Yours to Savor (18 page)

“I did.” He said the words with immense
resolve. “I wanted to. I promised we’d do the second date right. If I hadn’t had meetings, I’d have been there with you.” He smiled secretly to himself. “
One can choose what to do, but not what to want
,” he murmured.

“Is that a quote?”

He nodded. “I’m impressed you caught it. It’s from Arthur Schopenhauer, a German philosopher. One of my university professors used to quote him endlessly. Some of it stuck.”

“You were a philosophy major?”

Brandon laughed. “No. I took an arts class, though, and got exposed to a little culture.”

“What college did you go to?”

“A little school on the east coast. I doubt you’ve even heard of it. I didn’t finish, anyway. I left after two years.”

“Oh? How come?”

“Business picked up.” Again, there he was with that secretive smile. “I’ve forgotten myself. Shall we eat? I hope you’re hungry.”

Hungry?
Sandra hadn’t eaten all day;
ravenous
was more like it. “A bit.”

Brandon nodded, and leaned back to wave behind her. Seconds later, the scent
of sweet perfume in the air announced the arrival of the waitress. Sandra looked up—and was seized by a gut-wrenching shockwave of self-doubt and inadequacy.

The waitress was pure sensuality wrapped in a bow. Luxurious raven hair flowed from her head, and dark skin set off her striking green eyes. Her full lips gave her the appearance of a perpetual pout that Sandra knew so many men found attractive. Her nose had a slight upturn to it, and long lashes emphasized the tilt of her eyelids.

The woman took one look at Sandra before dismissing her, instead choosing to focus on Brandon. “Mr. Galliani!” she exclaimed happily, with a familiarity that Sandra thought inappropriate. The black button up shirt she wore was so thin that Sandra could see the silky lace of her bra, and when she leaned in toward Brandon, laughing at something he said in a rich, sultry voice, she did so with her shoulders pulled back to emphasize her ample breasts.

But… Brandon barely noticed her. The whole time she was mooning over him and taking their order, Brandon only glanced her way once or twice. He gave her all the attention one might to a gnat.

Sandra was dumbfounded. The waitress could have easily been plucked down from a triple-A movie or a high fashion runway. And she was conspicuously flaunting herself to Brandon.
But he doesn’t even see her.

It was remarkable. Fascinating. Any man with eyes would have been drooling over the waitress. But not Brandon.

I truly am the only one who matters to him
right now,
Sandra thought, amazed.

The thought was a revelation. It wasn’t like Brandon was being polite—the waitress might have been a specter for all the attention he gave her. And finally, whatever smattering of doubt remained in Sandra’s head about the man sitting across from her disappeared. Brandon didn’t have five other women set up in hotel suites waiting for him. He didn’t beckon her to Seattle with the pompous expectation she would come running.

He’d
invited
her.

And she’d come because she
wanted
to.

“I have to ask you something,” Sandra said after the waitress left.

“Yes?”

Her nerves were starting to calm, and she was beginning to feel like herself again. But when she opened her mouth, something stopped her from saying what she wanted:
Why didn’t you look at the other woman?

“All the shoes in my room. Was that Clarisse, or—”

“Me?” Brandon finished with a smile. He locked eyes with her again. “What do you think?”

“It
was
you.” Sandra felt very fluttery inside. “But… how did you know my size?”

“I have an eye for details.” He shook his head with a smile. “I couldn’t forget your slender feet.” Brandon reached over, and took her hand in his again. Sure fingers caressed the sensitive space between her thumb and forefinger, making the small hairs on Sandra’s arm stand up.
How can he make me feel so secure and uncertain of myself at the same time?
Suddenly she got a very clear picture of that strong hand sliding up her smooth thigh, parting her eager legs, and slipping beneath the floral embroidery of her silk panties…

With a jerky breath, she banished the image.
These types of thoughts can’t be normal.
How was it that the man could rev her up so much from the most innocent of touches? She’d never experienced anything like that with Henry—not even close. Not even in the first weeks of their relationship, when she foolishly pretended to be in love.

With Brandon around, Sandra became some hyper-sexualized being, responding to the most trivial of cues with a totally out-of-proportion reaction. If only he knew how he made her feel…

If he knew, he would stand up right now, pull her to the bathroom, and nail her without mercy against the stall for the rest of the night.

