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Silence settled between us, but it was comfortable. Warm. Something bubbled up inside me, and I thought—no, I knew that this was my moment to say something honest and real to him, while he was listening and focused, when it was just the two of us. In this brief, crystalline moment when I sensed that maybe he had his own hidden feelings.
“Clive,” I said softly. I turned to look at him and caught his warm brown eyes with mine. “That guy hurt my feelings when he dumped me, but honestly, he didn’t measure up to the one person I’ve never been able to stop thinking about. Nobody could ever compete with you.”
As soon as the words flew out of my mouth, I wished—desperately—that I could take them back. Clive just sat in silence, his shocked gaze still locked with mine as my words—my feelings—hung in the air, and I waited for him to respond.
“Say something,” I said nervously, my stomach swirling with dread. “It’s okay if you don’t—”
“Frankie,” he interrupted, his voice harsh. “Just give me a second, okay?”
I frowned as hurt prickled in my chest. “Well, you don’t have to snap at me, you can just tell me you’re not into—"
But for the second time in just a few seconds, he cut me off—not with words this time, but with his full lips on mine—soft skin bordered with the light scratch of his well-trimmed beard. It was tentative and gentle at first, but then his tongue flickered against the seam of my mouth, a silent request for entry that I could never deny.
Oh my God, this is real, I thought as we came together in a flurry of lips and teeth and tongues. He threaded his fingers into my thick, dark curls, holding me in place as his kiss turned hot and possessive. One big, warm hand trailed down over my neck and collarbone to gently trace the line of my breast beneath my dress. I felt my whole body go liquid, my heart soared, and I shuddered against his devouring mouth.
He gulped in a heaving breath as he pulled away, his fingers still gently playing in my thick curls. “I’ve seen you for years, Francesca.” His voice was a low growl, laced with undeniable feeling and desire. “But this isn’t a good idea.”
I looked up into his eyes, still filled with the same hunger that matched mine. I slid my fingers along the warm skin of his neck, and up into the silky scratch of his beard. “Says who?”
Clive pulled my hands away from his face, rose from the bench and stepped away. Just a foot or so, but it felt like the entire fucking ocean. And just as cold.
“It’s not appropriate,” he insisted. “I’m your best friend’s father—I can’t take advantage of you this way.”
I surged to my feet. “I’m not some kid, Clive. I’m an adult and we literally just had a conversation about this.”
He shook his head and turned away, but not before I saw the regret etching his handsome features. “I’m sorry, Frankie. It’s wrong.”
My feet stuck fast to the ground and my face heated with embarrassment—humiliation, really—as I watched him walk away, across the street and back into his high-end hotel.
He wanted me. And then he didn’t.
I watched him disappear into the glassed-in lobby, then I walked the few blocks back to my car. As soon as I sat down in the driver’s seat, my phone buzzed with a text from Marcie.
Good dinner with dad?
A tear trickled down my cheek as my thumbs hovered over the screen while I decided what to say.
Not bad for dinner with an old guy, I said, opting for humor. Good thing he’s still cute.
“Same old Frankie,” I said softly as I pressed send. “Always a great time.”
