Shacking Up(56)

"My father is, yes."

"But not your mother?"

"They're divorced. My mother's an artist." I'm hoping the divorce revelation will turn him off. It doesn't.

"Ah. So that's where you get your creative side from, then?" He leans in closer and fingers a lock of my hair. It's pretty close to my boob, so a finger graze also happens. "Is that where your beauty comes from as well?"

I'm sure he thinks he's smooth. I'm also sure many women would simper, put a hand on his forearm and giggle. I don't do any of those things. Instead I ask a question I probably shouldn't considering present company and Amalie's future role in this unfortunate social circle. "Why? Are you into MILFs?"

His eyes go wide, because I'm being so scandalous, and then a questioning, somewhat uncertain smile spreads across his face. I suppose he's attractive. He's tall, more than six feet, but he's lanky. He's athletic enough, but it's clear he spends more time and energy behind his desk than he does working out.

Normally that wouldn't even factor into someone's date-ability for me, but my standards seem to have shifted, in Bancroft's direction.

Wentworth leans in even closer, so his mouth is next to my ear. He's been drinking hard liquor, some expensive brand of scotch based on the peat moss scent, so his breath is sharp. "I'd like to get into you."

I take a small step back. There are several possible interpretations for that horrible line. Based on his tone and his facial expression I have a feeling he means it in the naked horizontal sense. I decide to play it stupid. "I'm sorry?"

He blinks a couple of times, assessing my reaction. I'm feigning idiocy, although my distaste is actually real. He covers his dirty comment with another smile. "I'd like to get to know you."

"Isn't that what we're doing?" I take a sip of my prosecco. My glass is almost empty.

"It'd be nice if we had a little more privacy, don't you think?" He makes a small gesture to the rest of the party attendees. Most of them are engaged in a group conversation. It's only me who's been cornered. And Amie seems to be tethered to Armstrong.

I don't have a chance to respond to that, because the chef appears from the kitchen to inform us that dinner is ready to be served. I try to sit beside Amie, but my attempt is thwarted by Wentworth. He puts himself between the two of us, which isolates me at the end of the table.



       
         
       
        

And then the real flirting begins. I get the knee brush about twenty times. Then he decides he's worried about my hair ending up in my food, so he brushes it over my shoulder. By the time they bring out the main course, which is filet mignon and lobster tails, I'm about ready to stab him with my steak knife.

I'm also on my second glass of prosecco, or maybe it's my third. One of the servers keeps topping it off when I'm not looking, so it stays at the same level of fullness consistently. My face is feeling rather warm, so now would be a good time to switch to water.

Just as they set my plate in front of me, my phone buzzes in my purse. I have it on vibrate, but I can feel it against my leg. I ignore it, I'm not expecting a call from Bancroft tonight because it's a travel day. He has a flight to Amsterdam and I don't think I'm supposed to hear from him until sometime tomorrow. Although with the time difference, it can get confusing.

The buzzing in my purse stops for a few seconds before it starts again. The third time my foot starts to vibrate I excuse myself to the bathroom.

I rummage through my purse on the way, hoping to locate my phone before it stops ringing. It's Bancroft. He's trying to video call me. My stomach does one of those little flippy things. I don't even consider how rude it is that I'm taking a call in the middle of dinner. My excuse is that I'm staying in this man's house, taking care of his pets, so if he contacts me it must be important. Mostly I'm just dying to talk to him as it's been more than twenty-four hours since the last call.

I hit the answer button as I step into the powder room and close the door behind me. "Hey! Hi!" I have to slap around in the semi-dark to find the light switch.

"Ruby? Is everything okay?"

"Just fine." The words come out whispery and a little breathless. I want to keep my voice down because, well, I'm on the phone in the bathroom in the middle of dinner, and also, Bancroft is reclined on a couch in a white undershirt. His hair is freshly washed but he's sporting a serious five o'clock shadow. He looks exhausted. And sexy. And exhausted. But so, so hot.

His brow furrows. It's also sexy. "Are you in a bathroom?"

"What?" I look around, like I'm unsure, even though I chose to lock myself in here. "Oh. Yes. I'm in a bathroom." I think the prosecco is hitting me now.