Page 62 of The Alpha's Pen Pal

“Hmm… I don’t remember that,” I shrugged, stepping back, only to find the door behind me. Damn it.

He had me trapped.

“Even if I believed that,” he said, walking closer, “I also sent you a text today to remind you about dressing up.”

“I didn’t see it,” I said, my voice coming out breathy as he invaded my space with his body and his sexy, manly scent.

I didn’t remember him smelling that strongly the other day. He must have showered, too, and put cologne on just before he left. The scent was sweet yet sort of spicy and heady, and I wanted to drown in it, to bury my nose in his shirt and stay there breathing him in forever. Or have him hold me in his arms all evening, so when I came home, the scent would linger on my skin and clothing to soothe me to sleep.

“Don’t lie to me, Haven,” Wes warned, stopping his movement when his chest was close enough to brush against me when he breathed in.

“I’m not,” I retorted, although I didn’t think I was convincing anyone of my innocence with how my voice shook.

His hand slid out of his pocket, and he grabbed me by my hip, pulling me almost flush against his body. His other hand tilted my chin up, and he said, “You are.” He stroked my jaw with his thumb, looked down at my body, and then back into my eyes. “But it’s okay. You look beautiful anyway.”

My lips twitched, and his did, too, until he broke into a full-on grin as he laughed. “Come on,” he said, stepping away from me and reaching his hand out to take mine. “Let’s go eat.”

The walk through town to get to the restaurant went fast, filled with us chatting about the rest of our week and making small talk. My hand stayed in his the entire way, my fingers laced with his, and his thumb occasionally rubbing my skin.

Just like in the coffee shop, I could feel eyes on me as we walked. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was still new in town, or because I was walking around hand in hand with Wesley, or some combination of the two, but it made me a bit self-conscious.

I brushed it off, though, as we reached Rendezvous, the little French bistro on the edge of the downtown area. Wesley dropped my hand to open the door, guiding me through like he had at the cafe. His light touches and gentlemanly gestures had little flutters forming in my stomach, even though I pretended I hated them the other day.

The host showed us to our table—a small, cozy booth tucked away in the back of the restaurant. After we seated ourselves across from each other, he introduced us to our server, who poured our water and handed us our menus.

“Can I get you started with something to drink? A glass of wine or champagne?” she asked, glancing between us.

“Oh, I’ll just stick with some water,” I said.

“I’ll do the same,” Wesley told her, and then she walked off to give us some time to look at the menu.

“You could have ordered a drink,” I said.

“I could have,” he agreed. “But I didn’t. You’re not twenty-one yet, so no reason for me to drink since you can’t.”

I smiled at him a little, then looked down at my menu. I turned the pages, looking over each menu item as I decided what to order.

The movement of Wesley’s arms in my periphery caught my eye. I glanced up just as he finished rolling his sleeves up, revealing his powerful forearms as he braced them against the table to look down at his menu.

My eyes ran over them, at the veins that popped, and then up to where the sleeves bulged against his biceps. The clearing of his throat made me snap my eyes up to his face, where I found him watching me stare at him in amusement.

“What are you thinking about ordering?” he asked, and I was grateful he didn’t mention me staring at him.

“Thesalmon en papillote,” I told him. “It’s my favorite.” I closed the menu and set it aside. “What about you?”

“I’m deciding between the ratatouille and the cock ow vin.”

I snickered and covered my mouth to hide my laugh.

“What?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“It’s not—” I giggled. “It’s ‘coq au vin,’” I said, dragging out the words so he could hear the proper pronunciation.

“Coco van,” he repeated, and I tilted my head towards the ceiling as I laughed again, louder this time. “Coke oh van,” he tried again, and I kept laughing. “Fuck it, I’ll just get the ratatouille,” he muttered, a small laugh spilling from his mouth.

“Is that the only thing you can pronounce correctly on the menu?” I teased.

“Probably. Thank you Disney, Pixar, and Madeleine,” he said, clasping his hands together and lifting his eyes skyward.

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