She walked off and Kenzi and Dax burst out laughing at the same time. Kenzi said, “She just called us old.”
“What is she, twelve?”
“Eighteen probably. Apparently twenty-eight looks ancient to her.”
“Then I shouldn’t tell her I’m thirty-four or she’ll offer me a walker.”
“Thirty-four? Wow, you are old.”
Dax threw his napkin at her. “I’ll show you old.”
Kenzi threw the napkin back. “Easy, Tiger, don’t do anything to throw out your back. At your age, you have to be careful.”
They shared another laugh then Dax’s expression turned serious. Kenzi wanted to ask him what he was thinking but didn’t. She wasn’t that brave yet. Instead she turned her attention to the menu, and he followed suit. After they had ordered their drinks and food, Dax said, “You didn’t want wine?”
“I don’t normally drink.”
He nodded. “You said that.”
“But you weren’t sure.”
“People often say whatever they think I want to hear. Your honesty is refreshing.”
Kenzi met his eyes. Is this a test? “Before you hand me a trophy, I lie like a rug when I’m cornered. I’ve pretty much turned lying into a lifestyle.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“Only because you don’t know me.” This is me. Not perfect, but finally honest with someone.
He sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest as if he were trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re quite the enigma. Most women try to impress me.”
Kenzi rolled her eyes. “Can you hear yourself when you speak because I’m not sure you’d say half of what you do if you could.”
He laughed. “See, that’s what I mean. You say whatever you’re thinking. I like that.”
With you. Only with you. There was a comfort to their exchange that was as pleasurable as their attraction to each other. “I don’t have to worry what you think of me. You already said I won’t see you again after tonight.”
He frowned. “I did.” He gave her a funny look. “A woman like you should demand better than that.”
A memory from the past nipped at Kenzi and brought an edge to her next words. “You have no idea what kind of woman I am.”
“So tell me,” he said softly.
Kenzi panicked and gave him the same smile she often hid behind with her family. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“You said you didn’t have to lie to me because I don’t matter.” He lowered his arms, leaned forward, and pinned her to her chair with those intense eyes of his.
Those beguiling eyes. “If it sounded that way, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”
“Don’t be sorry, be honest.”
“I’m not ready to be,” she said huskily, looking anywhere but at Dax.
“Then tell me,” he said in a tone so gentle Kenzi almost burst into tears.
Kenzi took a deep, shaky breath and met his eyes again. “Can we rewind and forget this conversation happened? I don’t want to be me tonight, Dax. I want to be on a fun date. I want to laugh, have a great meal, and see where all this goes. And if I never hear from you again, I’ll make myself be okay with it because that’s what I do, Dax. I’m a survivor.”
Dax took her hand in his again. She wasn’t sure if he would end the night or rush them back to her apartment before she changed her mind. She didn’t expect him to lace his fingers with hers and say, “So am I, Kenzi. So am I.” Then he cleared his throat and called the waitress over. He turned away to say something to the waitress without Kenzi being able to hear. The waitress looked surprised at first, but he handed her several bills and then she looked thrilled.
Once they were alone again, Kenzi couldn’t help but ask, “What did you say to her?”
He looked as if he debated telling her, then he said, “I told her to cancel your order of salmon and bring you a prime rib the size of your head.”
Kenzi shook her head as she digested that. “Prime rib wasn’t on the menu.”
He sat back and looked pleased with himself. “They serve it at Ranch House Grill around the corner.”
“You sent her to get food from another restaurant? Can you do that?”
“You know as well as I do that anything is possible if you throw enough money at it. The owner understands that I’ll compensate him well if he makes this evening perfect.”
Kenzi searched Dax’s face for a clue of what it meant. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either, but I want to see where this goes.” Dax was as surprised by his words as Kenzi was. He could barely recognize himself. She obviously was open to sleeping with him, and he was definitely interested in sleeping with her. The outcome should be simple, but nothing was simple when it came to Kenzi. His emotions were jumbled together, making it difficult to think clearly, and the hard-on he’d been sporting all evening wasn’t helping.
He wanted to cancel the meal and drag her off to the nearest bed.
He wanted to hug her until she trusted him enough to tell him whatever she felt she needed to hide. Had someone abused her? Had she done something she was ashamed of? He fought back a desire to shake her and promise her nothing would change how he felt about her.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
He’d told her to expect to never hear from him again. It was a talk he’d given women in the past, and he’d meant it when he’d said it.
I’m angry with her for accepting that shit?
Angry with myself because I’d never see her eat prime rib?
He shook his head and realized how he felt had nothing to do with watching her eat her favorite meal. I don’t want this to be the last time I see her.
Conversation became strained while he tried to unravel the clusterfuck of his thoughts. In an apparent attempt to lighten the mood, she asked him if he’d always lived in London. He didn’t normally talk much about himself, but she was interested, and soon he was describing his college days in Boston and how he’d once thought he would live there, but had ultimately chosen London because he was more comfortable there. He hadn’t realized until he said it, but London hadn’t been solely a business decision. “My mother was English so I have dual citizenship. I went to boarding school in the UK, but finished high school in the United States after my father died.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Your father was American?”
“Yes, as was the uncle who raised me after he passed.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t move in with your mother.”
“I don’t know her.”
“You don’t know your mother?” Kenzi exclaimed then lowered her voice. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
Normally that’s exactly what Dax would have said. His past was no o
ne’s business but his. Yet, there he was, leaning forward again, and ready to tell her anything she wanted to know. “My mother left my father when I was very young. I don’t remember her. My guess is that my father paid her to stay away. I don’t really know nor have I ever cared enough to look into it. When she left me, she ceased to matter.”
Kenzi gave his hand a tight squeeze. “If she chose money over you, Dax, she cheated herself out in the end. Does she stay in touch with any of your family?”
“I don’t have any family. My father and uncle were it.” Dax hated the sympathy he saw in Kenzi’s eyes and how desperately he wanted to kiss her just then. He pulled his hand away from hers.
She studied his expression for a long moment then asked, “Who are you more like—your father or your uncle?”
He almost ended the conversation there but didn’t. He sensed she needed to see that he had his own scars. And if it made her less ashamed of her own, he would let her examine every last one of his. “I wish I could say neither, but I’m more likely the composite of the worst of both of them. My father was weak and lacked integrity and loyalty. My uncle was brutal and had no patience for weakness. I’ve made a good living on the financial misfortune of others, and I don’t regret a single take-over, not even when I knew the owners. I guess you could say I’m genetically predisposed to be an asshole.”
“I don’t think you’re an asshole,” she said softly.
“Give me time,” he said, half joking, half serious.
Kenzi smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. She looked as confused as he felt. He asked her about where she’d gone to school, and she vaguely described attending a high school and college in Canada. He wanted to ask her why she’d gone to school so far away from her family when their meals arrived.
She toyed with her prime rib, cutting it but not taking a bite. He pushed his food around his plate without tasting it either. “Do you want to get out of here?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said then looked down at her plate apologetically. “I’m sorry. Normally I would scarf this down, but my stomach is doing nervous flips.”
“I’m not hungry either,” he said and motioned to the waitress. She cleared the still full plates away and asked if they wanted it wrapped up. Neither of them answered her at first. He was waiting for her to say something, give him a hint of what she was feeling. She met his eyes briefly then told the waitress she didn’t think so.
