Page 22 of Her Defiant Heart (Damaged Hearts 1)

“So sorry for the delay.” The stressed-out server is standing beside our table, a plate balanced in each hand, and he sets a plate in front of me before doing the same for Rhett. “It’s extremely busy tonight. Do you need anything else?”

I think about asking for more wine, but Rhett answers for the both of us, telling the server we’re fine.

“Very well.” The waiter bows, like we’re royalty, and then takes off.

“I’m sorry if I made you upset,” Rhett says quietly. “I was just trying to help.”

His apology throws me off guard. “I—no, it’s fine. You didn’t upset me.”

“Clearly you’re lying.”

My heart threatens to explode from my chest.

“Because I know what I said about your mom made you upset,” he continues, his expression pained. Like he hates that he hurt me. My heart swells and for the quickest moment, I wish this night, this date with Rhett, was real. “I just, I don’t know, I wanted to help. And sometimes I overstep my place. So I’m sorry for that.”

We both go quiet, choosing to start on our meals so we can avoid conversation. At least, that’s what I’m doing. Maybe he’s giving me time, space, whatever you want to call it, and I’m sort of floored. As in, I don’t know how to react. He’s just so nice. And respectful. He’s unlike any other guy I’ve ever been with before, and I’m drawn to his polite manners and kind gestures. It doesn’t feel fake.

The way he treats me feels all too real.

“Thank you for apologizing,” I finally say, causing him to glance up from his plate, our gazes meeting. “It means a lot to me.”

“Honestly Jens, I didn’t want to see you cry,” he says, his voice tender, his brown eyes full of concern.

My eyes fill with tears at his words and I blink them away. I drop my gaze, concentrating on the plate of food in front of me, letting my growling stomach remind me that yes, I should keep eating. “You’re too good to be true,” I murmur.

Maybe he does actually like me. And God, maybe I…actually like him too.

That thought is too terrifying to contemplate.

We go to the movies after dinner, and it’s so normal, such a typical date, yet something I’ve never done with a guy before. Standing in line in front of the movie theater feels surreal. It’s cold out and I’m standing close to Rhett, my side pressing against his and he wraps his arm around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze.

“I can feel you trembling,” he tells me laughingly, and I laugh too, pretending that yes, I’m so cold.

My trembling is more from nerves. Just standing next to him makes me feel edgy. Scared. Excited.

Aroused.

I turn toward him, relishing his warmth, his scent. He smells amazing, woodsy yet citrusy, and I breathe him in deep. He has no clue his effect on me, and that’s probably best. I don’t want him to know the power he holds over me. How I have to work so hard to fight it, to remind myself why I’m with him.

Tonight, I don’t want to remember.

I sneak a glance at his face. He’s staring straight ahead, scanning the giant movie listings board, and I admire his sexy jawline, those defined cheekbones. He’s got a rich boy face. It sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. There’s nothing soft about Rhett Montgomery. He’s all sharp lines and moneyed features. He inherited his good looks from a long line of attractive rich people that goes back generations.

It’s intoxicating, all that rich sexiness. It’s not just his looks either, but the way he carries himself, how he speaks, the cut of his clothing, the silk of his hair, the tone of his voice. It all screams money. And as I’ve gotten to know him, I realize I want a piece of it, a piece of him, if only for this moment.

“Funny or scary?” Rhett looks down, catches me staring. I don’t look away and neither does he. The pleased smile on his face tells me he likes that I was watching him. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Scary,” I tell him. I can envision me hiding my face in his shoulder, him having to hold me close. Jumping in his arms every time I’m startled. I like the direction this is going.

“Scary it is then.” He removes his arm from my shoulders when we’re next in line to pay, and I feel hollow. That arm around me was like a public claiming, and I never thought I’d be the type to like that sort of thing, but I do.

Once Rhett pays for our tickets, we enter the main lobby, and I may sound like a total idiot right now, but I’m dazzled. The lobby is enormous, lit up like I imagine Las Vegas is, and it’s full of people. The concession stand has lines, the scent of popcorn lingers in the air and I watch a kid no older than eight haul away a bucket of popcorn and a cup of soda, both items almost as big as him.

“I want popcorn,” I admit, and Rhett laughs.

“Same,” he agrees, steering me toward the concession counter. We stand in line and I remain quiet, listening to the conversations around us, spying on people. Rhett checks his phone discreetly—I’m sure he doesn’t want to seem rude on our date—but I don’t mind. It gives me time to observe, to figure out how I should act.

The girl behind us is telling her friend how she saw the trailer for the scary movie we’re going to see, and how she nearly peed her pants, it frightened her so bad. The couple ahead of us are also going to see the same movie, and they’re both discussing the director, who’s well known and respected in the movie world, so they expect this to be a decent movie and not trash, as the guy tells her.

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