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Then things would be back on track.
Or as on track as they could be when that freaking annoying boyish smile of his kept flashing across my vision.
What the hell was that about?
FOUR
Fenway
I’d had women turn me down before. When you hit on most of the ones you crossed paths with, chances were, you would know rejection more than a few times. No matter how rich you were. No matter if you were born with good genes.
That said, I’d never had someone abruptly jump to their feet and rush away when we’d been in the middle of a seemingly amicable conversation.
My penchant for screwing up on epic, possibly life-ending scale aside, I was not a glutton for punishment. And I respected a woman’s right to turn me away.
Normally, I took that on the chin, and moved onto the next.
Why, then, was I changed into a suit and lingering around her neighborhood ‘for coffee’ when there was a much better cafe closer to my hotel, you might be wondering?
Yeah, well, I was wondering that as well.
Yet there I was.
Like a lost puppy looking for its owner.
There were other streets to walk down.
Planes to catch.
Yachts to board.
Sights to be seen.
Yet there was no denying the only one that seemed important right that moment was any one with her in it.
Absurd and over the top?
Absolutely.
Though no one would ever call me boring and sensible anyway, so maybe it wasn’t as out of character as it felt.
There was an awkwardness, an uncertainty, building in my stomach as I walked down the street for the fourth time, my third coffee sparking off of fried nerve endings.
I was about to give up hope, go drown this uncomfortable sense of self-actualization in one-too-many drinks at the closest bar, maybe take a woman back to my hotel to try to drive out images of my ornery mystery woman.
And then there she was.
Like a kick to the gut in a cerulean blue silk dress that flirted with lines of propriety with the shortness of the hem, the way the bodice hung a bit loose, allowing it to drape just low enough to make it clear she couldn’t be wearing a bra with something like that on.
I’d somehow missed her long legs in both my previous perusals of her body. The first night, I’d been focused on her bare back, her almost other-worldly stunning face. The next time, I’d been distracted by her hair, by the way her brows reacted to everything she heard or said.
But long they were, slightly tanned, toned without being bulky, made to look even longer by the six-inch heels on her feet.
Her hair was left down as she seemingly always wore it, flirting with her shoulders, kicking up at the ends with the breeze.
I let her make her way halfway down the street before rushing across, coming up behind her, grabbing her hand, then swinging it between us as I fell into step with her.
“Seriously?” she asked, not sounding surprised by my sudden appearance, and not pulling her hand right away either.
“You almost left without me, darling.”
“I almost escaped you, creeper,” she shot back, letting me swing our arms two more times before yanking her hand from mine, curling it into a fist so I couldn’t claim it again.
“So where are you taking me?” I asked, clasping my hands behind my back.
“Straight to the police station, possibly.”
“No. You’re far too enamored with me to do something cruel like that.”
“Don’t you have a private jet to catch or something?”
“I have not a care in the world. Save for the overwhelming sadness I feel over your rejection.”
“Somehow, I think you will survive,” she told me, rolling her eyes. “I have plans tonight. So go pester some other woman.”
“Oh, my darling Wasp, you are the only woman I want to pester, though.”
“Gee. Whatever did I do to get so lucky?” she quipped.
Ignoring that, I pressed on. “Where are we having our second date?”
“We haven’t had a first date.”
“Sure we did. We had cheese and champagne. Rubbed shoulders with the locals. It was absolutely a date.”
“I am going to the theater,” she informed me. “You are not invited.”
“You know what I like about theaters?”
“I don’t want to know.”
“They are public places. Two people who happen to be there—not on a date—can still somehow end up sitting side-by-side and enjoying the experience together. The woman might even take solace in a sympathetic shoulder should the movie break her heart.”
“Nothing breaks my heart,” she told me, giving me brief eye contact.
“I don’t doubt that. Fine. Maybe the movie will be terrifying, and you will need to hide your face in my suit fabric.”
“I don’t scare all that easily.”
“What if I get scared, then?”
“It’s not a scary movie they are showing tonight. It is your average, everyday drama.”
“Sounds splendid.”
“Splendid?” she shot back, brow raising.
