“Yes and no. I was born here, but I don’t remember anything about the area. My mom moved to Washington, D.C. for a job shortly after I came onto the scene. She met a man there who swept her away to merry old England.”
“Oh, wow. I thought I detected a bit of an unusual accent from time to time. How long did you live there?”
“Until a year ago, actually. My mother called me her little shadow when I was young. I think, given she speaks American English, I didn’t develop the heavy British accent my stepbrother has.” He slides his muscular hand down the dark stubble of his jaw and looks away, seemingly heavy in thought. “I transferred back to the States for a girl.” He grimaces. “Not the smartest decision I’ve ever made.”
Oh. This is refreshing. Not that I’d wish what I’ve endured on anyone. But in my experience, men don’t typically share these types of things when they’re getting to know someone they’re interested in. Wouldn’t want to mar their perfect persona. But then again, I’m not his type, remember? “I guess we have one thing in common,” I mumble.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Grace.” I startle at the contact of his warm hand over mine. Not so much from the unexpected feel of skin on skin as the jolt of electricity that shoots through me. It reallyhasbeen a long time since a man’s touched me if I’m reacting this way. Ben pulls back quickly as if he’s invaded my personal space, and I immediately reach over to grasp his wrist.
“It’s okay. I think this crazy day has simply made me jumpy.” I run my hands up and down my arms, trying to find a way to calm my nerves until I can make a break for it. What is it about this man that has me all in my feels? Both physically and emotionally? Deciding to change gears, I toss out, “What’s the top thing on your bucket list?”
Ben grins, taking another sip of his effervescent drink. My gaze drops to his Adam’s apple. The seductive way it bobs with each swallow. Does this guy know how attractive he is? Of course he does, Grace. Don’t be stupid. He’s conned you into dinner, pretending to behis fake fiancée, and now you’re shacking up with him in this hotel room.
“Hmm. I have a few, actually. I want to get a successful business up and running, see the world, experience other cultures, start a family one day…” he trails off. “But at the top?” His face contorts into an expression I recognize as he stares off into space. It’s the statue, The Thinker, I surmise. “I’d like to make a difference in the world somehow. Not sure exactly how yet. But it’s important to me to give back in some way.”
Blinking at him in an almost catatonic state, I have to physically shake myself out of the sexy stupor he’s lured me into. This man is either the most surprising representation of his species I’ve ever come across, or the most cunning.
His deep blue eyes land on mine, and I have to forcibly tamp down a sigh. “How about you? What’s on top for you?” The image of him on top of me flashes in my mind’s eye, and I immediately blush.
Good Lord, you horny wench.
“Yes,” I blurt. “I’d like to do that too. Give back somehow, start my own business…” I splutter. Having kept any dreams tucked away for so long, it’s almost painful to give them a voice. “But for now I’m simply trying to get into nursing school.”
Ben lowers his tumbler. “Is that your dream job?”
“No.” My swift reply causes his eyes to widen. “It makes the most sense. The world will always need nurses. And there’s always a chance a friend or family member may need care as well.” I don’t need to share my mother’s current state. That’s no one’s business but mine and hers.
An almost pained expression washes over his face. What’s that about? “Life’s too short not to do what makes you happy.”
“Sure. But it’s even longer without a roof over your head. Stability is worth a lot.” My words are a bit clipped given the current state of unrest I reside in. “What’s your favorite comfort food?” I toss out, hoping to move on to lighter topics.
“Probably my mom’s mac n’ cheese. I didn’t get to enjoy it very often. My stepfather and stepbrother weren’t fans of the gooey dish.So it was pretty special when she’d make it for me.” He flashes a dreamy smile, I assume fueled by his fondness for her. It’s honestly more than a little endearing.
“You?”
“Anything someone else cooks,” I mutter. It’s been a very long time since my budget allowed me to eat out, hence why I made the very most of tonight’s extravagant meal. I’ve had to get pretty creative with meals at home to stretch my grocery dollar. Everything related to food prep had become mind-numbing.
“But if you could have anything you wanted?” he pressed.
“Anything? Probably crabcake or something that reminds me of life on the water.”
“Oh.” He adjusts his position, sitting taller. “You like being by the sea?”
“Have no idea. But I imagine it would be relaxing. I almost made it to Virginia Beach once.” I shrug. “But our plans fell through.”Again. Nothing I ever planned seemed to come to fruition. Brad always seemed to come up with something more important he had to do. My eyes peer out the floor to ceiling windows to the illuminated water of Lake Anna as it seems to dance under the moon and stars above. “Thisispretty nice, actually.”
“It is, isn’t it?” The room grows still for a moment. Looking in his direction, I find his dark eyes are on mine. I have to question whether he’s referring to the view… or something else.
“I guess if it was true comfort food, it’d be something from Luigi’s.” On the rare occasion we had enough money to get takeout, like a birthday or to celebrate something special, Mom would order from the local Italian restaurant. It was always fantastic. Plus, the large portions would allow us to share and still have leftovers.
“Oh, I love that place,” Ben blurts. “Best Italian in Hanover, hands down.” He rubs his strong thigh through his suit pants. I have to fight not following the movement up and down his muscular leg to his— “So, for the important question you dodged earlier.”
“I did?” I angle my head trying to ponder anything I may have avoided during our previous conversations.
His bright blue eyes twinkle, the corner of his mouth curling in a sly grin. “How old are you, Grace Kelly?”
Why does that nickname make me blush? Well, not as much as baby girl, but let’s not go there. “Twenty-four. You?”
His brows inch up in surprise. Is that good or bad, I can’t help but wonder. “Thirty-four.”
