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He held his arms out. “I take my dates to nice restaurants, order the best food and wine, and give them roses. Is that wrong?”
“No. But it’s not me. And everyone who knows me knows that.” She pressed a hand to her chest, which rose and fell rapidly. He didn’t glance down, because he couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. Too much was at stake. “Look, I want to help you. I do. But I can’t pretend to be something I’m not. I don’t speak French, and I don’t want to buy a ton of diamonds, or eat with the French Ambassador, or the mayor. I didn’t even vote for him.”
“That’s okay.” He dropped his hands. “I didn’t vote for him, either.”
She let out a small laugh and shook her head. The moonlight played with her hair, making it shine. Even when trying to run from him, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and nothing would stop him from chasing her. “Okay, but still. I don’t want money and credit cards and all the things.”
“I’m going to be honest. You confuse the hell out of me, Maggie,” he said, reaching out to trail his knuckles down her cheek. “Most women I’ve dated would be pleased to get a credit card for unlimited spending, and jewels, too.”
She shuddered, but didn’t pull away. “Yeah, well, I’m not most women.”
He crossed his arms, eyeing her with a new appreciation that had nothing to do with their fake relationship, or his need for her help. “I’m getting that now.”
“You want a puppet you can dangle in front of your mother, who fits in with your crowd.” Maggie twisted the ring on her finger and took it off, holding it out to him. “And I’m not that girl. I’ve never been good at fitting in, or falling into line, so chances are I’m not about to start now. Not even to keep my job, which I happen to enjoy a lot, for the record.”
He didn’t take the ring, but he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maggie, I’m sorry I screwed up. I am.” More than she’d ever understand. “Like I said, you’re in charge. But I didn’t know I was doing anything wrong. I just did what I always do when I take women out.”
“You always give women Tiffany rings on the first date?”
He snorted. “No.”
“And credit cards?”
He held up a hand. “You’ve made your point. It was too much, too fast. I won’t make that mistake again.”
Her lips twitched, and she seemed less inclined to run. “You think I’m a girl who’s impressed with money, and jewels, and fancy restaurants.”
“But you’re not.” He stepped closer, watching her for any more signs of her being ready to bolt. She looked steady, and he had to keep it that way. He couldn’t afford to lose her. “Please, let me try again. And if you don’t want to buy yourself diamonds…don’t buy diamonds. If you want to wear a plastic bag to the galas, go for it. I don’t give a damn, as long as you’re there with me.”
She bit her lip. “But what will everyone think?”
“Whatever they want to think.” He moved into her personal space. “Who the hell cares?”
She eyed him and gestured toward the restaurant. “You do, I’d say.”
“Nah.” He tucked her soft hair behind her ear and skimmed his knuckles over the porcelain skin of her cheek again. He couldn’t help it. Touching her was a drug, and he’d take h
is hits wherever and however he could. “I don’t. I’m kind of a loner, so if they don’t like me…I really don’t give a damn.”
She couldn’t actually come to his galas in a bag, but he knew she wouldn’t, so they’d be fine. She had more fashion sense than that. She just needed a minute to breathe. To accept it all. He’d had a lifetime to acclimate to a certain lifestyle. She’d had a day.
“Tell you what. How about this?” He tugged on her hair before letting go. It was harder to release that small piece of her than it should have been. “You pick the next ‘date.’ Show me what you like to do, so I’ll know what to plan when it’s my turn again.”
She stepped a little closer, and he knew he had her. That she wasn’t going anywhere. “When?”
“Whenever, and wherever, you’d like.” He held his hand out to her. She didn’t turn away. “Put the ring back on and give me one more chance.”
She hesitated, but slipped the ring back onto her finger, and then slid her hand into his. “Okay.”
He felt a surge of satisfaction that had nothing to do with tricking his mother into believing this was real. For whatever reason it might be—stubbornness, attraction, or something else entirely—he didn’t want to let Maggie go.
Metaphorically or physically. But he did it anyway. He dropped his hold on her after one good shake. “Then it’s set. How about we go back in, and you can order what you want this time?”
“I’d love that, Mister—” She cut off, smiling at him. And when she did that, the breath punched out of his chest again. “Benjamin.”
He’d never wanted to kiss someone so damn badly as he did Maggie, just then, under the full moon. If he curled his hand behind her neck, burying his fingers in her long brown hair, and slowly tugged her closer, would she fight him? Or would her gray eyes widen and her lips part in anticipation as he closed in on her mouth, one slow breath at a time?
A cab honked behind them, and he shook his head, shaking off the fantasy. She’d made it quite clear she didn’t want to touch him unless absolutely necessary. “After you.”
