Her lips twitched, and she seemed less inclined to run. “You think I’m a girl who’s impressed with money, and jewels, and fancy restaurants.”
“But you’re not.” He stepped closer, watching her for any more signs of her being ready to bolt. She looked steady, and he had to keep it that way. He couldn’t afford to lose her. “Please, let me try again. And if you don’t want to buy yourself diamonds…don’t buy diamonds. If you want to wear a plastic bag to the galas, go for it. I don’t give a damn, as long as you’re there with me.”
She bit her lip. “But what will everyone think?”
“Whatever they want to think.” He moved into her personal space. “Who the hell cares?”
She eyed him and gestured toward the restaurant. “You do, I’d say.”
“Nah.” He tucked her soft hair behind her ear and skimmed his knuckles over the porcelain skin of her cheek again. He couldn’t help it. Touching her was a drug, and he’d take his hits wherever and however he could. “I don’t. I’m kind of a loner, so if they don’t like me…I really don’t give a damn.”
She couldn’t actually come to his galas in a bag, but he knew she wouldn’t, so they’d be fine. She had more fashion sense than that. She just needed a minute to breathe. To accept it all. He’d had a lifetime to acclimate to a certain lifestyle. She’d had a day.
“Tell you what. How about this?” He tugged on her hair before letting go. It was harder to release that small piece of her than it should have been. “You pick the next ‘date.’ Show me what you like to do, so I’ll know what to plan when it’s my turn again.”
She stepped a little closer, and he knew he had her. That she wasn’t going anywhere. “When?”
“Whenever, and wherever, you’d like.” He held his hand out to her. She didn’t turn away. “Put the ring back on and give me one more chance.”
She hesitated, but slipped the ring back onto her finger, and then slid her hand into his. “Okay.”
He felt a surge of satisfaction that had nothing to do with tricking his mother into believing this was real. For whatever reason it might be—stubbornness, attraction, or something else entirely—he didn’t want to let Maggie go.
Metaphorically or physically. But he did it anyway. He dropped his hold on her after one good shake. “Then it’s set. How about we go back in, and you can order what you want this time?”
“I’d love that, Mister—” She cut off, smiling at him. And when she did that, the breath punched out of his chest again. “Benjamin.”
He’d never wanted to kiss someone so damn badly as he did Maggie, just then, under the full moon. If he curled his hand behind her neck, burying his fingers in her long brown hair, and slowly tugged her closer, would she fight him? Or would her gray eyes widen and her lips part in anticipation as he closed in on her mouth, one slow breath at a time?
A cab honked behind them, and he shook his head, shaking off the fantasy. She’d made it quite clear she didn’t want to touch him unless absolutely necessary. “After you.”
She went past him, leaving behind the tantalizing scent of flowers and vanilla. He followed her, doing his best not to stare at her swinging ass. But in that dress, it was impossible. It embraced her curves like a second skin, and she had to be aware of it. He sure as hell was.
As she sat down at their table, he picked up the plates of lobster, carried them to the waiter and whispered, “We need to start over, please. Bring the menus…and an…uh…appletini? Is that a real thing?”
The waiter bowed. “Yes, sir, it is.”
“Great. Thank you.” Benjamin straightened his jacket and walked over to the table, his heart beating in tandem with each step he took toward her. The more time he spent with her, the more he realized that, this game they played with one another? It wasn’t in his control at all. And that was a sobering thought. He wasn’t a man who relinquished control easily. “Our menus are coming.”
She smiled at him, making those damn freckles of hers dance. “Excellent.”
He settled into his seat and tugged on his jacket sleeves uncomfortably. It was hot as Hades in here. He’d give a leg to take the thing off, but he couldn’t. She might not want a fancy first date, but he wasn’t about to remove his jacket in a five-star restaurant.
And for the first time ever, he had no idea what to say to a woman. All his normal topics would fall flat with Maggie, just as his earlier tactics had. She unsettled him.
He wasn’t sure how to feel about that yet.
“By the way…” She eyed the credit card in the middle of the table. “You can take that back now.”
“You don’t want it, but hear me out.” He leaned in, and she did the same. The way she stared at him, all wide eyes and parted lips, tested his resolve to keep his hands to himself. “There truly will be a lot of events, and you’ll need clothes of some sort to wear—it doesn’t have to be designer, but you’ll need something. Do you have a whole closet of ball gowns?”