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I find her independence irresistible.
“Hard work always pays off,” I say knowingly. “If that’s what you want, I have a feeling you won’t let anyone stand in your way,” I add, making her face light up.
“Thanks.” She lets go of the ends of her coat tie she’s been holding out and grins at me. Her mouth is so wide it turns my heart into a thumping rhythm of erratic beats.
“I admire you for going after what you want. Having goals and ambition is sexy,” I tell her. Staring at her, I can’t wait another minute to touch her. Closing the space between us, my mouth is on hers in seconds.
Unlike last night, our kiss is slow and tender, and I love how she grabs the edges of my jacket collar to pull me closer.
I move my kisses down the side of her neck. “I have a surprise for you.”
“My scarf?” moaning quietly, she asks.
I suck and kiss on the sweet spot behind her ear. “Better than a scarf.”
“A pashmina?”
I pull back and look at her. “What the hell is a pashymera?” My brows pinch together in confusion, making her giggle.
“It’s a scarf made from fine cashmere.”
I roll my eyes. “Why can’t they just call it a cashmere scarf instead of a pashymera.”
“Pashmina,” she corrects me, laughing louder this time. It echoes around the enormous, empty space. “And I don’t know why.” She lays her hand out for me to take. “Show me this surprise then, Mr. Serial Scarf-napper.”
Like a good little puppy, I take her hand and do as she asks.
She’s got me in a choke hold already.
CHAPTER NINE
Lily
“I can’t skate.” My hoarse, whispered panic slices through the silence of the space as I look around the empty rink that’s lit up like the Fourth of July.
“Everyone can skate.” He ignores my mini freak out.
I haven’t skated for years. I was never any good at it when I was younger, choosing to sit on the sidelines and watch my friends. “Eh, no, not everyone. I sit in the can’t skate camp. And I have a dress on.” I look down at my pretty work dress and point to it like he hasn’t seen my outfit and wasn’t eye fucking me out in the hallway when I pulled open my coat and asked if he wanted to do a full body inspection.
Brazen hussy.
“Are you sure you’re Canadian?” He eyes me suspiciously but doesn’t give me any time to defend my heritage when he says, “If you want your scarf back, you have to put those skates on and go get it.” He points to my cream scarf that’s tied in a bow on the back of one of the wooden chairs in the middle of the ice. I inwardly do a little happy dance as I check out the table and two chairs along with a hamper, two fluted glasses, and a large green bottle of wine. Or maybe it’s champagne, I can’t tell from here.
How romantic.
But skating? I wasn’t lying when I told him I’m like Bambi on ice. I’m the least coordinated person I know. Even dancing in time to music is a struggle.
At war with my inner emotions; the desire to go out there and spend a date on the ice overrides my fear of skating. “Oooo, you drive a hard bargain, Mr. Johansson.” I’m praying I don’t fall on my ass and end up looking like a fool.
Sitting on the bench around the edge of the arena, he chuckles to himself as he pulls on a pair of skates that were lying on the floor next to another much smaller pair that I assume are meant for me.
“Did you guess my shoe size?”
“Nope. I asked Kourtney.”
“You asked Kourtney?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes.”
