The Best Man (Alpha Men Book 2)(15)

“Relax,” he growled. “I’m not driving you to some remote location to murder you or anything.”

“Wow. That thought hadn’t occurred to me . . . till now.” Her voice was tart and—despite the dimly lit interior of the car—she could see his lips tilt just enough to reveal one of those masculine dimples to her. It took everything in her not to reach up and trace her thumb over the indentation in his stubbled cheek.

“So what kind of place is this? Am I overdressed?” Considering the rough and ready guy he was, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he’d simply take her to a pub much like Ralphie’s.

“You look perfect.” His gravelly voice sounded intense, and Daff felt her face heat at his words.

“Thank you. You look quite nice, too.” And he did. He was dressed in a pair of faded jeans that fit him perfectly; her eyes drifted over thickly muscled thighs and the snug pull of fabric over his crotch before she hastily diverted her attention upward. The view was no less unsettling—a pale-blue dress shirt, slightly damp in spots from where it had caught the rain, lovingly draping and dipping over his broad chest. The top two buttons were undone, leaving her with a tantalizing glimpse of smooth, tanned skin. She couldn’t see much because of the dim car interior, but it put her imagination into overdrive and made her breath quicken.

God, Spencer Carlisle was seriously good-looking. Not conventionally handsome, but so damned sexy it made her skin feel tight and uncomfortable. Like she had an itch that was just out of reach.

He had slipped into one of those contemplative silences he seemed to enjoy so much, and not feeling the need to break the silence, Daff fumbled for her phone and pretended to check her messages and Facebook. He left her to it and only when she saw the lights of Knysna rapidly approaching about ten minutes later did she put her phone away again.

“I’m starving,” she said, and he grunted in agreement.

“Nearly there,” he informed her, and she stretched luxuriously, curling her toes in her shoes.

“Awesome.” She sighed, paying closer attention to their surroundings. “We’re headed toward Leisure Isle.” She didn’t know why that surprised her. Leisure Isle was a residential suburb surrounded on all sides by the tidal estuary and only accessible by a narrow causeway. Daff had never visited the tiny lagoon island before and was both flustered and impressed with his choice of destination. It was touristy and upmarket. Maybe he wasn’t taking her to a pub after all.

“I’ve been meaning to try this restaurant for a while—this is as good an excuse as any to give it a go.”

“This isn’t a special occasion,” she hastened to remind, and she could hear his sigh even over the engine noise.

“Never said it was.”

“Just saying.”

“Hmm.”

Frustrating man.

“This is a hotel,” she pointed out suspiciously when he finally drew the car to a standstill, and he slanted her an exasperated look.

“It’s a lodge,” he corrected before continuing, “with a great restaurant. Don’t worry, Daff . . . I didn’t bring you here to seduce you. I know better.”

What was that supposed to mean? She nearly asked before thinking better of it and keeping her mouth shut. Instead she perused the exterior of the whitewashed building. It looked sublimely luxurious and was situated right on the lagoon’s edge, promising fantastic views. A shame they wouldn’t be able to enjoy it on a dark, rainy night like this.

“Fancy,” she observed when he held the passenger door open for her. She was suddenly grateful for the little black dress she was wearing and then instantly peeved with Spencer for not warning her that he’d be bringing her to a place like this. What if she’d dressed for Ralphie’s or MJ’s? She’d have looked distinctly out of place in jeans and a T-shirt.

He led her to the restaurant’s separate entrance, where they were greeted by a smiling maître d’.

“Carlisle,” Spencer said succinctly, and the officious little man’s smile broadened.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Carlisle.” He picked up a couple of leather-bound menus and tucked them into the crook of his arm. “Right this way, please.”

He led them through a maze of white-clothed round tables—some empty, some filled with smiling, relaxed people—toward the back of the restaurant.

