Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Thinking of him alone on that bed causes my heart to squeeze. Sadness is the last thing I want to feel around him. I ask, “Dessert?”
“I’m good, but order what you’d like.”
“I don’t think I should. I’m stuffed. I’m going to sleep like a baby tonight.”
The server drops the check on the table, and our eyes both land on it. We look up to meet each other’s eyes. Popping my shoulders, I slink down in my chair a bit. “Thank you,” I whisper again, annoyed with hearing myself repeat it another time, feeling like I’m once again at his mercy.
He deposits his card inside the folder, and it’s swept away. “You’re welcome,” he says, picking up his glass of water to drain it. He checks the time on his watch, something I notice he does quite a lot. Maybe a bad side effect of being in a profession that bills for his time, or perhaps someone who’s too busy to enjoy his life. For Loch, I think it’s a combination of both.
“So—”
Tony returns and says, “Thank you, and we look forward to having you return soon.”
I take it as a sign and stand as soon as Loch closes the booklet. He looks up at me, then stands, tucking his wallet inside his jacket pocket. “You look ready to go.”
I’m not sure how to reply. I wouldn’t mind spending more time with him, but I’m not sure if he has more time to spare for me. “We have an early morning coffee date.”
“We do,” he says, smiling at me.
The heat of his hand embraces my lower back as we weave through the tables toward the front. I hand my ticket to the host, who quickly retrieves my coat from a large walk-in closet.
Loch and I move to the door, but he stops and takes the coat from me. Holding it open, I slip my arms inside, then pull it tight around me. “How do you feel about red?”
“It’s not my favorite color.”
“Blue?” I ask when he opens the door for me.
We walk outside, hit with a chill of gusting wind. He lifts the collar of his jacket and flips his lapels up for more protection before tucking his hands in his pockets. “Brr. I like blue,” he says, just barely nudging me. “You have beautiful blue eyes.”
I hate that I’m fluttering my eyelashes in response. I really have no couth, especially comparing myself to his manners. He’s still watching me, which makes me giggle, and then he asks, “What’s your favorite color?”
“Since I don’t know, let me think.” I tap my chin, hoping something comes to mind to give me a clue.
“If you had to pick one color right now, what would it be?”
“The warmth of brown.”
“Brown? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone choosing brown as their favorite color.”
I could go into some deep description of all the colors of his eyes, from the golden centers to the caramel layer to the heat of the amber and the comfort of the chestnut. I won’t, though, to save myself the embarrassment.
He adds, “Then again, you were dressed almost entirely in brown yesterday.”
“I consider that more camel-toned.”
We walk a little distance to get out from the entrance of the popular restaurant. “I’m not getting into the weeds on shades of brown, but let’s just say it was a flattering shade on you.”
“You’re too kind, Mr. Westcott.” I stop and turn back to him. The man has a way of seducing me with only a look in his eyes. That look currently on his face, to be specific. My knees weaken, but somehow, I manage to remain upright. “Do you mind giving me a ride home?”
“No.”
One single syllable word voiced in that sexy, dulcet tone has my stomach tying itself in knots. With his deep voice and that ridiculously handsome face, I’m fairly certain this man never goes home alone after a dinner date.
Will I be his first?
I take the honor and get in the back of the SUV parked ahead at the curb. “Evening, Brady.”
“Good evening, Tuesday.”
The vehicle's cab feels like a haven from the wind and crowds outside. I put my seat belt on and relax against the soft leather. We ride in relative silence most of the way. I point out something of interest, and then he does. Nothing triggers any memories, though.
When we pull up to the hotel, Loch hops out before the doorman has a chance to open the door. He escorts me inside the luxurious lobby decorated in burgundy velvet and rich gold trimming with marble floors and a grand staircase.
We stop in the middle. One step more feels like an invitation upstairs. I’d be cheated of my time with him if we’d taken one step less. “So . . .” I say, rocking back on my heels.