Chapter Ten
1226 Words
Chapter Ten
“I thought you’d appreciate this atmosphere.” Trent gestured to the sultry candlelight in the romantic French restaurant off main. “It seemed you needed the silence.”
“You got that right,” Adalia sighed and took a long drink from the champagne flute. She’d agreed to the date out of anger at Michelle, but she truly wanted to be there. She wanted to know him, even though she still wasn’t sure she could trust him.
“Care to discuss it?” He took a sip of his own champagne, and the flute looked undersized in his strong hands. She pictured the stem snapping and a thrill passed over her.
“There’s no point. I can handle it.”
“You don’t have to be this strong all the time. You’re allowed to accept help from others, you know. You’re allowed to be vulnerable sometimes.” The words passed his lips as a mantra, but it wasn’t the first time she’d heard them.
It didn’t matter. She was determined to do what was best for the bakery, and that meant handling it on her own. She’d trusted DeShawn and where had that gotten her? In debt, that was where.
Adalia sighed and sat back in the cream-upholstered chair of dark wood, trying to soak up the gentle ambience, the soft music of violins in the background.
“So you don’t want to talk about your business,” he said, taking a bread roll from the basket and placing it on his side plate.
“No,” she answered, a little too firmly.
Trent nodded, cut the roll open and buttered it with care. “And you don’t want to talk about your personal life.”
“No,” she said, scrunching the napkin in her lip. It was of the finest cotton, and embroidered, too.
“Then, gorgeous, what do you want to talk about?” He took a bite of the roll and grinned at her. “The crisis in the Middle East?”
Adalia laughed at that. His warmth was infectious and it was a nice change from his continuous ‘hunt’ mode where he dominated her.
“How about we talk about you, Mr. Mysterious?” She took a roll and buttered it as well, and was treated to a sexy lopsided smile from Trent.
“That’s Sir Mysterious to you, young lady.” He paused and finished chewing, then took some more champagne. “And you’ll never believe what I do, anyway.”
Adalia sat back with the dinner roll in hand. “Humor me.”
“All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
A waiter arrived with their entrées and they ate thoughtfully, forks and knives clinking softly against their plates. Trent still managed the story.
“I fly people to the moon.”
“What?” Adalia coughed into her napkin in the most ladylike way possible.
He chuckled and dabbed at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve always been into aviation, and my company is responsible for building ships that take tourists to the moon. Basically, chartered holidays. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity and its set to launch soon. Our only real competition is SkyLyft, but after their most recent disaster, we’re the favorites.”
“Are you serious?”
“It’s the same as any other trip. Think of it as a holiday.”
“To the moon,” she said, in disbelief. Here she was, worrying about her bakery on little old Earth, and Trent Dawson was on his way to the heavens. It suited him, though it grated on her to admit it.
He probably hadn’t worked a day in his life. He’d been born rich, gotten all the resources he needed to get ahead in life and here he was.
“That’s correct. I told you it’s pretty unbelievable.”
“I think it’s fascinating,” she said, fluttering her eyelids at him then turning away in embarrassment. It was impossible that she was this drawn in by him. One meal and she was moments from throwing herself across the table.
Trent stood and gestured to a waiter.
“Are you full?” Adalia frowned, dropping her fork and grasping her handbag. DeShawn had always left restaurants when he was done eating, regardless of how far she was into her meal.
“No way,” he replied then picked up his chair and shifted it to her side. The waiter moved his plate and champagne glass, though looked seriously uncomfortable that Trent had moved his own chair.
The maître d’ hovered in the background, shooting dirty looks at the poor aproned guy.
Trent grabbed their waiter’s arm and leaned in close. “You tell that guy that if he looks for trouble with you, I’ll buy this place and fire him.”
The waiter gave a small yelp and hurried away, giving the maître d’ a wide berth regardless. Trent settled into his chair beside her and grasped her hand in his. Fingers of doubt and need crawled up her spine, massaging tension in and out of her muscles. She wanted him, she craved him, but she was sure it was wrong.
“I thought you and Michelle were an item,” she popped it out without warning, even to herself.
“In her wildest dreams. Michelle’s a good assistant but she’s about as bright as a clam and excites me about as much.”
She leaned back, straining that invisible cord of desire between them with distance. “That’s a bit harsh.”
“I say it how it is. I didn’t get ahead by playing nice.” Trent was matter of fact and even though his arrogance had surpassed peak levels, she was still drawn to him. To that special brand of real power and panache.
That was her thing, obviously. DeShawn had seemed a boss, in control and cool. She’d seen him as a real man in the beginning, but Trent had changed her perception of what a real man was.
“You’ve gone quiet,” he said, stroking her skin with his thumb, then he stopped and let go of her. “I’m not usually like this. I know what I want and I get it.”
“I thought that was what this was.”
“You don’t understand, gorgeous,” he whispered, tracing the line of her neck and down to her chest with the back of his index finger. He halted short of her breasts then retraced his caress again. “What I want is usually a one night stand. A quick f**k so that I won’t be exposed to any emotional connection with a woman who’s clearly not in my league.”
“Wow,” she replied, shaking her head, “just wow. You’ve got a rather large opinion of yourself, Dawson.”
“I’m being honest, Adalia.”
“So am I. Don’t for a second think you’ll ever get that from me.” She laughed at herself and shifted her chair away. “I was such an asshole to come here with you after that whole fake speech about not wanting a conquest.”
“Quiet. Let me finish.”
But she wouldn’t. “I’ve got news for you, Mr. Dawson, you will never get me. Conquest away, wine and dine me, pretend to be something you’re not, but you will never –”
Trent reeled that cord in, by placing his hand around the back of her neck. He brought his lips to hers and parted them, slipping his tongue inside her mouth to taste her. He was sweet with a hint of champagne.
She moaned into him and he gripped her tighter, running his fingers down her cheek and resting them on her chin, tilting her head back as he liked. She was putty in his hands. He could mold her however he wanted and she wouldn’t care.
All bravado ceased to exist. Adalia was his; he merely had to tell her so.
They broke apart and he poked her gently on the nose. “You were saying, Ms. Montclair?”
“Your place or mine?”
- Writer
