He stands up just before I reach him.
His tall, broad frame is a little leaner up close. “Hello,” he says and takes my hand. He presses a kiss to it and offers me a seat by pulling the one next to him out.
Holy Father. If this is how they make men in Europe, then I was born in the wrong place. Because this man is straight out of one of those fairy tales that I never believed in because I never saw a girl like me in one of them.
“Thank you,” I say demurely, the flutter in my stomach turning to a vibration as I plant myself in the offered chair.
“You’re welcome,” he says noncommittally and then just watches me. That trace of wariness grows as he observes me.
“Why aren’t you dancing?” I ask.
“I don’t dance,” he says shortly.
“Oh. Okay,” I say with a grimace of shame when he doesn’t speak. I feel a surge of mortification when I realize that I have, in fact, been too presumptuous.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” I say. I wish I could snap my fingers and make myself disappear. “I thought … maybe when we saw each other earlier on the elevator … that you seemed interested. I’m sorry. I’ll just ...” I start to stand up and pray I can run in these stupid shoes that I spent too much money on. I want to cry. I scrape my chair back and he grabs my wrist.
“No, don’t go. I’m glad you came.” His voice is deep and smooth like the molasses in my grandmother’s gingerbread cookies. And he’s American, too.
Thank you, God, I mouth down to my lap before I look up and smile.
“My mouth is good for a lot of things … small talk just isn’t one of them,” he says, gaze smoldering and yet so relaxed. I’m so startled by the innuendo that a bubble of laughter escapes me. I cover my mouth with my hand. He reaches over to stroke the back of my hand and then circles my wrist. He tugs my hand away from my mouth. “Your smile is beautiful.”
“Oh, my …” I sigh and my stomach does a summersault. I can’t believe this is happening. He’ s actually into me.
He gives me a small, quick smile that I feel a surge of pride at having pulled it out of him.
“So, you’re in business?”
“That’s cute,” he says quietly and takes a sip of his drink.
“Huh?”
“No, I’m just an ordinary man.” His glass hovers in front of his lips and he watches me out of hooded eyes.
“There’s nothing ordinary about you,” I say and stick my hand out, “I should introduce myself. I’m Confidence Ryan, and I don’t really know the bride or the groom, but I’m my friend Cass’s plus one,” I say.
“Your name is Confidence?” he asks, perplexed.
“I know, it’s kind of weird at first. But I promise once you get used to it, you’ll see it’s actually a really great name,” I assure him.
“No, not weird at all. Hayes Rivers,” he says without any other detail. Not that I need any more for what I’m hoping is going to happen. But, his smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes.
“I love that name. Is it a family name?” I ask.
His smile dims slightly. “No,” he says shortly.
“Well, my parents named my siblings and me after things they hoped we’d grow up to possess. I definitely lucked out. My siblings are named Happiness and Fortune,” I tell him and then wish a hole would open up and put me out of my misery.
Why am I not better at flirting?
It’s his turn to laugh, and he says, “Now, that is a great line.” He shakes his head. “Can you imagine if people actually gave their children names like that?” he asks and I cringe. Hard.
He stops laughing. “Oh …”
“Yeah,” I say slowly.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, real contrition in his eyes
“No, it’s okay. I’m used to it and they grow on you,” I say and change the subject. “So, you friends of the groom?
“No, my aunt is. She couldn’t go, so I came in her stead.”
“Well, you’re a lot nicer than an RSVP and a gift card that most people send when they can’t come to a wedding. It’s nice of you to come. Even though, I bet it wasn’t that hard of a sell. It’s beautiful here,” I say.
“I’m not nice. My aunt raised me. So, when she asks something of me, I do it.” He shrugs and takes a sip of water, and I glance back at our table for a second to see if Cass is back. She’s not.
“May I?” he asks, and I turn back to face him. He’s watching me expectantly.
“May you what?” He nods to the table. His hand is hovering right above my wrist.
“Oh, you want to …” I ask in surprise, but smile and nod. “Feel free to put those big hands wherever you’d like,” I say and groan internally at how thirsty I sound.
He smirks a little before his thumb swipes once on the tender skin on the inside of my wrist. I shiver and bite back a moan at the tremor that runs down the center of my body. I’m shouting YES in my head.
He lifts my hand to his face. His breath tickles me before he draws in a deep breath, his eyes closed as he rubs his nose back and forth across my wrist. My insides liquify.
“You smell like roses,” he whispers so softly, his breath floats over the inside of my forearm and a tingle dances all the way up my arm.
If I’m dreaming, please don’t ever wake me.
I lean into him and put on my sauciest smile. “It’s this body lotion I bought in duty free—”
“It smells cheap.” His voice is no longer soft and seductive. Heat rises up my neck and spreads on my cheeks as his words sink in.
I yank my hand out of his grasp and lean away, “Excuse me?” I ask in affront.
“Didn’t anyone tell you before you came over that I only entertain heiresses and above?”
“‘Entertain?’” I put the words in air quotes while I gawk at the man who just turned from a prince to a toad in less than three minutes.
“I’m not interested in being your next payday,” he announces.
My jaw drops.
“Don’t feel bad,” he says without looking at me. “Go try it on one of the drunker, more persuadable men here. I’m sure you’ll leave with enough money to at least cover your expenses,” he says and my head snaps back so hard, I’m surprised it’s still attached to my body.
His gaze flits over me. “No question. You’re a knockout. But, if you’re looking for something more than a weekend, I’d suggest you invest in your look. Off-the-rack dresses aren’t going to cut it with this crowd. Dress for the job you want, and all that,” he says and falls back in his chair.
Each insult and insinuation is barbed with contempt. They flay old wounds wide open.
“You jerk,” I spit and lean forward so I can look him in the eye when I tell him to fuck off.
They’re cold, dark, and shuttered. He looks like a completely different person than the one I met on the elevator. I wonder who put that look in his eye. I know it’s not me. The disillusionment I see is deep-seated. Despite the warm May sea breeze passing through the tent, goose bumps replace my tingles.
“Do better research on your next target. Approaching me at an event like this was a dead giveaway about your motives. You should have bumped into me at the airport or something less obvious.” His voice is devoid of any emotion, his gaze moves to the dance floor. His gaze is observant but detached. “Hmm … it’s a shame, I think we would’ve had a great time together,” he says while he looks at me like I’m a car he’s thinking about buying.