The O Intention(25)

With a sigh, I sit back in my chair and glance around the restaurant. I chose something a little more to Alix’s style this time. She wasn’t a big fan of the French food and even managed to order a steak. Naturally, I found it only fitting to invite her to a steakhouse. The atmosphere is nice—a lot different to what I’m used to—and I feel out of place in my black two piece suit. Wanting to avoid curious stares, I undo the two buttons at the middle of the jacket and shrug out of it.

Alix is running late, but I expected as much considering she doesn’t own a car. It’s her own fault and even though I offered to pick her up, she declined with a scoff.

I drop my jacket onto the floor next to me and lean forward on my elbows. I see her then, walking in through the large front door, decorated with bales of hay and cowboy hats. Her golden eyes scan over the restaurant as she flicks her long, brown hair over her shoulder. She looks great in a shrunken flannel shirt with the buttons open. The white top she wears underneath is tucked into a short denim skirt and her feet are covered by small, brown boots with a moderate heel. Truth be told, she’s dressed like she was born and raised in a barn… and she looks hot.

As my stare flicks over her voluptuous hips, generous bust and up to her face, she spots me and I smile politely, as though I was never overtly ogling her. She walks toward me with the usual sway in her hips and perkiness in her steps. Dare I say, she looks excited to see me and maybe, just maybe, the strange twinge in the pit of my stomach is excitement too.

She laughs as she approaches the table. “You don’t come to steakhouses often, do you?”

She makes fun of my attire, but her eyes give away her true thoughts. She might not ever admit it, but she likes a man in a suit. I push myself out of my seat and step around the table toward her. “Is it that obvious?”

“Just a little bit.”

I extend my hand and she puts hers in mine. Her skin cools the inside of my burning palm as I pull it to my lips and kiss the back of her hand. I linger there for a moment, marveling at the way her entire body tightens and her breath catches.

“It’s good to see you.” I say, dropping her hand.

“You too.” She avoids my eyes as she pulls out her own chair and lowers herself into it. I take note of the way her cheeks flush a sexy shade of pink and I smirk at the idea of making her feel flustered. I’m usually the one to suffer at the hands of the dreaded burning cheeks.

We barely talk as our orders are placed and served. It isn’t until Alix has almost devoured her fries she decides to start a conversation with me.

“I’m sorry about what I said… a few days ago at the hotel.”

I search her face, waiting for a twitch of the lip or quirk of the eyebrow—anything to tell me she’s joking. Alix is sincerely apologizing? Could it be true? It has to be. Her eyes are downcast to her plate as she sheepishly pushes the tip of two fries through the remnants of a puddle of ketchup.

“I shouldn’t have made a comment like that in front of the people you were with.”

Her honey-whiskey irises finally flick onto my face and just to torture her a little bit, I grab my wine glass and draw it to my lips. For her added discomfort, I take a big, long mouthful all while keeping my stare on hers. A good fifteen seconds pass before I place my glass back on the table and give in.

“It’s alright.” I tell her. “Water under the bridge.”

She straightens her posture and her perkiness returns. From there, conversation flows. No awkward questions or sexual innuendos are spoken. As we drink glass after glass of wine we become more comfortable, more relaxed and before we know it, the staff are kicking us out because they’re closing.

“I’ve never sat so long in a restaurant before.” I tell her as we stroll along a boardwalk. My head spins in violent patterns every now and again, but not enough to make me completely lose my composure. Alix, however, seems almost unaffected by the alcohol… until she speaks. Every now and again, she’ll slur a word.

“Me neither. Then again, I hardly ever eat outside of my house.”

I peer around the empty boardwalk and vacant beach. I left my car at the restaurant a few blocks back and make a quick mental note to call my personal assistant to come pick it up later.

“Why don’t you go out? Don’t you have friends?”

Alix hooks her arm around mine and leans her body weight against me. “Sure, I have friends. I just prefer the ones in my books.”

That can’t be it. I doubt a fictional character can keep you company enough to choose them over your friends. Granted, I’m not one to talk. I have employees, associates and business partners, not friends.