Page 25 of Mr. Edwards
A few minutes later my attention is drawn toward a silver sports car as it slows, pulling up alongside the curb. Gardena isn’t a flash suburb by any means, so it’s not common to see swanky cars around this part of town.
I watch on in amazement as the driver’s side door opens upward instead of outward like most cars. Very fancy. It’s futuristic and kind of cool.
Butterflies take flight in my stomach the moment theguy steps out, and his eyes instantly lock with mine over the top of the vehicle.
Cheese on a cracker, it’s him.
His smile lights up his gorgeous face making my heart flutter in my chest. My first thought is he really is beautiful, and totally out of my league.
I’m suddenly wishing I put more effort into my appearance before coming now. Tonight, I left my hair down and parted at the side. The long, loose waves reach down to my lower back and cascade over one shoulder. I don’t go out like this often, especially on a date.
It’s not my signature style. I usually wear my makeup like armor, and in this moment, I’m feeling extremely exposed.
In my defense I was heading to bed when he texted me, so I got ready in a rush. He gave no indication of how far away he was, and I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t going to show.
I’m wearing a pair of formfitting three-quarter red plaid pants and a tight black off-the-shoulder top, which is tucked in at the waist. The sleeves are ruffled, and super cute, showing the majority of my inked arms. The black ballet flats on my feet take a few inches off my already short height, but since I was walking here, I went for comfort. My face is free from makeup, bar my red lips, and a dash of mascara.
Sliding my phone into the back pocket of my pants with shaky hands, I rub my sweaty palms down the side of my legs. Shit, I can’t believe how nervous I am.
He’s just a guy, I remind myself.
Granted a very hot one, but…
Christ, get a hold of yourself, Carlee.
“Hey,” he says as he steps up onto the sidewalk coming to a stop in front of me. He leans down, brushinghis lips lightly over my cheek, causing goose bumps to rise along my arms.
I crane my neck so I can make eye contact with him, he is so dang tall.
“Hi.” It comes out more like a breathy sigh. Gah.
“I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
I tuck my hands behind my back, so I’m not tempted to reach out and grab him. “No, I just got here,” I lie. Sue me, I don’t want to appear too eager.
The smile on his face grows as his eyes peruse me from head to toe. The heat I see in his gaze scorches my skin. I’m surprised it doesn’t make me feel self-conscious; I usually hate being scrutinized. Maybe it’s the appreciation and hunger I see reflecting back at me, or maybe it’s something else.
I use this time to make my own assessment. The look he’s giving me is devilish, making me want to drink him down like chocolate. His lips are plump and his straight, pearly white teeth are toothpaste-commercial worthy. His parents must have skimmed the very top of the gene pool when they made him.
Damn, I want to do dirty things with this man.
Subconsciously I run my tongue over my bottom lip, and I hear a strangled growl rumble in the back of his throat as his eyes zero in on my movements.
He’s still dressed in the designer blue jeans and the white button-up shirt he wore to the club; the sleeves are now rolled up to the elbows. The picture perfect of casual and cool. There’s a striking resemblance between him and James Dean, with a dash of Matthew McConaughey thrown into the mix. However, if you hand-picked their best features and mashed them together, you still wouldn’t do this man justice.
My eyes continue their appraisal, moving down thetanned skin on his toned forearm. Is that a Rolex? I knew a guy who used to sell those kinds of watches, rip-offs of course. I guarantee Grayson’s isn’t. He reeks of money and class. The total opposite to me. I’m what some people once referred to as trailer park trash, and I’m as poor as a church mouse.
Sheesh, what am I doing here?
Those disarming dimples he dealt out at the club earlier are back on full display. He uses them like a weapon, and it works; my body is on sensory overload. I’m itching to paw at him, to run my fingers through his flawlessly tussled light brown hair. It has a slight wave to it. It’s shorter on the sides and longer on top. His eyes are an unusual color and alight with mischief. The center is a captivating emerald green, surrounded by a ring of brown. Like mint chocolate.Yum. God, I could eat him up.
“You look different,” he says, reaching for one of my loose curls, and twisting it around his finger. I drop my head, staring down at my feet.Damn.It’s rare for me to let my bravado slip, but sometimes that insecure little girl rears her ugly head.Please don’t reject me.“Hey.” He places his knuckle under my chin, bringing my gaze back to his. Tingles run down my spine when his thumb skims over my cheek. “The made-up woman I met earlier tonight was stunning, but the one in front of me now, the natural version of her… she takes my breath away.”
God this man is good. He’s only been here a few minutes and he’s already got me swooning all over the place. He warned me he was bringing his A game, but there’s not a hint of deception behind his words.
His eyes hold mine for a moment before flickering to the pizzeria behind us. This place is nothing flashy, but the authentic Italian food is to die for.
“Do you want to go in?” I ask, throwing my thumb over my shoulder. I need a few moments to gather myself. This man makes me feel off-kilter.
