Page 74 of The Billionaire's Princess

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Damon

She glidesin like the queen of everything without bothering to notice the fancy Friday night crowd here at Bemelmans. Forget about making eye contact with anyone or acknowledging the pianist plinking away on the grand. The server gets a nod of thanks as he seats her at the leather banquette against the wall at one of the small round tables nearest where I sit. A hint of a dimpled smile as she accepts the menu. Then the server walks off and she lowers her eyes to study the drink selections, retreating into a cool bubble of aloofness that only the brave would dare try to penetrate.

Too bad I’m not feeling that brave at the moment. Hard to feel brave when the only thing standing between you and a miserable and lonely existence is your questionable ability to explain your inexplicable behavior. If only I could press a button on my phone and receive instant assistance from SEAL Team Six. God knows I could use the backup.

But this is a good first step, right? She agreed to meet me for drinks. Actually showed up. She’s wearing the same bun and dress from the night we met, significant details that are not lost on me.

I breathe a little easier.

I watch her and wonder how to get myself over there to where she is. The distance is less than ten feet, but it may as well be the other side of the Grand Canyon. Not to mention the fact that my wonky nerves and tight throat give me a less than fifty percent chance of saying anything coherent when I get there.

But then something miraculous happens.

She looks up from her menu, makes eye contact and gives me a hint of a smile. Not the whole thing, mind you, but enough to encourage and energize me into standing, downing the rest of my dirty martini and heading over.

A woman like Carly deserves a brave man.

I can pretend to be that man. With her by my side? I can pretend for the rest of my life.

“Hey,” I say, clearing the frog from my throat. “Mind if I join you?”

She gives me a chilly once-over and reverts to studying her menu as though it contains instructions on how to defuse the ticking bomb strapped to her chair.

“I couldn’t say. Are you here to break off another little piece of my heart? Because if you are, you can fuck off right now.”

Her challenge thus issued, she nails me with that blue-eyed gaze, which is hard and uncompromising now. I could almost laugh if I weren’t on the verge of shitting my pants. I knew she’d have some hoops for me to jump through. I should’ve also expected them to be roughly ten feet high and only two feet around.

“Your heart’s very important to me. I plan to take good care of it,” I say.

“Hmm. You wouldn’t know it.”

The server makes an appearance. “What can I get you?”

“Dirty martini,” she says, defrosting for the man.

“And for you, sir?”

“Same. Thanks.”

The server walks off. Like magic, a layer of ice re-encases Carly’s entire body. She stares at me, waiting with her brows raised.

You know what? Fuck this scared routine. I’m a grown man. Past time to act like it.

I sit down, on her left, crowding her on the banquette. She stiffens and tries to shift away, but I’m not having it.

We’ve—I’ve—wasted enough time.

So I wrap my right arm around her waist. Settle her exactly where she is.

“You don’t get to just show up and touch me and have everything be perfectly fine again,” she says, her voice thick now. A little wobbly. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“I know it doesn’t,” I say, then kiss her bare shoulder and shudder with the relief of immersing myself in her lavender scent again. “But I’m hoping you can listen to music with me until my drink gets here. I need some liquid courage to tell you a few things you should know.”

“You’re not going to make me cry,” she says, hastily wiping her eyes with her index finger, mindful of her makeup. “Just so you know.”

“Shh.” I kiss her shoulder again and feel some of the tension leave her body. “I don’t want to make you cry. I just want to make sure you understand me.”

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