Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Again, nice to see you, Holt …”
“Quit it.” He sighs, brushing a stray strand of hair away from my cheek.
The connection roots me in place.
His fingertips lightly brush my skin. They’re warm and slightly calloused in a way that makes my thighs ache.
“Let’s go to dinner,” he says.
“I already have a reservation.”
“For one?”
“For dinner,” I say with a smirk. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
I wait for him to move out of my way, but he doesn’t. He just stands in front of me and flashes a shit-eating grin my way.
“I’ll take you to the best restaurant in Savannah,” he tells me. “You’ll love it.”
“Why do men always think they know what a woman wants? It’s annoying, not to mention arrogant.”
“It’s not arrogant if I’m right.”
This should turn me off. This should be a blazing, flashing red light to dress him down, put him in his place, and be on my way. It’s what I do to every other guy who thinks he’s something I can’t live without. But I don’t. Or I can’t. I don’t know which, and I can’t even spare the mental capacity to sort it out because every synapse is firing just for him.
There’s a look in his eye, something behind the brazen façade, that intrigues me. I haven’t given a man more than a dirty look in longer than I can remember. Who has the time? Who has the energy? Who wants to deal with that bullshit?
But as I stand on the porch of this beautiful home in the middle of a perfect Southern evening, I remember Sienna’s instruction to enjoy my vacation.
“You don’t know enough about me to be right,” I volley back, continuing the banter because I can’t help myself.
“I disagree.” He shifts his weight, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ll tell you three things about you besides the obvious. If I’m right, you’ll go to dinner with me.”
I think this over. I didn’t tell him anything about me, not even my name. So, there’s no way he can actually come up with one thing, let alone three, that’s deep enough to warrant a dinner date.
If nothing else, it’ll be a fun little experiment and a chance for me to prove that men don’t know everything.
“Fine,” I say. “But you have to impress me. Hair color, eye color—those types of things don’t count.”
He grins. “Absolutely not. There’s no fun in that.”
“All right. Shoot.”
“Your name is Blaire,” he says, catching me off guard. “You like gummy bears but feel like it’s a childish thing to enjoy, so you try to be discreet about your obsession. You prefer the red ones and hate the green ones. You like shopping but hate spending loads of money on things you think are a waste.”
My jaw almost hits the floor.
“And,” he says, taking a step closer to me, “you don’t date because you don’t have time. You also find men to be barbaric, adolescent creatures which, may I add, I find offensive.”
“How could you possibly know all that?” I demand. “Are you a stalker? Do I need a restraining order?”
The heat rolling off his body clamors into me, upping the beat of my heart tenfold. I hate my reaction to him, and I hate even more that I can’t control it.
“Lincoln said your name. You dropped the candy from your purse in the airport, and I just happened to notice you had it hidden in a little pouch. All the red ones were gone, and it was chock-full of the green. Your lipstick was a type my mother uses, so I know it’s expensive as hell, but your earbuds earlier weren’t a name brand, so I put together you don’t value them as much.”
“I just lose them constantly,” I say, still sorting his observations.
“And now you lost our bet. Ready to go?”
My summer dress billows in the breeze, reminding me, once again, I’m not home.
This wouldn’t be like a dinner with a man I see regularly or could even see regularly if I wanted to. He lives almost a thousand miles from me.
What could one dinner hurt?
“Fine,” I say, stepping around him. “But I’m driving.”
“Great,” he says, much to my surprise. “Let me tell the others I’m taking off.”
“But you weren’t done. We can pick this up tomor—”
“Oh, no.” He laughs, his green eyes lighting up with mischief. “We were done a while ago and now we’re just shooting the shit. I’ll be right back.”
He takes off inside, and I brace myself against the railing.
What have I gotten myself into?
Four
Holt
They say a person’s eyes are the windows to their soul. You can tell everything you need to know about them by a quick glance. Doors are like that for a business, and the ones leading into Picante are ornate and heavy.
It’s my favorite place in all of Savannah. Sitting atop a luxury hotel with views across the water on one side and the city on the other, it’s spectacular. Especially at night. It’s also impossible to get into without a reservation.