My manager nods toward my computer as if it contains a radar screen to show me the weather. "Yeah, apparently, the airlines are all backed up. It's coming up the coast. I'm surprised you didn't have any issues with your flights."
"Good evening," Duncan says before I get the chance to respond. He gazes my way before greeting Eric with a hearty handshake.
"Mr. Willis?" Eric asks as his Adam's apple bobs. "Is there any problem?"
Duncan shakes his head. "No, Eric. No problem. Miss Jones? Is there a problem?"
"My long weekend put me terribly behind."
"Yes, holidays can do that. However, the clock has struck five. I believe it's time to leave."
I look toward Eric. "I think you handled the situation appropriately this morning. The facts were clear-cut. I support your decision. My personal feelings didn't have any bearing."
"Nice work," Duncan says to Eric. "A thumbs-up from Miss Jones for appropriate behavior is not an easy accomplishment."
Shit! What is he doing?
Eric glances between the two of us as his smile thins. "Is there more that I'm missing?"
"Only that it's after five and time to go."
"Good night, Eric."
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kimbra
"Duncan?" I whisper as I open my drawer and reach for my purse. "That isn't the way to keep it professional. You realize..." I lift my head higher, peeking over the partition and scanning the room and other cubicles. "...that tomorrow others will—"
Duncan reaches for my hand. "Miss Jones, you'll accompany me out of this office and this building right this instant or tomorrow the other people in this department, as well as our security staff, will be talking about what I'm about to do to you. I've been thinking about you and my desk all day." His green eyes sparkle as he eyes my messy desk. "I may have to clear everything to the floor, but yours would work as well as mine."
I take a deep breath as my insides pinch. As much as I want to be concerned about Eric, I can't seem to think about anyone but the incredibly handsome man looking at me as if I'm his dinner. "Fine. Where are we going?"
His lustful tone of two seconds ago is replaced with excitement. "A surprise for our first date."
"You know, Shana and I have this system about first dates."
"Do tell?"
"If it's a disaster, we send the other a text with our secret word. The other one then calls with a fake emergency and it's our out."
Duncan shakes his head as we wait for the elevator. "My ego will be so hurt if Shana has a legitimate problem tonight."
My smile grows. "Before Indiana, she told me that I'd already had my first date with you, at the bar at Gaston's."
He shakes his head. "I enjoyed that night, talking with you, cracking your veneer, but, beautiful, tonight is a date. Tonight you get the royal Duncan Willis treatment."
"I like the sound of that."
When Pierce finally stops the car, I gaze out the window. We're in front of the same building where I met Shana over two weeks ago. "Gaston's?" I ask.
Duncan nods. "I may have talked to Shana. I heard the same story about our talk at the bar. I want you to have that real first date."
As another piece of my heart falls into his hands, I remember the question I asked myself, if Duncan would be more hands-on if we were real. "You spoke to Shana?"
"Yes. Does that surprise you?"
"Yes. I thought Jorge did all your bidding."
"He helps, but some things need the personal touch."
"I like a personal touch." I think about Gaston's. "How did you get the reservation?"
He winks. "Anything for you."
Just before the door to the car opens, I look down at my pale green dress. I'm happy with his answer, it's just my dress. Just once I'd like to know I'm going to this restaurant and be prepared.
Duncan leans in and kisses me. "Stop. You're beautiful."
"It's just that..."
"No."
The sidewalk is alive with people rushing from here to there. Duncan scoots out first and offers me his hand. "No more professionalism, Miss Jones. If I don't have your hand in mine, I need to be touching you in some way. Prepare to be manhandled—by one man—for the rest of the night."
"Is that part of the Duncan Willis royal treatment?"
"Don't worry. There's more where that came from."
My smile widens and the twisting in my tummy increases as my blood rushes to my core. I lift my hand to his. Once we're alone on the private elevator, I lean close and whisper. "I don't think I'm supposed to enjoy the prospect of manhandling as much on a first date. My mother would call it inappropriate."
Duncan laughs, stalking toward me, moving me with each step until my back is against the mirrored wall of the elevator. "Maybe..." He grazes the side of my breast. "But I'd wager that your grandma would approve."
He pins me with his trim body as his caress becomes more intense. My giggle disappears, swallowed by his kisses. As my eyes close and our tongues unite, I make a mental note to ride more elevators with Duncan Willis.
When we reach the top, he backs away. His hand reaches for mine and squeezes. "I think I have that first-date issue covered."
Before I can get my bearings from the way his intoxicating kiss sent me off-kilter or ask what he means, the doors open and in a few steps, we're greeted by the young hostess.
Just like before, the spectacular restaurant shimmers. From the ceiling to the candles upon the tables, sparks reflect in a show of light. Through the wall of windows, Manhattan adds to the grandeur coming to life as the pink and purple sun meets the horizon.
With each step through the crowd, I’m keenly aware of female heads turning and watching as Duncan walks by. This is new to me. At least my family didn't ogle. It’s the same way Shana looked at him the night he stopped at our table. The gazes fixed on him contain both awe and lust. I want to be upset, to stick out my tongue and tell each drooling woman that Duncan Willis is mine. However, I don't, because of him. He's the one who stops me. Not literally. Instead, it's his attention to only me. As if, with his hand possessively in the small of my back, he doesn't even notice the sea of lust-filled eyes.
When we reach our table near the tall windows, there is a long-stemmed rose lying upon the plate of the place setting where the hostess pulls back the chair. With a quick scan from side to side, I look for roses at other tables, but see none.
"Your seat, madam," the hostess says.
Before I can question why I have the flower, Duncan lifts the rose and stares my direction with a knowing smirk. Once the hostess places my napkin in my lap and is gone, Duncan hands me the flower as his green gaze drinks me in.
"For our first date."
I reach for the rose, staring not at it, but at the eyes intently watching my every move. I can’t explain it. Somehow each flower since we've returned to New York feels different than the others, like these are real and honest. Tears threaten at the back of my eyes.