Page 13 of Betrothed
He was a fascinating man, his wealth of knowledge impressive although he seemed far more interested in learning my answers.
“Does that mean you’re trying to seduce me?” I continued tracing the rough shards, only lifting my gaze when he didn’t answer me right away.
Every time he leaned over the table, I was teased with the feeling of rapture. Maybe because of his intoxicating aftershave, but more likely from his sheer prowess. The man’s eyes were more expressive than any I’d known.
The way he was looking at me, almost as if he was able to peel away the soft, vulnerable layers of protection to capture a glimpse of my soul was captivating.
“Would you mind so terribly much if I told you that I was?” he asked, his deep baritone now barely audible.
The interruption had been expected, my phone pinging to indicate the plane was ready to board.
“I guess we’ll never know.” While I tugged my phone from my purse to confirm my suspicions, he didn’t bother.
“You don’t believe in fate?”
“Fate is what cannot be changed. Unfortunately, it’s likely we won’t see other again.”
“Sometimes fate provides an opportunity that would not normally exist,” he countered. “Apparently, our meeting was intentional.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning we will see each other again as it would seem we’re both headed to New York.”
There was no reason for my throat or stomach to tighten, but they both did. While my mind was processing excitement froma distant possibility he’d been brought into my life for a reason, the same twinge of fear that had taken four years to dissipate made a surprise return visit. “How do you know that?” My voice was much sharper than I’d wanted.
He seemed surprised by my change in attitude, clearly searching for the reason without asking.
When his line of sight changed, I followed his gaze to where my ticket was lying in plain view, the flight number and destination easy enough for him to read. When I took a deep breath, he pulled his ticket from his leather case, placing the folder in the center of the table. Now he was smirking as if he’d held the secret the entire time we’d been talking. “I’ve heard New York City is lovely this time of year.”
“You’ve not been before?”
“Yes, but a very long time ago.”
The rush of adrenaline from my earlier hint of fear shifted into excitement, which was also ridiculous. In a city of eight and a half million people, we certainly weren’t going to run into each other. And I wasn’t eager or ready to give him a single link to the real girl.
Maybe I never would be.
“Fall can be quite beautiful. Cozying up by a warm fire, the scent of smoke lingering in the air. Leaves turning yellow and orange, littering the soft terrain with vivid color. Steaming chai lattes. Taking long, peaceful walks just before twilight. The crispness of the sky and the incredible stars twinkling brighter than they’ve ever been before.” I tossed my napkin on the table, fighting the inevitable disappointment.
“A truly glowing representation. Perhaps I’ll enjoy a portion of my stay.” He motioned for the waiter, who was there within five seconds.
After he scribbled his name, he tossed several hundred-dollar bills on the tray for a tip. In my mind, there were three distinct and excellent ways of judging a man’s character. One was passing the dog test. If random dogs were unafraid or even better graced him with their presence, one point given. If he was an excellent tipper, not simply a usual twenty percenter, he obtained another point. Now, if he was a cheapskate, my opinion was not to let the door hit him in the ass.
The third and most personal thing that I’d found more of a challenge than not was whether he put the seat down. If he did, a gold star.
With all three, that could mean forever.
As we stood, we both seemed more awkward than before. I grabbed my purse, reaching for the handle of my suitcase.
“Nonsense. I prefer leaving you with a decent opinion of strange, flirtatious men in airports.” He shoved his ticket into his pocket and for some reason, I hadn’t paid any attention to how tall he was.
I wasn’t short by any means, standing at five feet eleven in flat shoes. Yet he towered over me. That had been one of my many issues with men before. I’d always been a couple of inches taller and when I was in heels, the men had been completely uncomfortable. Given my often brazen attitude as gleaned from my mother, no one could ever call me demure.
His shoulders were so broad I tried to envision them fitting in typical doorway, his long legs with muscular thighs exactly what I would expect from him.
The wave of disappointment fractured my thoughts. He was all but saying goodbye. A ten-hour flight in a pod meant for two, far too much time with only one decent book on my Kindle and no one to talk to.
My fantasies would go amok.