He does know
, a small voice whispered.
He has an eye for details, as he said. Obviously he can see how my breath quickens with him around. He felt my heart racing when we were in the forest, for heaven’s sake!
Knowing that made everything Brandon did so much more meaningful. There was no doubt left that he could see how turned on she was. And yet—still!—just as he’d promised… they were doing things “right.”

Chapter Eleven

Sandra’s food arrived shortly after, fresh and succulent. Brandon ordered her swordfish, something she’d never tried before, while choosing steak for himself. There was something very visceral and inherently attractive about seeing him tear into the meat with knife and fork. The muscles of his forearms danced as he brought the pieces to his mouth, almost as if the meal were a release for his pent up desire for her.

As dinner progressed, Sandra found herself much more at ease with the magnificent man across the table. Her nerves had gone away. That flirty give-and-take from their first date
was back. Brandon had a sarcastic humor that she’d come to appreciate
,
and Sandra learned he’d been all over the world. She would name a country. He would have a story. He was still coy about his occupation, but Sandra suspected that was because he didn’t want to bore her with mundane
details—especially considering all she’d told him about Henry.

There were not many men with whom Sandra could talk to at length. In fact, there were not many
people
she could talk to for hours. But with Brandon, she could. He ignited her mind with his witticisms and insights. He was fascinating.

As they finished their food, Sandra recognized something very appealing at his puritan insistence that this second night be done “right.” She could
see
how that promise tore at him. Every so often, especially after she giggled or tossed her hair, the fire from when he kissed her would flare in his eyes. His jaw would clench, and that hunter’s look would flash across his face. Then, marshaling the undoubtedly immense self-control required, he’d close his eyes—only for a moment—and when he opened them, the fire would have faded, at which point he’d continue where the conversation left off.

And, as Sandra started to see what she did to him, she began to take guilty pleasure in revving him up. A tease here, a laugh there, and before long she started playing a game with herself to see how many times she could ignite his fire before it became too powerful for him to hold in.
It made her feel sinfully attractive and in control. Even better, it was her way of getting back at him for causing all those foreign feelings of nervousness at the start of the night.

Despite how much Sandra enjoyed their playful conversation, she couldn’t wait for dinner to wind down. Every time she triggered the fire in Brandon that he tried so fervently to control, her thoughts would drift to everything that would happen
after
dinner, to the
real
dessert at the end of the night. She still planned to tease him, of course, and play hard-to-get as much as she dared… but she had no intention of letting him go tonight. The sexual tension between them was like a forest full of dry twigs, awaiting that single spark that would start a wild conflagration. Sex at the end of the night promised to be so much more meaningful than any she’d had before, no doubt helped by how much she was building it up in her mind.

She could picture the two of them wrapped together in the aftermath of the storm, sheets damp with sweat, his maddening, soul-nourishing
scent cloaking her as she nuzzled under his arm, her insides raw and throbbing from cathartic release—

Music stirred her from her thoughts. It had come softly at first, just beyond the edge of hearing as the piano in the background picked up, but then it got louder.

“Look,” Brandon motioned.

Sandra turned around—and nearly died from shock. Coming around the bend of the rotating platform were four men in tuxedos, two holding violins, one a viola, and one a clarinet, playing a string rendition of
Where is My Mind
in time with the pianist
.
Sandra was so amazed that she didn’t notice as Brandon stood up, walked around the table, and offered her his hand.

“Dance with me?”

Brandon stared into Sandra’s eyes as she took his hand, her delicate fingers brushing lightly against his skin. She gave him a sultry smile before stepping into him. He suppressed a groan, but he’d been doing that all night.

The feel of her body against his, the smell of her luxuriant
hair, the warmth of her breasts pressed to his chest—all of it was driving him absolutely crazy with desire. It wasn’t the mindless desire of animals, the type he felt with other women in the past. It was something more… wholesome.

But it was also very raw. And very hard to keep in check.

He was glad Sandra had enjoyed herself today. She’d been too uptight when they first met outside the little coffee shop, even though she’d loosened up on his yacht. Besides, he hadn’t liked the way he left her after that night.

Hence his insistence that
this
night be perfect.

Sandra obviously struggled with something from her past. He wanted to find out what it was, and protect
her from it. Her ex was one thing… but Brandon suspected there was more to it than that. Leaving a loveless relationship did not necessitate spending the next two years struggling as an office receptionist—not while having a college degree.