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“Thank you, Arnold.”
Like before, Dallon stepped out first so he could open the door for me. We were greeted at the door and again by the elevator. When the doors closed behind us, the tension between us became palpable, as if the small space couldn’t contain it all. Dallon leaned against the wall as if trying to appear casual, but his hands were grasping the rail behind him tightly and his eyes were fixed on the lights above the door as the elevator rose at what felt like a snail’s pace.
Finally, the elevator pinged and the doors opened. Dallon put his arm behind me again and led me out, down the hall and to his door. He didn’t visibly relax until he’d taken off my coat and hung it up neatly and there was a glass of wine in my hand.
“Sit,” he said, motioning toward his white leather couch.
I wanted to make a joke out of the number of times he’d commanded that I sit, but his expression warned me not to. I was dealing with serious Dallon again. Dallon on a mission.
I sat down on the couch and pulled my legs up underneath me. Dallon didn’t join me; instead, he continued standing, studying me thoughtfully before speaking. I felt like I was on display.
“We were interrupted,” he began. “I asked how you can be sure.”
“Be sure of what?”
“That you’ll get hurt.”
Oh, that. He was like a bloodhound on a scent. I thought for a moment before responding, fidgeting on the couch under his gaze. How could I explain in a way that wouldn’t make him angry? I’d learned that he didn’t like it when I put myself down, so explaining my fears about where he was in life, even if it could be attributed to our age difference, really wasn’t an option. Neither was revealing the fear that he was more handsome than I was beautiful because in addition to putting myself down, I knew it wasn’t relevant; my appearance was perhaps the only thing I knew he liked about me for sure.
“Have you been hurt before?” he prompted.
I shifted uncomfortably. “You mean by past boyfriends or whatever?”
He nodded.
“Yes. But who hasn’t?”
He gave me a slight salute with his wine before taking a sip. “Good point.”
I bit my lip.
“The fantasy woman comment got me thinking,” he continued, pacing back and forth slowly and never taking his eyes off me, “that you believe I have some ideal for you to live up to. Well, I don’t.”
I took a sip of my own wine, unsure how to respond.
“I don’t think that’s all it is, though.” Dallon stopped and waited for me to speak.
“We met due to an advertisement,” I said, looking at my hands. “I think you’re drawn to my appearance because it fit your requirements.”
“And that I will soon grow bored with you,” he finished.
I flinched. He’d hit closer to home with that one.
“But I still don’t think that’s all.”
Dallon put his wine glass on the table and strolled over to me. I expected him to sit beside me on the couch, but to my surprise, he crouched in front of me, putting a hand on my knee. It burned from the heat of his hand, a pleasant warmth that traveled up my leg. My face must have registered my feelings because he smiled his knowing smile. When he spoke, his voice was low and seductive.
“I think you’re afraid of how you feel about me. I think you’re afraid of what you felt that day during our photo session, when I touched you.”
I swallowed, unable to take my eyes off him. He wasn’t blinking. It was like he was waiting for my face to betray that he’d hit the nail on the head this time.
“How do I know you won’t hurt me, Miss Clair? So far you’ve proved very bad for my health. I’ve never been this close to becoming a stalker.”
Stalker. The word implied he couldn’t stay away from me, which gave me a delighted chill, even though I knew it shouldn’t. He was using the word jokingly, but I knew how dangerous obsession could be.
He stood up, sauntered over to the kitchen. “What do you feel like for dinner? I have a craving for pasta.”
He started going through his cupboards and I was glad I didn’t have to respond, that the question had been rhetorical. The moment he’d walked away, I’d started breathing again, and my heart was beating like crazy. He was right—I was definitely just as afraid of him as I was attracted to him. Or maybe it was the same thing when it came to Dallon King.
“You look cold,” he said, frowning at me from the kitchen. “I’ll turn on the fire and grab you a blanket and some slippers.”
He flicked a switch and a fire appeared in the marble fireplace. Then he disappeared into the only room he hadn’t shown me on the tour, presumably his bedroom, and returned with a beige blanket and a pair of pink slippers. My stomach dropped when I thought about the reason behind him owning a pair of women’s slippers, but I pushed the thought aside as he wrapped the blanket around me.
“Thank you.” I reached for the slippers, but he pulled back, smiling playfully.
“I’ll put them on.”
I untucked my legs and stretched them out on the couch. Dallon picked up first my right foot, massaging it gently before putting a slipper on it. I bit my lip, afraid I might groan in pleasure or something else embarrassing. No one had ever rubbed my feet that way.
