shelves holding bottles of liquor on one side brings a warm glow to the space.