He frowns. “Who’s that?”
“The one fromBeauty and the Beast.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “So if you’re Belle, I’m…”
“The Beast.”
“The Beast. Hmm.” His expression says he’s not sure about being a Beast when he could’ve been Prince Charming.
“Uh-huh.” I grin, enjoying teasing him. “All roaring and gruffness. He doesn’t make the best first impression.”
“Ah.” His eyes narrow a little. “Is he an irresponsible idiot? Or just an asshole?”
“Neither. He’s a little grumpy and mean on the outside, but soft and sweet on the inside.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“He also owns self-cleaning plates, self-lighting candles and the most amazing library.”
“I have at least thirty boxes of books in storage. I’ll show you,” he says.
“And he throws the best balls and dances like the wonderful prince that he is.”
“Just so you know, there are self-cleaning and -deodorizing toilets at Mom’s place.” He tilts his head back toward Malibu. “Bet the Beast didn’t have those.”
“I wouldn’t know.” I laugh. “The movie didn’t say.”
“Bet the movie didn’t tell you he’s also the best kisser in the entire fairytale world.” His tone is light, his words are full of humor, but his eyes…
My laugh dies down as every nerve in my body prickles with awareness. He makes me laugh and long for him at the same time. I’ve never experienced that before. Actually, every time with him seems to lead to something new.
As my mouth dries, I realize I’ve had my head buried like an ostrich.
He’s the one I’ve been waiting for all this time.
Chapter Sixteen
Aspen
We’re only a few yards from getting back to the beachfront mansion when a couple of drops of water land on the windshield. I look up and see a sky full of leaden clouds.
“Thank God this came after we got home,” Grant says as he pulls into the garage and kills the engine.
“You can’t drive in the rain?” I tease as we enter the house. A couple of recessed lights come on, casting a warm but dim glow over the living room.
“Are you kidding? I learned to drive in Europe. Rain, snow, everything. It’s the people in this city. A couple of drops, and they act like it’s some Biblical hail of locusts.”
I laugh at his dramatic description. “Well, we aren’t used to rain. But I like it as long as I’m not driving.”
It starts to pour. I try to see the dark ocean through the window, but it’s almost impossible to see anything clearly. The raindrops hit the house, filling the empty space with white noise.
I reach for my phone and pick out a playlist of tango music, including “La cumparsita.” I extend my hands. “Dance with me.”
His dark gaze collides with mine in the dimly lit living room. I swallow a little, since we both know it’s an overture.
“What are we dancing?” he says.
“A tango, of course.” I smile. “Unless you aren’t in the mood.”
