Under the Mistletoe. Katherine GarberaЧитать онлайн книгу.
sir, until nine.”
“Thank you,” he said, turning to walk away. He went to the exclusive, high-end women’s boutique that was tucked off the main lobby. He found a Scottish-wool scarf that had the colors of Penny’s eyes and had it wrapped up, and asked the sales girl to send it to the concierge with instructions to have it in the sleigh later.
These kind of romantic gestures he’d learned early on. Women appreciated them and he found that a happier woman made for a more enjoyable evening. And money had never been an obstacle for him. He knew the gift was small, but he also had realized pretty early on that it was the small things that mattered most in life.
And he wanted Penny. Wanted two weeks alone with the pretty blonde. He headed back to the bar and noticed her high-fiving her friends.
Maybe he was kidding himself by thinking she would agree to a two-week Christmas romance. Despite her throwing her phone earlier, she seemed like someone who was a bit healthier in relationships than he was.
He doubted she’d need anything from him. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d misjudged someone. But this time he hoped he was wrong. Because, more than anything, he wanted her to need him so he could focus on making her Christmas special and ignore the gnawing emptiness that he still felt deep inside. She pushed off the stool and turned to walk toward him. He watched the way she moved. Her hips swaying with each step she took. Her breasts bouncing the slightest bit. The effortless grace that was arresting to behold. He realized he was staring but didn’t care. Penny smiled when she noticed him watching her, and for the first time since he’d started thinking about Christmas, he felt lighter. He didn’t care if nothing else came of this evening than dinner in a pretty woman’s company. For tonight that was enough.
He didn’t have to think of the past or the bruises he always pretended weren’t there. He could just enjoy this evening with a sweet, uncomplicated woman. Someone who could make him forget the truth of who he was.
“Ready?” she asked, coming up to him.
“I am. Are you going to be warm enough?”
“I think so. If not, you can keep me warm,” she said with a wink.
“I can?”
“Unless you don’t want to, but then that’s the whole point of inviting me to dinner, right?”
“Indeed. Let’s go.” He nodded toward the bar. “Were those your friends?”
“Yes. They just got together so they are still kind of too cutesy each time they see each other.”
“Too cutesy? I don’t know what that means,” he said.
“Kissy and huggy. Wow, now that I said it out loud, I really do sound jealous.”
“I’ll hug and kiss you if it makes you feel better,” he drawled. “I believe in giving a lady what she wants.”
“You’re quite the white knight.”
“What can I say? It’s fun to make another person happy,” he replied.
She slipped her hand into his. “Dinner is a good place to start.”
He led the way to the semisecluded area where his name was on a chalkboard under the word RESERVED. They had a thick, camel-colored blanket on the padded bench and the fire was roaring. There were thick potted pine trees placed around the area with brightly colored Christmas lights on them.
Will gestured to the bench and she walked over and sat down on it. Joining her on the comfy seat, he draped the blanket over both of their laps. He saw one of the waitstaff standing discreetly out of the way and signaled the man to bring their meal.
As the food and a table were arranged in front of them, he stretched his arm behind her on the bench and leaned in. The clean floral scent of her perfume surrounded him. He closed his eyes, reminded of a spring day in the mountains near his home in California.
“I didn’t ask if you had any dietary needs,” he said.
“None,” she admitted. “Healthy as a horse.”
She shook her head and covered her mouth with one hand. “Maybe this would be more romantic if I didn’t talk.”
“Not at all. I like hearing you talk. So you think this is romantic?”
She gave him a sardonic look. “As if you didn’t know. Yes, any woman worth her salt would think this was romantic.”
“What’s the problem then?” he asked, because there was definitely something more going on here.
“Just me being me. When I’m in a setting like this, I want to be perfect and all the ways that I’m not seem to make me stumble. I’m sorry... I want to be the glamorous sort of girl who’d fit right in here, but I’m going to say dumb things.”
“No, you’re not,” he said softly.
“Trust me—I am.”
“Honey, you’re going to say things that are going to show me who you really are.” Turning toward her, he stared into her captivating blue eyes. “Besides, I’m not interested in someone who is pretending to be perfect.”
* * *
PENNY ENJOYED THE dinner that Will had ordered. It was just a smorgasbord of meats and cheese and artisanal breads from the Park City Bakery. But what made the dinner so lovely was Will. He was funny and urbane. Obviously well-traveled and cultured.
Being with him made her realize how lacking Butch had been in those departments. He put her at ease. Made her feel like it was okay to be herself. And for the first time since she’d learned Butch was married, she felt a spark of hope.
“You look very determined,” Will said as he finished off the last of a cheese straw.
“Do I? I was hoping to look intriguing,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh.
“It’s hard when you keep laughing. Femme fatales don’t laugh,” he said.
“They don’t? I’ve met a few spies and they do laugh,” she said.
“Do they? How do you know they were spies? Maybe they were just pretending,” he said.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they were. My mom is a lobbyist so I’ve met all kinds of people in DC. Speaking of which...what do you do? You haven’t said.”
“Sorry to say, I’m not a spy. In fact, I’m in commodities, so not even a really exciting job.”
“I don’t know that that means. Are you a trader?”
“More of a speculative investor. Commodities are things so I invest in things, not in people or ideas.”
“Interesting,” she said, still having no idea what he did.
He laughed. “I spend a lot of time on the internet doing research and reading company profiles before deciding if I should invest in them and their products.”
“Is it profitable?”
“Usually,” he said. “What do you do?”
“I’m sort of between jobs at the moment. I was the senior event planner for Papillion Clothiers,” she said.
“Interesting,” he said with a half grin.
She arched a brow. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what that is.”
“I’ve heard of Papillion and I know what an event planner does, but I’m struggling to put the two together.”
“Mostly I plan events around the various fashion weeks for our high-end clients,” she said.
He glanced at her curiously. “Do you like it?”
“I love it. Clothes and parties, what more could a girl ask for?”