“Sì.”
Another urge to moan is swiftly swallowed and proceeded by a soft sigh, “Attraction for me is not enough of a reason to go out on a date with someone. If it were, I’d go out with Miko if he asked.”
“E vorrei chiedere,” Miko lightly chortles, “non rapire…”
An animalistic growl is tied to the swift sneer.
Curiosity gets the better of me. “What did he say?”
“I’m not translating it.” Benicio begins to tug at his collar as if in desperate need of ventilation. “And you’re not ever going out with Miko unaccompanied. That is non-negotiable.”
“Is that Mr. Bennett speaking or Benicio?”
“Yes.”
A small snicker escapes, and the sound seems to cease his uncomfortable fidgeting.
“Will you please tell me why else you are refusing my advances?”
Impressed by not only his use of manners but the pleading in his voice pattern is what prevents there from being a delay in my answering, “You don’t strike me as the type of man who dates, Benicio.”
“I date.”
Miko’s immediate laughter threatens to spark my own.
“I’ve been on dates in the past. They’re just not something I typically set aside time to do. I’m a busy man who stays busy, at times willingly and at others reluctantly. But to be clear – cristallino – I have and, in this case, am amenable.”
“Okay,” I casually acknowledge at the same time I pull my long, dark brown hair to one side of my face, “when was the last time you had a real date?” He prepares to answer too quickly prompting me to add, “One where maybe you didn’t necessarily ask because she didn’t need you to, but one where you perhaps treated her more like a willing participant rather than a captured princess?”
“You mean courted princess.”
“It would be in your best interest not to put words in my mouth.”
Benicio cracks a cocky smirk. “Is that an invitation to put something else in there instead?”
“It would significantly increase your chances.”
Taken by surprise at my quip, he lightly laughs, “È giusto.”
I lift my brows in a request for a translation.
“It means that’s fair.”
“Ah,” my head slowly moves up and down, “also it would be to your benefit to either only use English so I know what the hell you’re saying or instantly translate like you’re a walking Google App.”
More chortles come from the stunning man in front of me prior to him leaning closer to quietly ask, “Non ti piace quando parlo italiano o ti accende?
The impulse to shoot him a sardonic stare is executed.
“I asked,” his tongue steals a long, slow swipe of his lips, “do you not like when I speak Italian, or does it turn you on?”
“I…”
“Or is it that it bothers you how much it turns you on?”
His leg lightly grazes mine again. “Penso che sia quello.”
A mindless whimper slips into the air.
Benicio’s voice remains enticingly low, “And the sound you couldn’t hold inside indicates – without room for argument – that it does.” He gives the very edge of my face a light stroke. “You can relax, mia bella. I will…work on my translating and my manners.”
“I appreciate that, Benicio.”
“I appreciate your appreciation, Chantal.”
For a moment, our eyes simply linger in one another’s easing the anxiety yet adding to the sexual tension.
How can the desire to scream one person’s name in aggravation and arousal oscillate so seamlessly?
And why does this feel like the good fit my father was insisting not be ignored?
“Your um…” I lean away for less intoxicating air to breathe, “your last date?” My fingers toy with the ends of my hair, eager for something to anchor onto. “Your last real date.”
“Halloween.”
Appalment wastes no time making an appearance. “That was like eight months ago!”
“That was three years ago!” Miko chimes in on a loud chuckle.
Benicio plasters on a spiteful smirk, reaches over to the cluster of buttons on the door, and pushes the one that cuts off his best friend’s access to us. Afterwards, he settles back in his seat and casually states, “I never said it was something I had done recently.”
“Recently, Benicio?” Another snicker of shock slips free. “Recently would infer the past couple of months. Three years ago, is…is…well is…”
“The answer.” His hands fold themselves in his lap. “Regardless of the way you feel about it or the way you are currently making me feel about it, it is the truth and the truth cannot be disputed, simply acknowledged and accepted.” The warmness in his eyes that seems to come and go at the snap of a finger leaves yet again. “What is it about my dating history that is acting as a reason to not be a part of my dating future? Shouldn’t my pickiness be a testament to my pledge to only making time for women I find worth it? Shouldn’t the long stretch indicate that I do not waste effort or energy on frivolous arrangements?”
His unexpected counter sends my fingers back to the ends of my hair. “That depends.”
“Sopra?” Benicio waves his hand my direction. “On?”
“The last woman you went on a date with.”
“What about her?”
“Do you remember her name?”
There’s no immediate answer.
“Do you remember her face?”
Benicio’s eyes squint as if trying to recall.
“Do you remember anything about the date itself? Was it a good start? Was there good conversation? Food? Music? Did you kiss her good night?”
“It ended pleasantly,” he swiftly reassures.
The retort receives a challenging hum. “For her or for you?”
“I like to believe both.”
“Did you ask the next morning over coffee or breakfast or brunch? Or, did you never see her again after you had her escorted out of your mega mansion?”
He whispers his correction, “Penthouse.”
“Exactly.” I shake my head at the same time my hands fall to my lap. “I’m not interested in being a face that you can’t recall any more than I’m interested in doing the walk of shame at thirty-two.”