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One eyebrow shoots up as he brings his elbow up to the table and cradles his cheek in one palm. “A badass?” he smirks, then adds, “How so?”
I look around, wondering if my friends took another freaking vacation, to the other side of the planet?
Help!
Feeling like I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, I plough on. “Well, you’re a CEO, like you said; an important businessman, who people respect.”
He tsks. “Ariana, you can do better than that, surely. And I don’t know about people respecting me but indulge me a little.”
I cannot understand the feelings cooking up in me. It’s like I’ve taken Mr. Bentley heroin, and now I can’t get enough.
Fine. He wants honesty? I’ll give it to him.
“Well, aside from your commanding presence, and the fact that you’ve got really good taste in suits and picking out resorts in Mexico, the giveaway might be the tattoos hidden under your clothes, or the fact that you have a body like a twenty-five-year-old.”
I have the urge to slap my hand over my mouth like an errant child, but I hold my own.
The only tell-tale sign that he may be a little bit surprised by my admission, is the way his eyes dip down to my mouth, and he gets this strange look in his eyes.
The hand at the back of my chair moves down to my thigh, and I’ve no idea what he thinks he’s doing, but my friends suddenly appear back at the table as I feel his hand squeezemy knee. A few moments later, his hand is gone, and I’m left hanging. Like a fucking drooling puppy.
He half-stands as my friends sit back down, ever the gentleman, and I know for a fact my cheeks are probably burning beet red. His lightest touch has me feeling it everywhere, and I mean,everywhere.
This is definitely not normal behavior. I am going to Hell.
I steal a glance as Charlize prattles on about the soap being in the shape of a mermaid’s tail, and I know he knows I’m looking at him.
Saved by the main course, our meals arrive, and Lukas falls into easy conversation once again, asking each of the girls about their work, how we all met, that kind of thing. He’s certainly a seasoned host and takes great interest in conversating.
By dessert, we’re onto our third bottle of champagne, and Lukas orders aperitifs. Then, much to my embarrassment, the waiter and a few other of the staff come out of the kitchen with a cake lit with candles, and they start singing Happy Birthday in Spanish.
Of course, when I glance at Lukas, he grins as he claps along with the music, and my traitor friends, who no doubt organized this, sing along with them, in English, so it’s a comical mishmash of utter mortification.
I thank them all when they’re done and oblige everyone by blowing out the candles.
“Make a wish,” Lukas reminds me.
I wish to not to be so freaking attracted to you Lukas Bentley. Damn it!
The cake is chocolate, my favorite, and it’s decorated beautifully with frosting and gold sprinkles. It almost looks too good to cut into, but I definitely want a huge slice.
“This is so nice, guys,” I say when the commotion dies down, then add, “I’m utterly mortified, though.”
“She’s not kidding,” Charlize chimes in. “She hates surprises.”
“Why do you hate surprises?” Lukas asks, taking a bite of cake with his fork.
I shrug. “I don’t know, I guess it’s because I like the idea of being in control.”
I don’t know what he’s thinking with that reply, but he steels his jaw, and I see it tick ever so slightly.
What did I say?
Surely, that can’t have been annoying.
He picks up the check an hour later, and we all leave the restaurant. I don’t miss the feel of his hand on the small of my back as he lets us walk ahead of him.
Every time he touches me, my skin lights up like the fourth of July.
