Page 15 of Safer Alone
I’m sure at that very moment I felt my jaw hit the table.
~ Chapter Eight ~
Ipick up my glass of water and take a small sip. This way my mouth isn’t going to remain gaped open for no reason. This will also provide me with enough time to gather my thoughts, and try to make sense of what he has just told me, and more importantly, how to answer the question he has just asked.
Of course, he wants to see you again Angela. Duh, he needs to. It’s for work purposes, that’s all, we are going to be working on a project together, financially beneficial for both of us. He will no doubt pay me some sort of wage to do the leg work here. All that is required is to meet up in New York once, run through the design ideas, collect the laptop and camera, and then I will hop on the very next plane and be on my way back home. There is absolutely nothing personal about this at all.
“Angela?” hearing Elliot’s voice brings me back to the here and now. I must have zoned out for a minute, I looked up to him embarrassed, smiling weakly, not wanting to speak just yet. How on earth would I answer that? Becoming impatient he asks again “Would you like to see me again?”
He looks at me, our eye contact unwavering, awaiting my answer. “Of course.” It rushes out before I can even think about it, my libido making the decision before my brain. He smiles at me, happy with the response he has received, and then continues with his meal as if there were never an interruption.
I’m almost one hundred percent sure that I hear him say ‘good’ under his breath. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part? Why was it so important for him to know if I wanted to see him again? I mean really, we have just met. Maybe it was due to the fact that he has probably never had to work at it in his whole life. Every woman he has ever met has more than likely fallen under his spell and thrown themselves at him, and yet, here I sat unwilling to answer his question right off the bat. Did it worry him?
We finished our meal in relative quiet after that, both seemingly concentrating on our meal. Each time I peered up, Elliot’s eyes were elsewhere, looking at another table, at the floral arrangement sitting in the center of the table or, more often than not, at his nearly empty plate.
When we had both finally finished our meals, I placed my silver cutlery down. The small chink of heavy metal hitting porcelain, and the silence was broken. Seeming to be relieved that it was the case, Elliot looked up at me through his lashes and opened his full lips. “Would you like some dessert, Angela?”
I know exactly what I feel like for dessert, and it can’t be served up on a plate. My libido was throbbing internally, wanting so desperately to come out to play. What in God’s good name is going on with me tonight? I’m not this kind of person. I don’t think about sleeping with people I don’t know. I never have been; men frighten me most of the time. I keep to myself and don’t allow myself to feel anything for anyone. It’s so much easier this way, keeping them at arm’s length. That’s the safest option. So why on earth is my libido choosing this very inconvenient moment to wake from her three-and-a-half-year slumber? If he is playing a game, I could try to keep up, play the game with him, see if I get a reaction. I mean practice makes perfect, doesn’t it? I take a deep breath and prepare myself to flirt.
“I hadn’t even given it a thought actually, my main meal was so very good. What were you thinking of having, Elliot? Maybe you could twist my arm. I bat my eyelashes very gently, not knowing how many times I need, to be convincing. I settle for just twice, hoping that I haven’t overdone it.
I have never been any good at flirting. Liam told me that I generally look like I’m either trying too hard, or I’m acting as though I don’t care. So knowing that, I decide that I probably look ridiculous to Elliot. He is probably laughing on the inside.
What I do know is that this man has brought out something in me that I can’t deny. Sitting across from him at this table feels so right. A part of me I have kept locked away for safekeeping is begging me to let it out. He smiles at me again, broader than before and flicks his tongue out slightly, running it along his bottom lip, slowly.
He knows what he is doing, and damn, he is doing it well. I know that in that moment I have taken another deep breath, and seeing the recognition in his eyes, I know that he has seen me do it. His mouth forms into a small grin, he is definitely playing me, I know for certain now that he is. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. He is practiced at this game, no doubt about it. I look down at my hands, not wanting to be made a fool of anymore. I need to leave this table. Thinking of options, I decide that I need an exit strategy.
“Thanks for the offer Mr. Sands, but I don’t think I will have any dessert. I probably should push off now anyway, I have to work early tomorrow and it’s starting to get late.” I drop my napkin onto the table in front of me and look once more at Elliot. I can see that his smile has left his features. Instead, his mouth set in a straight line. He seems shocked I was trying to excuse myself from his company. I look away, not wanting to see the disappointment in his eyes.
“I understand that you need to work tomorrow, but it’s only 8:30 pm, Angela. If you don’t feel like dessert, that’s fine. Could I persuade you into at least staying for another drink?” He clearly wants me to stay. I don’t know why, but I want to stay too. With his request for me to stay for another drink, it jogs my memory from earlier. I remember that I was going to buy him a glass of champagne and celebrate him purchasing the house.
I lift my hand slightly, looking over at Sam. I give him a signal and he heads towards us. I believe he must have caught on to who Elliot is, so he was being very attentive. “Yes ma’am. What can I get for you?”
“Can I please have two glasses of Moet, Sam?” he nods in response and walks towards the bar of the restaurant
“Moet? Why did you order champagne?” Elliot asks. Sam returns with two champagne flutes three quarters full and hands one to each of us. Once he has excused himself, I begin.
“I want to congratulate you on your purchase of the Belle Meade Homestead Mr. Sands,” and I raised my flute to clink with his, before swallowing the bubbly gold fluid.
Elliot added to the toast “To new friendships and successful business ventures.”
We both sip at our champagne slowly. I relish in the sweet taste and feel the bubbles popping on my tongue. I savor each mouthful. Being someone who doesn’t drink regularly, I have to be super careful. I can’t let it go to my head. I get chatty when I have been drinking. I need to get out of here before it hit me hard.
We each swallow the remainder of liquid from our glasses and set them on the table, I place my hands beside me on the seat and push off, standing up. Seeing that I was leaving, Elliot quickly copies me. We walk over towards the chairs where we had met earlier this evening. Once we are there, Elliot turns to me, “I won’t be a moment Angela, just going to settle the bill.”
I smile and nod at him. I take a seat in the same chair I had been in at the beginning of the evening, and thoughts quickly fill my head. I will need to contact him in a couple of days, once I have confirmation from the current owners that they will accept his offer. Speaking of offers, I will need him to make his official by placing it in writing. I can’t ask him to do that right now; here wasn’t the place. But he is heading off tomorrow. I can get him to email it to me.
Before I can think too much more, he is back. Standing in front of me once more, he offers me his hand and pulls me to him. Once I am standing beside him, he continues to hold it in his own.
Déjà vu hits me. This is the exact same physical contact he had instigated prior to dinner. He didn’t let go of my hand as we exited the restaurant, continuing this nice and welcome contact while we walked through the hotel lobby and across the parking area until we are standing in front of my car.
When we come to a stop beside my driver’s door, I turn toward him, looking at our joined hands, then up to his face, half covered in shadow. “Thank you for dinner, Mr. Sands, it was a lovely meal.” No need to add that it was an expensive one, too. He cocked his head ever so slightly to the side.
“It was indeed, however it was not as lovely as the way you look tonight, Angela.” He breaks our eye contact and looks down to our joined hands and slowly raises them. Facing my own towards his lips, he gently kisses my knuckles and allows our hands to fall back down gently.
I feel my cheeks flush with heat. How can a simple press of his lips to my knuckles affect me so? I am eternally grateful that in this moment, we are outside, in relative darkness. There is no way that he will be able to see the blush creeping across my cheeks.
I ever so gently try to pull my hand from his. I feel some resistance, but he lets it go, “I look forward to seeing you again upon closing, Miss White”, why would he say that, why would he be looking forward to it? I mean, I feel the same. Maybe I should tell him so; so do I, Elliot, so do I.
