Beau was standing in her open doorway, staring at her with dark, intense eyes that made her nervous.Maybe the dress is too much? she worried, smoothing her hands over the soft material of her skirt.
He looked darkly handsome in his starched, dark wash jeans, and the black button-down shirt he wore beneath his leather jacket was crisp, though she could see several inches of exposed chest at the V created there by the buttons left open. His thick, dark beard had been trimmed and his dark hair that was streaked with silver shone in the light of her entryway.
Her eyes dropped to his hands and she smiled, wrinkling her nose again. He stepped forward, holding out the artful bouquet of roses that she’d watched Noelle assemble earlier that day. In his other hand, a box of their hand dipped chocolate strawberries.
“What kind of Valentine’s date would I be if I didn’t show up to your door with a dozen roses and a box of chocolates?” he asked, his deep voice teasing. She took them both and turned, walking into the main room of the studio apartment. She set them in the center of the small island countertop, and then turned to place the chocolate covered strawberries in therefrigerator to keep. She heard him say from behind her, “You do have something for your arms, right? You’ll freeze if you go out without a jacket.”
“Of course,” she laughed. She picked up a black, soft wool shawl that draped over each shoulder and down her sides. A black sash tied it in the middle, keeping it closed across her body. She picked up a deep red, velvet clutch purse and glanced back at the bouquet of flowers. “You know, you didn’t have to get me anything, Beau,” she chastised lightly. “I know this isn’t a real Valentine’s date.”
He winked and extended a large, work roughened hand out to her and she stepped forward, placing her hand in his. Sparks zinged up her arm at the contact, but she didn’t pull away.
Beau led her back out the door and escorted her cautiously down the stairs, and she laughed when she heard him muttering about “Damn deathtraps strapped to your feet” and then “Might as well carry you so you don’t slip and break an ankle” as he walked them to his car. It was a sleek, fully restored 1969 Dodge Charger. His pride and joy.
“I didn’t even ask where we’re going tonight. Am I horribly overdressed?” she asked, her voice coming out high pitched with panic as he slid in behind the wheel after assisting her into the passenger seat and closing the door. The engine roared to life, settling into a steady rumble as it idled. He reached out and clasped one hand over her left knee, which was bouncing with anxiety.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured huskily, his fingers squeezing gently. “We have a table atThe Wine Garden.”
Val gasped, turning her head sharply to look at him in the darkness of the car. Dash lights were the only thing that illuminated his face, just the slightest. “How on earth did you get a table there? On Valentine’s Day of all nights?”
“Called in a favor,” he said simply with a shrug, his left handresting loosely on the steering wheel, his right hand on the shifter between them.
"You... called in a favor…” she breathed. “For a fake date. Beau…”
He turned to look at her, his dark, chocolate brown eyes meeting hers. “I’m going to need you to stop referring to tonight as a fake date. It’s giving me a complex.”
His tone was teasing, light, but there was something in his dark gaze that made her shiver. He’d always been an enigma, more mystery than anything else, and tonight was no different. But the way he kept looking at her… as if he were seeing her, fully, for the first time… it made butterflies take flight in her belly every time his fingers moved on the gear shift, every time his eyes met hers, the way he kept staring at her mouth. If this was a fake date, he was certainly selling it like it was real.
She almost believed it.
He pulled in and put the car in park before turning off the ignition, said a gruff, “Don’t touch that door,” and then he climbed out of the car. Rounding the hood, he came around and opened her door, reaching his hand down to assist her out. She shook her head at him bemusedly as she stood, but then his large, rough hand settled at the small of her back. She could feel his touch, even through the warmth of her shawl and the dress, and it made her stumble slightly.
“If you think I won’t carry you across the icy sidewalk, try me,” he growled close to her ear as his arm shot around her waist to steady her. Which, of course, had the exact opposite effect. Her body was pressed so close to his along her side. He smelled heavenly, his cologne a heady mix of cedar and citrus. “Only women wear toothpicks strapped to their feet in the winter.”
She laughed then, glancing up at him as he maneuvered them toward the large, heavy wooden doors at the front of the restaurant. The old-fashioned, wrought iron light posts that lined the downtown’s gaslight district were all lit. Wrought iron outdoorsconces were lit on either side of the doors as they entered, the warmth of the entryway a vast contrast to the cold from outside. Beau stepped forward toward the host stand, where a smartly dressed woman in a sleek black dress stood.
“Good evening, and Happy Valentine’s Day. Do you have a reservation with us this evening?” the woman asked, her gaze flicking from Beau to Val, a polite smile on her face.
“Collins,” Beau said, his voice low. “Grant will want to know we’ve arrived, as well.”
“Very good, Mr. Collins, Mrs. Collins,” the woman said and picked up two heavy, leather-bound menus. Val’s face flamed scarlet, but the woman didn’t notice as she turned away. “Follow me. Mr. Price reserved his best table for you.”
They were escorted through the busy restaurant. It was small, intimate, and dimly lit, with soft instrumental music playing overhead. Each table was set with a starched white linen, a small centerpiece of red roses, and several candles were lit on each table. The hostess took them to a small table that was situated near a stone fireplace that had a blazing fire in the hearth.
Val loosened the sash around her waist and shrugged the shawl off, and the hostess took it from her, along with Beau’s leather jacket. He held her chair for her, which made her smile. He really was going all out.
When they were both seated, a waiter wearing black slacks and a starched white button-down shirt stepped to the side of their table, a long, black apron tied around his waist. He set down two crystal water glasses in front of them and introduced himself. Val had stopped paying attention to the waiter, her eyes fixated on the way Beau’s shoulders moved under the fabric of his black shirt, or the way the muscles in his forearms bunched when he reached for the wine list the waiter extended to him.
“Mrs. Collins? What would you like? Wine? Champagne?” Beau asked, raising his dark brown eyes to hers, a hint of a smirk tilting up one corner of his mouth. He was teasing her.
She pressed her lips together tightly to keep from giggling and blushed furiously again, dropping her gaze from his. They were seated kitty corner to one another at the small square table, instead of seated across from each other. His forearm rested on the edge of the table, dangerously close to her as she unrolled her silverware and draped the burgundy linen napkin in her lap.
“Water will be fine, to start. At least until I decide what I’m getting to eat,” she said with a smile at the waiter. She had half listened as he told them the evening’s special, but she would need a moment to gather herself.Has Beau always beenthishandsome?she thought weakly, staring at him again. Not only handsome, but… attractive, in a way that made her belly do flip flops, and lower…
Beau chuckled, and the low, husky sound of it did something to her. “I’ll start with a bourbon, neat, please. And the crostini with balsamic strawberries and ricotta, as a starter. Thank you.”
Val dropped her eyes to the menu in front of her, her breathing slightly erratic. Her heart was thundering in her chest. What had changed in the last hour? Wasn’t he still the same old Beau, the same Beau she had known since she was barely out of pre-school?
As the waiter retreated, Beau leaned close and gestured to the menu as he said, “Whatever you want, it’s yours, Val.”
