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Chapter Ten
Ariana
I try not to guzzle the champagne down, but I’m nervous. I can’t help it.
Lukas Bentley looks like he just stepped out of a freaking G.Q. magazine.
His suit is sharp, as is his slightly trimmed beard, and the way he holds his crystal tumbler, like he has all the authority in the world.
Silver and gold rings don his hands, and I see a couple of tattoos on his knuckles that I never took the time to notice before. It’s as if he gives you a little peek into the carefully crafted world of Mr. Dark and Dangerous. And yes, I kind of want to kill my friends for nicknaming him that in the first place because it’s stuck now.
If I thought he looked good half naked in the pool, he’s even better fully clothed in a suit. It’s ridiculous.
Every woman in the room notices, of that I’m certain. Mr. Bentley would turn heads wherever he went. If his looks don’t get you, his presence would. He commands attention.
Just as I’m thinking it, guilt hits me at every damn turn.
His age has nothing to do with it, nothing, not that I’ve really ever considered an older guy.It’s the fact he’s asshole James’s dad.
It’s so dirty, but for a fleeting moment, I imagine him.
What he’d be like in bed. His hand tilting my chin up as he looks into my eyes.
Just thinking about him naked has me all hot under the collar.
Focus!
I should also not be noticing the spicy scent of his cologne, or the way his fingers drum on the table while he talks. He’s mesmerizing; everything that comes out of his mouth is interesting, funny, direct, and he holds everyone’s attention at the table.
We have an amazing appetizer of roasted parmesan-crusted asparagus, and the waiter tops up our champagne. Imogen and Charlize excuse themselves to use the bathroom, and usually I’d go too, but for some reason, I’m glued to the seat.
I try not to look at Lukas, but I feel his penetrating stare as I reach for my glass. This is kind of awkward.
I remind myself for the umpteenth time to not drink too much tonight.
I definitely don’t want a repeat of my first night, when I ended up suffering the next day. Instead, I enjoy the champagne, knowing just by the sheer elegance of the bottle that it’s expensive.
“Are you having a good time, Ariana?” His voice is deep and smooth, and I’m forced to look at him.
A smile tugs on his lips.
He’s so fucking handsome, and I’ve had just the right number of bubbles for a cheeky response, even though I know I shouldn’t play with fire.
“Yes, I am, thank you. I think the champagne has gone right to my head, though.”
His eyes brush over my face, amusement dancing in his eyes, so much so that I add, “What?”
He shakes his head.
“Mr. Bentley,” I insist.
He leans closer to me, one elbow on the table. “I’ve told you over and over to stop calling me that.”
“Everyone else calls you that,” I protest.
“It makes me sound like an old man.”
“You’re definitely not old,” I tell him firmly. “And you’re only as old as you feel, or so they say, right?”