“There,” he said, pulling the blanket tighter around me. “Now relax for a bit and think about how much fun it would be to date me,” he added with a wink.
He turned his back to me as he did something on the stove, and I watched his muscles on his back move under his tight shirt. His dark hair was perfect, like it had just been cut. He was wearing black jeans that were tighter than his other pair and sat snug on his butt. As I watched, he threw a towel over his shoulder and lifted a wooden spoon to his lips to taste the sauce. God, was he hot.
Soon the smell of sautéed shrimp wafted through the room and my stomach growled. It had been a while since I’d eaten anything close to a real meal. I stood and made my way to the kitchen.
“Can I set the table or something?”
Dallon looked over his shoulder and frowned at me. “I told you to relax. You’re not very good at following directions, are you Miss Clair?” Again that knowing smile appeared, and I reddened, my mind traveling back to when he’d said that during our photo session.
“I want to help.”
“Very well.” He pointed to a drawer with his wooden spoon. “The cutlery is in there. The placemats are in the buffet.”
I opened the drawer he’d referred to and pulled out two forks and two knives. They were heavy; I flipped them over to see Vera Wang inscribed on the back. Then I went into the living room and found the buffet. The wood was sleek, shiny. I pulled open a few drawers until I found silk placemats and set them on the table, which was made of the same wood as the buffet. Dallon King had very good taste.
When I entered the kitchen again, he was garnishing our plates with parsley. I bit my lip but didn’t say anything.
“For you,” he smiled and passed me a plate of pasta. It smelled amazing and I was worried he might actually hear my stomach rumble. He motioned for me to take the lead, so I led us into the dining room. Dallon put his plate down and grabbed two candlesticks from the buffet, lit them before turning a dial on the wall to dim the lights.
“Go ahead, dig in,” he smiled at me while spreading his napkin over his lap.
I took a bite. It was delicious.
“This is really good,” I said enthusiastically. “I mean, really good. I haven’t had pasta like this in a while, since my parents took me to Italy!”
Dallon smiled. “I did an exchange in Italy. I love their food, their culture, and their art.”
“Me too,” I smiled.
“What do you usually have for dinner?”
“It depends. Easy things I can cook on the hotplate, like soup. The best pasta I’d make is Kraft Dinner.”
It was meant to be a joke, but Dallon didn’t laugh. Instead, he put down his fork. “I’m worried
about you living there and not being able to make proper meals.”
I shrugged. “I’m not much of a cook anyway.”
This didn’t seem to make him feel better. “Health is very important to me, Miss Clair. Nutrition is an important aspect of good health.”
“I eat vitamins,” I said sheepishly.
“Good. Do you eat enough vegetables?”
“No,” I said, looking down guiltily. “But I wouldn’t if I had a kitchen. I don’t like them that much.”
Dallon sighed and looked down at his meal composed mostly of carbs. “I should have made something else. Oh well, I’ll know for the future.”
I picked up my glass of wine and he smiled.
“It’s getting easier for me to read you, Miss Clair.”
I wished I could say the same. I took a sip of my wine and put it back down on the table carefully.
“I mentioned the future. I would like this make this work,” Dallon said, his eyes never leaving me. “Finish your dinner and then we will discuss what I can do to convince you.”
Chapter Ten
By the time we finished dinner, I was feeling the wine. I hadn’t told Dallon, but dinner had been my first real meal of the day. I’d only eaten an apple for breakfast and hadn’t found time during my shift to eat. On top of that, I was beyond nervous. What was I doing having dinner with a man I’d hated only a month earlier?
When I finished the last bite, Dallon leaned back in his seat and smiled at me. “You look like you enjoyed that.”
“I did. Thank you.”
I stood up to clear the plates, but he shook his head and nodded toward my seat. I sank back down. He swirled his glass of wine, his eyes on me. When he spoke, his tone had changed; his voice was low, as if in warning.
“I’m not a patient man, Miss Clair.”
I swallowed. I was pretty sure I knew where he was going with this; he had said he was used to getting what he wanted.
“I know,” I whispered.
Dallon stood and made his way around the table toward me. I remained seated, my heart beating rapidly in my ears. He stopped beside me and reached out to stroke my cheek. “Stand up.”
I got to my feet, my eyes level with his chest. I hadn’t realized how much taller he was than me until then.
