Gemma froze, not sure what to do. On the one hand, she wanted to yell and scream at him for being a total, incomprehensible jerk, and on the other hand, she really wanted to sit down and have some dinner. Or even look at that wide back a moment longer.
As she was pondering her options, Devon called out without sparing her a look.
“What’s your poison, Gem?” He startled her, but the nickname made her bristle enough that she didn’t pay any heed to the way her heart was pounding in her chest.
“It’s Gemma. And rum and coke, if you have it,” she said.
Getting a drink? That’s not smart!
But she bet it was just what she needed to keep from blowing up at Devon before they’d got two sentences in. She tried to urge herself to play it smooth, keep her temper down and just try to fight this battle with logic. And rum.
“Have a seat, Gem,” he said without missing a beat, obviously committed to aggravating her further with that horrid nickname. As if she was some little trinket in his hoard, only there to amuse him when he felt like it. With a grumbled sigh, Gemma sat down at the table and soon found herself gratefully nursing a rum and coke as Devon took a seat next to her.
“I see you didn’t appreciate my taste in clothing,” he said drily, giving her a measuring look. She stuck her chin up a little, fighting a blush. So she wasn’t dressed like she was going to the Oscars – he’d have to deal with that. Gemma wasn’t that kind of girl. If he wanted someone that lounged around in elegant dresses all day and looked pretty, he shouldn’t have roped himself a woman whose idea of hell was wearing high heels.
He looked effortlessly chic, though, and even more mouthwatering than the food stacked on the table. Clad in all black, he kept with his monochrome choice of fashion, but his shirt was unbuttoned just enough to give Gemma a hint of that perfect body hidden underneath, and his blue eyes seemed to shine with even more intensity than the night before. When he sat down next to her, she had real trouble keeping her wits about her.
He lifted a few silver tray lids off of the food, revealing every manner of delicious treats from seafood to wild game and from desserts to soups and salads.
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I had the cooks prepare a bit of everything,” he said simply, taking a sip from his drink as he rested his gaze on her. It made her skin tingle.
“Thank you,” she said, feeling a bit awkward for thanking a man, who had just forcefully made her his bride-to-be.
You can deal with that after you’ve eaten, she told herself, giving in to the gaping emptiness in her stomach as she piled some lobster rolls and rice along with fresh green salad onto her plate. She dug into it gleefully, and was several bites in before she noticed Devon watching her, a smirk on his lips.
“What?” she asked, not bothering to hide the annoyance in her tone.
“I just like a woman with an appetite. I was half-expecting you to leave me alone with all of this food,” he said, a genuine smile piercing that stony expression of his. Gemma arched her brows at the man. When he wasn’t trying to be a complete jerkwad, he could be surprisingly… tolerable. Who knew? She certainly hadn’t been prepared for it.
“Well, I probably should have. I don’t know what kind of books you’ve been reading, but the way to a woman’s heart is not through calling dibs and excusing it with ancient rights.” Gemma gave him a look that she thought rather piercing, but Devon just chuckled, putting some slices of wild boar and elk along with a healthy helping of mashed potatoes and cream on his plate.
“You must not date a lot of dragons then,” he said, looking entirely serious.
“I imagine you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that I don’t.”
“Not really, no.” There was that smile again. Just a hint of a warm, if not blazing heart underneath that wild, jagged exterior. Gemma bit her lip, shaking herself from the reverie. No getting all goo-goo eyed over the enemy. Focus! For a while, they ate in silence, and Gemma used the drink to bolster her courage a bit. It was surprising to find that she felt perfectly comfortable dining with him in silence, that there wasn’t any need to fill the quiet with chatter about this or that.
It was a rare quality in a man – the ability to make others feel comfortable around him – and one that she couldn’t help but appreciate, though found surprising in a personality as undoubtedly loud as Devon’s.
“So, why are you doing this?” she finally asked, her curiosity getting the best of her deathly terror of being cooked alive by him.
“Can’t I have a nice dinner with my fiancée?” he asked, laying down his fork and knife.