I check my reflection one final time in the mirror, pleased with the result. The black dress is plain, but it hugs my curves and skims my thigh, and I hope it’s sexy in an understated way. I don’t want to give Kent the wrong impression. I want to look good without it being an invitation. If he thinks he’s getting into my panties tonight, he’s got another think coming.
The pile of clothes on my bed illustrates how difficult dressing for this date has been. I don’t recall ever being this indecisive when I was dating Lync, and the situation with Chris was entirely different.
I add a colorful choker around my neck before sliding my feet into my knee-length lace-up boots. They have a medium stiletto heel, and I like the confidence I get from the extra few inches in height. Kent is tall so I can wear them and not worry about towering over him. I spritz some perfume on my neck and my wrists and add another layer of deep-purple lipstick to my mouth. Deciding I’m done, I snatch my red leather jacket and head out into the living area to wait for Kent.
A smile crests over my mouth, like it does every time my gaze gravitates to the flowers Kent sent me. I sniff the blooms, but only a lingering scent remains. They have lost their freshness and are starting to wither; however, the flower-pressing kit arrived today, so I plan on spending my day off tomorrow drying and pressing the flowers. When they are ready, I intend to stick them on the drawing I’ve sketched, and then I’m gonna frame it and hang them on the wall.
It might be overkill, but I think a girl should always remember the first time a guy gave her flowers.
Kent rings the door at exactly eight, and I’m pleasantly surprised at his punctuality. A rush of butterflies invades my tummy, and I’m trembling a little as I grab my purse and head toward the front door.
I draw a brave breath as my fingers curl around the door handle.
Here goes nothing.
Opening the door, I force myself not to react when I get an eyeful of Kent. He looks utterly fuckable in his black designer dress shirt and tight-fitting jeans. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, highlighting the glorious ink on his arms, and with the way his shirt is stretched across his impressive chest and biceps, I’m going to have a hard time keeping my eyes on his face tonight.
“Liking what you see, Presley baby?” That notorious shit-eating grin comes out to play.
“Meh. I’ve seen better,” I joke, attempting to hide my lust behind humor.
“Well, I haven’t. You look fucking hot.” His gaze rakes leisurely over my body like a sensual caress, and desire coils low in my belly. He whips a single purple rose out from behind his back, handing it to me. It’s set within a small square glass vase, and I’ve never seen anything like it. “It’s an infinity rose,” he explains, sounding a little nervous. “The woman in the shop said it would last a year if you leave it in that and don’t water it.”
Our fingers brush in the exchange, his touch heating me instantly. “It’s stunning. Thank you so much.”
I leave it on the kitchen counter, set the alarm, and lock the door. Kent lets me walk first, trailing behind me, and I’ve a sneaky suspicion he’s checking out my ass.
“Nice boots,” he says when we exit the building.
My lips twitch. “Let me guess, you’re imagining me flat on my back, naked except for the boots wrapped around your neck.”
“Damn.” He adjusts the front of his jeans. “I wasn’t before, but I am now.”
“Liar,” I tease as we approach his car.
“All right. I’ll admit it,” he says, opening the passenger door for me. “I was imagining something like that, only my vision was dirtier.”
I lean against the door. “Now, I’m intrigued. Don’t leave a girl hanging.”
He moves his face in close to mine, his eyes dipping to my waist. Pressing his mouth to my ear, he says, “My fantasy was similar, except your hips were arched and I was eating you out with your booted thighs squeezing my face.”
My panties are instantly drenched, my core pulsing with need. It’s been way too long since I was laid, and that acknowledgment sends all kinds of alarm bells ringing. I’m in even more danger with this guy than I thought. Resisting Kent will not be easy. “Holy fuck.” I slap a hand across my chest. “I’m sorry I asked.”
He saunters off with an arrogant swagger, and I’m grateful for the few seconds to compose myself before he gets behind the wheel.
***
The waiter escorts us to a table in the corner, offering us some water while he sets the menus in front of us. I’ve never heard of this place, but that’s not strange. On the rare occasions I venture into downtown Boston, it’s usually to drink not eat in some fancy-pants restaurant.
The décor is nice with its dark wood tables, velvet-backed chairs, low industrial-type lights, and exposed ceiling, but it’s a lot more formal than my usual hangouts, and the crowd seems older too.
I cast a surreptitious glance around as I pretend to peruse the menu, and most of the men are in dress pants and shirts, while the women wear expensive gowns. I shift on my seat, feeling a little out of my comfort zone, but I’m determined to force my concerns aside and enjoy the night.
It’s not every day I get taken to a place like this.
I refocus on the menu, and my eyes almost bug out of my head. “I think the waiter gave me the wrong menu,” I tell Kent, raising my eyes to look at him. His brows knit together as he glances between his menu and mine. I lower my voice, stretching across the table as I say, “The cheapest entrée is one hundred dollars.”
“It’s okay. I’m good for it.” Kent’s tone is dismissive but not arrogantly so. I suppose, if you’re him, having grown up in a family as wealthy as the Kennedy family, it’s not something you give much thought to.
