“It is me, but not many people know that and because I’m a little shy and awkward in these kinds of moment, I need to fill the space with something other than me.” I slide the plate toward him. “Cookie?”
“How about dinner?” he asks. “I promise not to ask you a million cliché questions about your writing. I’ll limit myself to a hundred.”
I laugh. He really is quite charming. I should say yes. I mean, he’s everything a girl could want, but the idea of dinner alone and a movie appeals to me. Maybe I am broken. I open my mouth to speak, not even sure what I’m going to say, when there is a distinct crackle in the air. My gaze lifts to the doorway to find Eli standing there and what a force of nature he is. Tall, striking, big—so very big, in every way, including his energy. He steals my breath. His piercing blue eyes meet mine and to my shock, there is a distinct possessiveness in his stare.
But there’s more.
There’s something primal and angry.
CHAPTER SIX
Ivy
The room is suddenly hotter or maybe that’s just my skin.
Jacob shifts and rotates to find Eli standing behind him and instinct, self-preservation perhaps, has him standing. “Hello,” he says, offering Eli his hand. “I’m Jacob Waller.”
Okay, scratch the instincts and self-preservation. He’s clueless. Eli glances at him, the look in his eyes steel. Awkward seconds tick by and still he just looks at him. He also ignores his hand. He’s not a big hand shaker, apparently. He’s obviously not a big Jacob fan, either. His gaze lifts to mine and he says, “Our reservations are in fifteen minutes. Would you like a glass of wine while we wait?”
Our reservations.
My mind and head spin. There is much about last night that is confusing and a bit cloudy. Did he invite me to dinner and I forgot? Did I fret all day over him blowing me off and he didn’t, in fact, blow me off at all?
He arches a challenging brow, almost as if he dares me to deny our date. I don’t want to deny a date with this man. I don’t want to deny this man anything, which is crazy, insane, unlike me in every way. I’m reserved. I’m a hard nut to crack and yet, I’m naked right now, naked without even undressing.
“Wine sounds lovely,” I say softly.
Satisfaction burns in his eyes and he shifts his attention back to Jacob. “Ask for her autograph while you still can.” With that remark that demotes Jacob to nothing but a fanboy, Eli turns and exits the doorway.
I almost call after him to tell him I prefer something sparkling, but Jacob’s staring at me with an appalled look on his face. “I’ve made myself a nuisance. I’m sorry. I’m embarrassed.”
His discomfort is palpable and I’m immediately sympathetic, eager in every way to ease his pain. “Oh please,” I say. “Don’t be. And you are not a nuisance. You are quite engaging, and I would love to hear more about your business. You might just inspire a character in a book.”
He motions toward the spot Eli just left. “I doubt he would appreciate that.”
“Nonsense,” I say. “He’s just hungry. You know how some people get when they’re hungry. And I’m around for a couple of weeks. When do you leave?”
“I’m here another three days.”
“Then we’ll see each other again,” I promise.
“Later then,” he says warmly, relief washing over him, or at least that’s the emotion I read. Though I’m not sure why relief is at play at all. “Have a nice dinner. The food downstairs is exceptional.” He exits the room.
There’s about a thirty-second gap before Eli reappears, holding two glasses in his hand. One is some sort of whiskey. The other is a sparkling glass of wine. I blink at it and look up at him, stunned that he’s chosen my favorite type drink. He sits down in the seat formerly occupied by Jacob. He sets his whiskey on the table and then offers me the glass.
I accept it, our fingers colliding, a spark jolting me, wicked heat rocketing up my arm and over my chest. My God, my nipples are puckered, and my sex clenches. That’s how intensely this man affects me. His hand slides from mine, and I want to pull it back. I want him to touch me again. I want to touch him. I’m out of sorts, confused by my reaction to Eli, and yet, addicted to it all the same.
I sip the beverage, pleased to find a sweet champagne that might actually be a Spumante, bubbles tickling my tongue. And when I set my glass down, Eli is simply watching me, and doing so with such intensity that you’d think I was the last woman on planet earth.
“Sparkling wine is my favorite,” I say, filling the heavy space between us, and adding logic to the conversation I add, “But I assume Kelly told you that.” Kelly is the lounge attendant, who is absolutely wonderful. She remembers everything about everyone she meets.
“Kelly was busy,” he says. “But in an unexpected twist, you seem to compel your intense thoughts on me.”
I blanch at the unusual comment. “That’s not possible.”
“And yet, you have your glass of sparkling wine. And I also know you felt sorry for Jacob.”
“Not exactly sorry for him. I was just sensitive to how awkward he felt when you showed up. Honestly, I didn’t expect you. I didn’t remember a dinner date.”
“Do you want to go to dinner with me?”
“You didn’t invite me?”
“I’m inviting you now.” And when I might push back again, he tears down my walls by adding, “I want you to go to dinner with me.”
His admission somehow breaks through the protective shell I’ve started to form, a way to shelter myself from my intense reaction to Eli. And so I say, “I do. I want to go to dinner with you.” And somehow it feels as if a simple dinner invitation and acceptance is something bigger, something life-changing.
It’s a silly thought—or rather, feeling. It’s what I feel in this moment that cannot be denied as if it’s life-changing. And that feeling is as real as anything I’ve ever felt in my life.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ivy
Eli stands and offers me his hand. “We should get to the restaurant.”
I study the hand he denied me last night but offers me now, aware that this very hand was on my body last night. Oh so aware. In my mind, I flashback to me against the hotel room wall, and him pressed close to me. Aware too that touching him will light me on fire, mute my ability to think beyond my feelings, which are indescribable where Eli is concerned, but quite intense. I am not someone that ever allows myself to be anything but in control in any situation possible. I know from my parents’ illnesses how it feels to spiral, to have no ability to manage anything around me.
Letting go, granting myself the freedom to do so, is not a luxury I allow myself, but sitting here now, I have to admit that a part of me craves release. And yet, another part fears it.
With these conflicted emotions, and with Eli’s large, strong hand extended toward me, I both crave and fear the lack of control this man stirs in me.
He must notice my hesitation as his brow arches, a challenge in his eyes. I reach for my glass, down the contents, and then press my palm to his palm. Heat burns in both our physical connection and the collision of our stares. He drags me to him, his hand on my waist, the touch intimate and wildly inappropriate—well, inappropriate if I were intending to resist him. Apparently, I’m not.