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When I get downstairs, my steps falter and my heartbeat speeds.
It’s not the sight of Ford leaning casually against the counter, drinking a beer. Although that’s enough to make any woman stop in their tracks.
It’s the enormous bouquet sitting in the center of the island next to a crystal bucket of wine chilling. The entire rainbow of colors pops around a large stem loaded with white orchids.
I slowly make my way to him, my stomach fluttering with each step. “They’re exquisite.”
“They’re flowers. You’re exquisite. New appreciation for the purple.”
The fluttering intensifies and my heart soars. “Thank you.”
“It’s me who should thank you.”
His double meaning hangs in the air and self-consciousness kicks in. “This wine is delicious.”
“Not a wine guy, but the Powers know their shit.”
That’s why I recognized it. From Harley’s wedding. Major’s family owns part of a winery. “I think it’s my new favorite.”
“There’s a wine fridge filled at the house. Any time you want some, help yourself. Or let me know and I’ll bring it to you.”
“You this charming on all your first dates?”
Darkness flickers in his eyes, disappearing so quick I could have imagined it. He places his beer on the counter, hooking his arms around my waist and inhaling deeply. “You smell incredible. Like sunshine and seduction.”
A thrill races down my spine like a rollercoaster pummeling through my nerve endings. “Not sure about seduction, but it’s my summer scent.”
“I’m sold.” He runs his lips across my jawline to my throat. “Although it’s impossible for anything not to be sexy with you.”
My breath catches when his teeth nip at the skin below my earlobe. “To answer your question, I’ve never been referred to as charming in my life. But like the other night with the kiss, this is your last first date, Rowan, and it has to be perfect.”
The smoky suggestion in his voice causes flutters to swarm in all directions, and I fight to remain standing.
I’m in so much trouble.
My trip on the Ford Whitman high nosedives when he drives into the lot, parking between two recognizable black trucks.
“Rowan?”
“Tom’s?” I croak.
His calculating gaze doesn’t help the weighty pressure on my chest. Without a word, he gets out, rounds the truck, and opens my door. I stay still, unable to move.
“I have no problem carrying you.” He unclips my seatbelt, linking an arm under my knees.
“Wait, I don’t feel well.”
I swear there’s a ghost of a grin before he lifts me.
“Really, Ford, I ate too much. We should go home.”
He ignores my plea.
My anxiety rachets at the sight of the door. Memories of the last time I was here replay in my mind.
“I’m going to be sick.” The delicious Italian meal is now churning in my stomach.
He stops, running his lips over mine. “You’re safe with me.”
