Page 103 of Handsome Devil
I felt sorry for him. He had to be sixty-five and no way his life dream was to be mixing cocktails for Satan in his senior years.
“Whatever the lady would like,” Dane told him.
“The lady would like a glass of white wine,” I told the gentleman. “As long as you taste it first, so I can be sure it’s not poison.”
He cracked a smile and lifted a chilled bottle of what had to be insanely expensive French wine, showing me the label. “Perhaps a Montrachet?”
“If you recommend it,” I said.
He opened the bottle, poured a small amount into a delicate wine glass on his cart, then went about a whole show of smelling and tasting it, for my benefit. He lifted the glass and examined it under the light of the chandelier, then finally took a sip. “Ah.Fantastique.And not lethal.” He winked at me. “Unless the lady drinks too much.”
Could I just drink wine with this guy? He was charming.
Maybe Dane could slink back to his cave and make a list of all the people he planned to fire this week to entertain himself, while I enjoyed a conversation with this actual human.
“Leave the bottle on the table,” Dane said, never taking his eyes off mine.
The man set the bottle on the table and slipped from the room. I called after him, “Thank you!” Once the door had shut behind him, I informed Dane, “You know, you can saypleaseandthank you, even when you’re paying someone. He’s a human being.”
He reached to pour me a glass of wine, then leaned back in his chair. He gestured at the wine. “Please.”
I took a sip, only because I liked wine, not because he asked me to.
“So. Devi—”
“Thank you,” I said pointedly, as I set my wine glass down. If he planned to loosen up my defenses with liquor before he said whatever he had to say, he’d planned wrong. I’d handled quite a few glasses of champagne last night and held strong. I’d even managed to hold my tongue, and rather admirably refrained from saying anything that might get us into a fight, and/or get me fired.
I sat back in my chair, mirroring his posture. Though I crossed my legs in my sexy, figure-hugging dress while I did it. The black knit ended at mid-thigh, and his eyes flicked over my bare legs, which he could see through the glass table.
Then he blinked at me, like he was sorting out a foreign language in his head, one that he knew how to speak only vaguely. “You’re… welcome.”
“That was awfully rusty. But maybe you can work on it.”
“Devi. I asked you here because—”
“Aren’t you going to have some wine? Or are you afraid you might get drunk and do something repulsive? Like kiss me without asking first.”
He held my gaze for a moment.
Then he poured himself a glass but didn’t drink. “You seem to think that everything that’s transpired between us has something to do with high school. It doesn’t.”
“Yet you keep bringing it up.” Okay, so I just brought it up. But still. He brought it up first with all hisHave we met?bullshit at the restaurant that first day.
“I’m not hung up on high school,” he said. “Though you seem to be.”
“We graduated eleven years ago, Dane. You think I’ve been pining away for you all these years? Think again. I’ve met alotof hot dudes since high school.”
He looked unmoved, though I’d kind of complimented him. He knew he was hot, though, right? This wasn’t exactly breaking news. And the way I looked at it, it didn’t weaken my position to admit it. It only strengthened my position. Because yes, he was hot, and I was fully cognizant of it, but so what? His hotness had no currency with me.
As maybe he learned last night.
No matter how many times he casually touched me, I didn’t melt into putty in his hands. I wondered if he’d expected me to.
“Did you really go on a date the night before last?” he asked me.
“Uh… yes.”
I sure did. What did he think? I’d made that shit up?