“Here you go. Your server will be right with you,” he said. The table was in a great location, right beside one of the huge picture windows, with a fantastic view of the night-black lagoon. There were a few blinking lights from boats and reflected lights from homes and buildings, but it was eerily dark out there. Especially with the cloud cover. Still, the view was amazing, and Daff would have loved to see it on a sunny day, when it would probably be brilliantly blue and ethereally beautiful. She turned her avid scrutiny back to her immediate surroundings and was impressed by the gorgeous decor of the place. Everything was white and cream and airy. The austere color palette worked in this setting.

“This is a little much, don’t you think? We could just as easily have discussed the party plans over a beer and some pretzels,” she said, her eyes meeting Spencer’s.

“No skin off my nose,” he said with a shrug before lifting his hand to summon a waiter. “Ralphie’s it is.”

The waiter was there in seconds.

“Ready to order your drinks, sir?” he inquired.

“We’ve changed our—”

“Not yet,” Daff interrupted hastily, sending a glare Spencer’s way. He merely lifted a brow and folded his arms over his chest before leaning back in his chair and watching her with something like a smirk on his brutally handsome face. “Give us a few more minutes, please.”

“Certainly, ma’am,” the young man said with a polite little bow before retreating.

“Thought you wanted to leave.”

“I’m starving,” she complained. “And I can’t stand the thought of another long drive on an empty stomach. We’re here, we might as well eat something.”

“Hmm.” He turned his attention to the wine list, his overly long hair sliding forward as he bent his head.

“Use your words, for God’s sake,” she groused beneath her breath, and he tilted his jaw just enough to look at her from beneath the long flop of hair. Daff grinned before reaching for her purse and digging around a bit until she found what she was looking for.

“Need a hairclip?” she offered, holding the tiny sparkly butterfly clip out to him. He ran a sheepish hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face in the process.

“No time to get to the barber. Been meaning to hack it off myself.” He sounded charmingly embarrassed, and Daff’s grin widened even while she was appalled at the thought of Spencer doing a hack job on that gorgeous mane. She acted without thought, reaching across the table to slide her fingers through the silky hair that kept falling over his eyes and used the ridiculously feminine clip to pin it back. She snatched her hands back almost immediately and hid them in her lap beneath the table. Spencer reached up and touched the clip with the tip of his long index finger. He surprised her by leaving it in place and thanking her gruffly before bending his head to contemplate the wine list again.

Daff, in the meantime, kept rubbing her palms against the material of her skirt, trying—and failing—to rid herself of the feel of his luxurious hair on her skin.





CHAPTER FIVE



Spencer very slowly and very carefully released the breath that had caught in his chest when Daff had so unexpectedly reached out to touch him. His grip on the wine list tightened in an effort not to betray his trembling hands to her, and he immediately lowered his unseeing gaze back to the stark black-on-white letters in front of him, even though none of the words currently made an iota of sense.

Shit.

Was that really all it took to turn him on these days? One whisper of a touch? The answer to those burning questions had to be a resounding yes, if the straining bulge of his crotch was any indication. He sneaked a peek at her. A tiny little furrow between her perfectly arched brows marred the smoothness of her skin. She looked pensive, her attention directed out at the dark lagoon instead of her menu.

“Ready to order?” he asked, happy to hear that his voice sounded relatively normal. Her startled eyes flew back to his and she blinked slowly, looking like she was coming out of a deep sleep.

“Uh. You order. Whatever you choose will be fi—” She stopped, the frown deepening, before she reached for the wine list determinedly. “On second thought, give me a minute. I haven’t really looked at the menu.”

“I’ll be happy to choose.” He shrugged.

“Yeah? Well, you don’t know what I like. And I doubt we like the same things. So . . . I’ll pick my own wine. And food. And dessert.”

“Of course.” He wouldn’t have chosen her whole meal, damn it. He’d just meant the wine. Although he’d definitely feel more comfortable if she chose that.

Bringing her here had to be one of the worst decisions he’d ever made. He’d taken one look at the place and known that it was way too romantic for a casual dinner, and he’d been more than willing to call it quits earlier when she kept on nagging about it. But then she’d changed her mind again.