I wait for him to move out of my way, but he doesn’t. He just stands in front of me and flashes a shit-eating grin my way.
“I’ll take you to the best restaurant in Savannah,” he tells me. “You’ll love it.”
“Why do men always think they know what a woman wants? It’s annoying, not to mention arrogant.”
“It’s not arrogant if I’m right.”
This should turn me off. This should be a blazing, flashing red light to dress him down, put him in his place, and be on my way. It’s what I do to every other guy who thinks he’s something I can’t live without. But I don’t. Or I can’t. I don’t know which, and I can’t even spare the mental capacity to sort it out because every synapse is firing just for him.
There’s a look in his eye, something behind the brazen façade, that intrigues me. I haven’t given a man more than a dirty look in longer than I can remember. Who has the time? Who has the energy? Who wants to deal with that bullshit?
But as I stand on the porch of this beautiful home in the middle of a perfect Southern evening, I remember Sienna’s instruction to enjoy my vacation.
“You don’t know enough about me to be right,” I volley back, continuing the banter because I can’t help myself.
“I disagree.” He shifts his weight, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ll tell you three things about you besides the obvious. If I’m right, you’ll go to dinner with me.”
I think this over. I didn’t tell him anything about me, not even my name. So, there’s no way he can actually come up with one thing, let alone three, that’s deep enough to warrant a dinner date.
If nothing else, it’ll be a fun little experiment and a chance for me to prove that men don’t know everything.
“Fine,” I say. “But you have to impress me. Hair color, eye color—those types of things don’t count.”
He grins. “Absolutely not. There’s no fun in that.”
“All right. Shoot.”
“Your name is Blaire,” he says, catching me off guard. “You like gummy bears but feel like it’s a childish thing to enjoy, so you try to be discreet about your obsession. You prefer the red ones and hate the green ones. You like shopping but hate spending loads of money on things you think are a waste.”
My jaw almost hits the floor.
“And,” he says, taking a step closer to me, “you don’t date because you don’t have time. You also find men to be barbaric, adolescent creatures which, may I add, I find offensive.”
“How could you possibly know all that?” I demand. “Are you a stalker? Do I need a restraining order?”
The heat rolling off his body clamors into me, upping the beat of my heart tenfold. I hate my reaction to him, and I hate even more that I can’t control it.
“Lincoln said your name. You dropped the candy from your purse in the airport, and I just happened to notice you had it hidden in a little pouch. All the red ones were gone, and it was chock-full of the green. Your lipstick was a type my mother uses, so I know it’s expensive as hell, but your earbuds earlier weren’t a name brand, so I put together you don’t value them as much.”
“I just lose them constantly,” I say, still sorting his observations.
“And now you lost our bet. Ready to go?”
My summer dress billows in the breeze, reminding me, once again, I’m not home.
This wouldn’t be like a dinner with a man I see regularly or could even see regularly if I wanted to. He lives almost a thousand miles from me.
What could one dinner hurt?
“Fine,” I say, stepping around him. “But I’m driving.”
“Great,” he says, much to my surprise. “Let me tell the others I’m taking off.”
“But you weren’t done. We can pick this up tomor—”
“Oh, no.” He laughs, his green eyes lighting up with mischief. “We were done a while ago and now we’re just shooting the shit. I’ll be right back.”
He takes off inside, and I brace myself against the railing.
What have I gotten myself into?
Four
Holt
They say a person’s eyes are the windows to their soul. You can tell everything you need to know about them by a quick glance. Doors are like that for a business, and the ones leading into Picante are ornate and heavy.
It’s my favorite place in all of Savannah. Sitting atop a luxury hotel with views across the water on one side and the city on the other, it’s spectacular. Especially at night. It’s also impossible to get into without a reservation.
“After you,” I say to Blaire as she enters in front of me.
“I should’ve changed, Holt,” she says under her breath. “Look at these people.”
“There are people? What people?” I grin.
She tilts her head, clearly unamused.
“Fine.” Looking around, I spot the hostess and give my head a subtle nod. She scurries our way.
“Mr. Mason. Good to see you this evening.”
“Thank you,” I say, less amused at her wandering eye than usual. Moving slightly to the side so I’m closer to Blaire, I clear my throat. “Two, please. For the Radar Room, if it’s available.”
“I’ll rearrange for you, sir. Right this way.”
Blaire casts a look over her shoulder with her lips pressed together to hide a smile. She follows the hostess along the wall to one of the private rooms beside the main dining area. I place my palm gently on the small of her back. I want to touch her so fucking bad, but I don’t want to come across the wrong way.
She tenses for a brief second before her shoulders relax; mine follow. I flex my fingers against the smooth fabric of her dress, finding her body warm against my touch.
There’s a conversation between Blaire and the hostess, one I can’t hear, but I’m not mad about it. Just watching her speak, hearing her laugh at the hostess’s jokes, is enough for me. Right now, anyway. It’s a world-class view without any pressure.
We enter the private room, lit with candles and ambient lighting, and I pull out Blaire’s chair before she sits. This seems to please her, which, in turn, pleases me.
Once we’ve made a drink selection and the hostess is gone, the energy in the room starts to shift. I finally have her to myself.
“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” I say as she drapes her linen napkin on her lap.
“I believe you came with me, but that’s just semantics.”
“Excellent point.” I laugh. “How do you know the Landrys?”
“One of my brothers, Walker, is dating, or engaged, I’m not really sure, to their sister, Sienna,” she explains.
Lifting the glass of water in front of her, she swirls it lightly around. My question seems to have made her think of something else, and I want to know what it is. I want to know everything about this woman.
“So you grew up around here?” I ask.
“Me? Oh, no. I grew up in a little town in Illinois. That’s where my family still lives. I live in Chicago.”
I can’t imagine living apart from my brothers. We all live and work together in some form, except Coy. When he’s not touring with his band, he’s right here with us.