He smiled and folded his menu, setting his smartphone on the table in front of him. I couldn’t help but notice the little blue light that flashed to indicate he had a new message. Ben ignored it, though, and when the waiter came back he spoke in the most mouthwateringly beautiful French and placed our order. Moments later, the waiter appeared to open our wine and fill two glasses. Just having something in my hands set me at ease.
Ben crossed his ankle over his knee and leaned back. The stem of his wineglass remained between his fingers and he thoughtfully swirled the ruby-colored liquid within the glass. His gaze met mine and that devilish, boyish charm that melted my resolve to stay away from him flashed in his eyes. “To our adventures in Paris.”
“Yes.” I met his glass with mine, a satisfying clink piercing the night air.
“So.” His mouth turned up a playful smirk. “Tell me everything there is to know about Miss Emmy Clarke.”
“Uh.” I fumbled with the drinks menu, clumsily rearranging it on the table in front of us. “Let’s see. I’ve been working for Fiona for a couple of weeks. I’m from Tennessee originally. Pretty standard stuff. What do you want to know?”
He shrugged.
I swallowed and shifted in my seat. Okay. Taking a deep breath, I continued, “In college I double majored in communications and fashion design.”
A flicker of interest in his eyes revealed that he was impressed.
“I have a younger brother and two parents who are still very much in love.” Someone shut me up. God, was I trying to put him to sleep? “Nothing really that exciting. Tell me more about you.”
“What do you want to know?” His smile was playful, like he almost expected that I’d Googled him and assumed that I knew everything there was to know.
I did know a lot. His mom was retired supermodel Dakota Shaw, rumored to be quite a swinger. His dad appeared to be a mystery; possibly a politician or a rock star. But it didn’t seem right to try to probe him for answers now. Instead, I simply asked, “Where did you grow up?”
His eyes drifted to his glass of wine, which he’d stopped swirling. I briefly wondered if I’d touched on a topic he didn’t care to discuss. “All over, really. New York City, London, Barcelona, Prague, Rome, Brazil, everywhere. I want to hear more about you, though. Normal family. Tennessee. What else?” He grinned, taking a sip of his wine and licking those full lips.
The wine had started to get to me already, and it seemed surreal that Ben Shaw was sitting across from me. What was he even doing here with me? Was this a date? Two friends? Coworkers? My head was a wreck. I needed answers.
I set my glass down on the table and summoned my courage. “Ben.” My tone came out too serious and his gaze flicked up to mine. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m probably a bit boring for your tastes.”
Ben abandoned his casual posture and leaned in toward me. “I assure you; I’m anything but bored, Miss Clarke.”
I twisted my fingers around the stem of my glass. “We both know I’m not a model. I’m not like the women you usually go out with.”
“Emmy . . .” Ben set his glass down in front of him, his expression stern. “I don’t only date models. I actually typically don’t date models, so relax.”
His little declaration did nothing to calm my anxieties. The fact that he only sometimes dated models was supposed to calm me? Ha! My insecurities were too deep rooted to vanish with that information.
He leaned closer, fixing me with an intense stare. “How about I admit to a little secret? Will that make you more comfortable?”
I stopped fidgeting at the table. I hated that I was being a girl, all self-conscious and nervous. “Yes,” I admitted.
Ben took a sip from his glass. “Okay. Would it make you feel better if I told you I lost my virginity to a much older woman? My mom’s friend, actually.”
Whoa. I couldn’t imagine losing my virginity to someone my dad’s age. Creepy. My first time was with my high school boyfriend in the back of his Jeep my junior year. My life was shockingly normal in contrast to his. I could only imagine the cougar-turned-seductress must have persuaded him. “Were you . . . okay with that?”
“Yeah. She gave great head.” He shrugged, giving me a megawatt, panty-dropping smile.
Okay then. No overanalyzing going on there. I guessed that was the difference between guys and girls. Girls were more emotional about sex, guys thought about the physical first. Good to know. I needed to remember that, keep my head about me.
“So, are you into older women or did she, like, seduce you?” I asked, unable to hide my curiosity at how things went down. No pun intended.
“It was one of my first overnight shoots and she was with me since my mom couldn’t be bothered to come. She’d been sending me signals all day, touching my arm, rubbing my shoulders, stuff like that. I was eighteen and horny . . .” He chuckled. “I couldn’t sleep, being away from home and all that, so that night I went up to her hotel room . . .”
Damn. That was bold. He just showed up on her doorstep expecting sex? But I supposed when you looked like him you’d earned the right to be bold. Lucky day for that cougar, whoever she was. I was slightly jealous. But I had the man sitting in front of me, all hard-toned muscle, golden skin, and lips built for kissing. All she had was the memory.
I couldn’t envision many women rejecting him—something about his confidence, his penetrating eyes, and his blunt mouth. . . . He had a knack for getting what he wanted; of that, I was certain.