“I want a clause about no flirting.”
“Absolutely not.”
She blows out a breath, giving me a wry look.
I reach out a hand on the table and turn it palm up. “I’m still your friend. Still the guy you knew when you were twenty-three. Can’t you trust me?”
She looks at my hand. For a moment I think she’s going to take it. Then she swallows and says, very quietly. “I’m sorry, but no, I can’t.”
Disappointed, I withdraw my hand. I top our glasses up with the wine, more for something to do than anything else.
“I know that hurts your feelings,” she murmurs. “You and Caesar always pride yourself on your principles. But this is about my experience. And your image. I don’t think you can blame me. You must know what a reputation you have.”
“Like I said, I’ve never claimed to live like a monk.”
“And that’s fair enough. You’re gorgeous, rich, and smart. Why wouldn’t you use it to get laid? It makes perfect sense. But it doesn’t make trusting you easy.” She narrows her eyes. “Why are you smiling?”
“Because you think I’m gorgeous and smart.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that’s the bit you focus on.”
“Yes, because if that’s the case, we can work on everything else.”
Our eyes meet. I feel like a nature photographer who’s spotted a rare bird flying overhead—not a wren, but the rare New Zealand falcon. I’ve camouflaged myself with leaves in the hope I can lure her closer. But she’s circling, hesitant, wary. Refusing to land.
“I need time,” she says. “I need to think about it.”
I lean back. “Fair enough. I’ll give you until Boxing Day.”
“Two days! Mars!”
I want her to make a decision before Caesar gets back to her. Because if he offers to be a donor without the complication of a relationship, I’m afraid she won’t choose me.
I don’t say anything, refusing to give way, and in the end she folds her arms and glowers. “All right.”
“I’ll start drawing up the contract, just in case.”
“God, you’re arrogant.”
“I’m confident.”
“Why?”
I lean close again, looking into her eyes. “Because deep down, I think you like me. And you know I like you. If you were to trust me, we could have something very special here. You want to trust me. You just don’t know how to. So I’ll have to show you.”
Her lips part, but no words come out.
“Can I kiss you?” I ask, looking at her mouth.
“What? No!”
“Not even to wish you merry Christmas?”
She’s breathing fast again. “You don’t need to use tongues to wish someone merry Christmas.”
I chuckle. “No tongues, I promise.”
She doesn’t say anything. So I shift my bar stool a little closer to her. Lean forward on the table. And wait.
