My door opens and Jennings is waiting with a hand extended to assist me. Such a gentleman. A filthy, dirty gentleman.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jennings
“Where are we?” She’s exited the car and slipped her hand in mine, glancing at the building in front of us. She managed to miss the vineyard completely on the drive in, so focused on her task of seducing me.
She’s an enigma, this girl. So full of passion but so innocently naïve about getting it. A mixture of sweet and sassy that makes me hard in an instant. The way her thoughts constantly play out across her face makes her easy to read but somehow all the more captivating. I can’t get enough of her. How she tosses me a glare and rolls her eyes in my face when I’ve irked her. The way she bites her bottom lip and glances away while she thinks about how much she’s willing to tell me. How her nose wrinkles and eyes narrow when I’ve crossed a line and how her pupils dilate when I’ve whispered something unexpectedly filthy in her ear.
Jesus, the smell of her alone is enough to get me going. The softness of her skin and the silk of her hair. The curve of her bottom and the swell of her tits.
I’m fucked.
“Local vineyard,” I tell her. “They’ve a French restaurant that’s rumored to be lovely.”
She glances around, turning in a little circle to take in the property. We’ve been dropped at the entrance to the onsite inn, a charming building that looks like a house tucked away in the countryside. The vineyard stretches out in front of us, row after row of trellises covered in growing grape vines dotted by a perimeter of trees and open skies.
“Wow, you really go all out for first dates,” Daisy says after she’s completed her circle and returned to face me. “I’m impressed,” she says and I wonder what her face would look like if I brought her to a French vineyard. Or a Spanish one. Or, best yet, a remote Italian vineyard in the countryside with a pool and staff who left during the day. We’d do nothing but eat and fuck and lie naked in the sun. I’d dribble the finest vintages money can buy across her skin and lap them up with my tongue a drop at a time.
“Don’t get presumptuous about how good this date is. I could still ask you to split the bill,” I deadpan.
She throws her head back and laughs and I can’t recall the last time I enjoyed myself this much with anyone.
“I’ve never eaten French food before,” she admits once we’re inside sat at a table. Her fingertips are tapping the side of the menu and there’s a small crease marring her forehead as she studies the options.
“No? If you don’t enjoy it we’ll stop at I Jump on the way back.”
Her eyes fly up from the menu and she grins. “You’re an excellent listener, Jennings.”
“I’m a fast learner too. I already know three different ways to make you come in under ten minutes.”
“Oh, my God.” Her eyes widen and a blush covers her cheeks and I wonder if I can run an international travel business from Naperville, Illinois. Or, fuck it, perhaps I can retire at thirty-six and make my life’s work finding the rest of the ways to make Daisy come.
What in the hell did my life look like before this woman? It’s hard to recall.
The waiter collects our drink orders. I order a Manhattan while Daisy selects one of the Rieslings made at the on-site winery. She examines the interior of the restaurant, her eyes resting briefly on the wooden-beamed ceiling, chairs covered in a blue French toile fabric, and chandeliers hanging with their cords swagged from hooks in the ceiling. She doesn’t speak until the drinks arrive.
She takes a sip of her wine and her eyes widen with pleasure. “Wow. That tastes like I could just suck it down.”
Bloody hell.
She did not just say that. I grunt and shake my head to clear the memory of her on her knees sucking me down.
“Do you eat at restaurants like this often?” She asks it casually but that face of hers has already given her away, the question hanging in her eyes as she takes a sip of her drink.
“Occasionally,” I tell her. Way to elaborate, Jennings.
She examines the tablecloth in front of her while I wait. They’re royal blue, matching the blue print on the chairs.
“What is it you do exactly?”
There it is. The question I knew she wanted to ask. I should just tell her. Right now. Yet… something is holding me back. I’ve gotten in too deep on this lie of omission and now doesn’t feel like the moment to correct it. Plus I need to figure her out before I lay out all my cards. There’s something she’s not telling me and I don’t think the revelation that I’m her boss’ boss’ boss is going to get her to open up any. Likely the opposite. In fact I think it would have her hoofing it out the door.