“You don't think I can admire a woman with a little spirit? I told you before, Ms. Frazer, I admire your tenacity. And a few of your other assets, truth be told.”
“You didn't seem particularly admiring when you were threatening to call the cops on me,” I counter. “If you think you can make me forget about why I'm here, that I'll just throw over the Center for the chance to sleep with you or something, you're an idiot.”
Humor dances in his eyes. “I never suggested that. I've already made it clear that I'm attracted to you, and it's quite obvious that you're attracted to me as well. I'm just saying that I don't see why you can't have it both ways. Or, come to think of it, why I can't have you a few dozen ways in the meantime.”
“You're disgusting,” I say, standing up and throwing my napkin down on the table. “This is serious. The Frazer Center has done remarkable things for this community and its people—more things than you'll ever appreciate or, dare I say it, do yourself, despite all your money or your fucking talking closets and fancy ceilings. If you refuse to talk about it… if you're just going to be ridiculous and crude, then fine. I won't waste any more of your time.” I turn and storm toward the door.
“You can't leave,” Calder says calmly after me.
“Watch me.”
“No,” he says, just as my hand reaches the doorknob. “I mean it's actually impossible for you to leave. Do you remember crossing the river on your way out here? The road between here and Barberville floods whenever there's heavy rain. With a storm like this, it's probably under three feet of water by now.”
My blood goes completely cold. I freeze, my fingers closed around the doorknob.
“You're lying.”
“I'm afraid not,” he says, still as calm as ever. He raises his wineglass to his lips and takes another sip. “I'm afraid, Ms. Frazer, whether you like it or not, you'll be staying here with me tonight.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Panic rises in my throat.
“You mean I'm stranded here? With you?”
“It appears so.” Calder eyes me over his glass. “You don't have to look so terrified. I'm not going to devour you or anything.”
“That's not exactly the impression you gave me a moment ago.”
“Believe it or not, I prefer my women consenting. Enthusiastic, even. Until you're willing to admit that you're attracted to me, I won't lay a finger on you. After that…”
“There won't be an 'after that'. I'm not attracted to you. Quite the opposite, actually. You're an asshole, and I don't care if I'm stuck here tonight. Nothing is going to happen between us.”
“Very well then,” he says, nonplussed. “But since you can't leave, would you care to return to the table? I don't want Martin's hard work to get cold while we sit here at our little stalemate.”
“It's not a stalemate,” I insist. “There's no discussion here. Nothing will happen between us.”
He nods, unconcerned, and I want nothing more than to smack that smug smile off of his face. Is this really all just a game to him? Is he getting his kicks by pissing me off?
A part of me wants to storm from the room. Whether I can actually make it back to Barberville or not, I don't have to stand here and take this from him. But sulking out to my car feels more childish than sitting back down at the table, and I won't let him make me feel like a sullen brat. I sigh and return to the table, sinking into my seat and taking up my fork without giving Calder a second glance.
He's watching me, though. As soon as I put the last bit of salad in my mouth, he's on his feet and back at the cart again. He removes the lid from one of the silver chafing dishes, and a heavenly aroma greets my nostrils. Damn him and his brilliant personal chef. I'm not feeling very complimentary right now, but my taste buds water in defiance of my dark mood.
The main course is pecan-crusted salmon with a side of buttered white asparagus. He serves me again, as he did with the salad. I offer him my polite thanks before falling back into silence.
The food does little to temper my anger. Neither does the way Calder keeps looking at me. I still can't believe his arrogance. He thinks he's won, that I'm halfway into bed with him already. He's so used to women just falling over themselves for him. Well, not me. Hell will freeze over before that happens. I may be stuck here, but that doesn't change anything.
I sneak a glance at him when he leans forward to grab the wine bottle again. Sure, I can appreciate his looks from a purely aesthetic point of view. Those broad shoulders and strong jawline have, I’m certain, left many a woman swooning. If I’m being honest, the untrimmed hair and stubble suit him far better than the über-polished look he sported at Arts & Hearts. But does that mean I'm attracted to him? No. He's still an ass, and a shitty personality can make even the finest man on earth seem ugly.