Summer Escape with the Tycoon Page 9

  They ordered starters of crab cakes and a glass of white wine, and he let her guide the conversation around their trip thus far, an easy and enjoyable topic. While Molly ordered planked halibut for her entrée, Eric decided on a small striploin and added king crab legs to it, and then they tried new wines to pair with each dish. They lingered long into the evening, sharing long glances and smiles, moving on to talking about their jobs and their lives.

  The more Molly talked, the livelier her eyes became, sparkling and teasing. He picked at his potato, wondering why he couldn’t have met her years ago. Even though he shouldn’t have, he found himself comparing her to Murielle and realized that Murielle had that cool reserve thing going on but Molly...she was warm and vibrant.

  “You’ve gone quiet,” she said, leaning over and touching his hand. She left her fingers on his skin and he turned his hand over and clasped hers.

  “Sorry. Just thinking.”

  “About?”

  “How I wish I’d met you ten years ago.”

  Her eyes widened but she smiled. “Don’t say things like that, Eric. Remember, we only have a few days together. Then we have to go back. We have jobs. Responsibilities.”

  “I know.”

  And he did know. He ran a multibillion-dollar corporation. He didn’t have the luxury of taking a flight of fancy. Just a small detour.

  “I’m glad we met,” she continued, squeezing his fingers. She looked down, then met his gaze again. “To be honest, I was starting to wonder if I had this in me.”

  “Had what?” He frowned, not quite understanding.

  “This sense of adventure. Of...fun. My life back home...it’s different. That night at the auction? That’s my typical evening out. A fund-raiser. A dinner with the right people, or perhaps catching up with some college friends who want to share success stories. It’s not exactly...real. Some of our clients are very high-profile.” She tapped the side of her nose and said, “Like a certain actor who has a summer home on the Cape where he lives with his ex’s best friend.”

  He remembered the story. Not that he paid much attention to tabloids, but it had been everywhere. You had to live under a rock to not know who she was talking about.

  It also meant that such high-profile clients meant high-profile fees. She’d bid over twenty thousand dollars on this trip. He knew because she’d outbid him by a mere hundred dollars. She certainly didn’t need a man to make her feel secure or to provide for her. Molly had accomplished that all on her own.

  It was kind of refreshing, actually. Because he knew she wasn’t hanging on to him because of his money. In the months since the divorce, he’d approached every date with a sense of cynicism in that regard. But not with Molly.

  “So you’re really getting out?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I’m not sure how yet. I mean, I could take time off and be fine, of course. But I need a purpose. I’d like to find that first before I pull the plug.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “What about you?”

  He gave his head a small shake. “What about me?”

  “Will life be the same for you when you go back?”

  No, he wanted to answer, but he held back. The truth was, he wasn’t satisfied with his life, either, but had no idea what he’d change. There’d be no Molly. The thought dampened his mood, like snuffing out a candle. One thing he’d definitely like to do, though, was reconnect with his family more, so he said so.

  “I’d like to hang out with my brothers again. See if we can’t fix what went wrong. And my mother, too.” He sighed. “Looking back, I might have contributed more to the problem than I thought. I kept telling myself that my family thought I was too good for them. But maybe—maybe I thought it, too.”

  “Oh, Eric. I’m sorry. It’s not too late, though.”

  “I hope not. I mean, when my dad left, it fell to me to kind of hold things together, you know? I was the oldest. For me it was all about having enough food on the table. Clothes for the boys for school. Making sure the heat wasn’t turned off in the winter.”

  That was how he’d defined caring for someone. But what if that wasn’t what they wanted? Had they wanted more of him and less of his money?

  “It’s a lot for a young boy to take on. I’m sure they know how hard you worked and appreciate it.”

  But he wasn’t sure they did, so he turned the spotlight back on her.

  “What about your family? How do you think they’ll take you leaving the firm?”

  She shrugged, but her eyes grew troubled. “I don’t know. I want to believe they’ll want me to be happy. That they won’t see it as a betrayal. I know they love me. I think they’ve just never seen me for me, and like you, I’m partly to blame. I went along with what they wanted because I didn’t want to rock the boat. I was the child that lived, you see.” She took a drink of wine, put down her glass. “I can stand up to anyone in my job. But it’s different when it’s your daddy.”

  He wouldn’t know, but he knew what she meant.

  “Now,” he said, brightening his voice, “let’s leave the heavy topics behind for a better one. What’s for dessert?”

  “Oh, after that meal, I really shouldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, you know the old saying. ‘A moment on the lips, forever on the hips.’” She rolled her eyes a bit, but he pinned her with his gaze.

  “Molly Quinn. There is nothing wrong with your hips. Or any other part of your body, either. Trust me.”

  She looked up, met his gaze and said blankly, “You’re only saying that because I’m wearing Spanx under my dress.”

  “I am not. I’m pretty sure you weren’t wearing that when we were kayaking, or snorkeling, and let me tell you, I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

  She paused, and seemed to go back and forth in her mind for a minute. And then she said, “Screw it. Let’s have dessert.”

  He handed her the menu with a silent promise to himself that if he had the chance, tonight they’d work off any dessert calories and more.

  Damn, he was going to miss her when this was over.

  * * *

  Molly savored every bite of dinner, and when her white-chocolate crème brûlée came, she was determined to enjoy it, too. She ordered a glass of ice wine to go with it, while Eric ordered a cognac and also some sort of flourless chocolate torte that looked divine.

  “You can taste mine if I can taste yours,” he said, peering around the candles at her ramekin. “That looks incredible.”

  Indeed it did. White-chocolate shavings sat prettily atop the torched crust of the dessert, along with a bright, fat raspberry. “Deal. But I get to break the crust.”

  He grinned. “Of course.”

  She pierced it with her spoon and scooped up the first bite. Taste exploded in her mouth—rich creamy custard and the white chocolate that somehow had a hint of vanilla in it. “Oh, my God. Go ahead. It’s incredible.”

  He took a spoonful and she watched as he put the utensil to his lips. Lord, he was pretty. Maybe she should think handsome, but his face was so perfect, his eyes so heavily lashed. More than once tonight she’d seen him catch the attention of single women in the room. And yet he seemed completely unaware.

  She was still trying to digest what he’d told her about his family tonight. To go from worrying about having enough to eat to being a billionaire—what a transformation. It took a strong, determined man to achieve what he had.

  When he’d tasted, he offered her his plate. “Try it. It looks decadent.”

  It was. The complete opposite from her white chocolate and custard, the torte was dense and dark and sinfully delicious.

  “This was such a good idea,” she said and sighed.

  “I don’t know why you think you shouldn’t eat dessert. There’s nothing wrong with your figure.”

  “Well,
I’m not a size six like my mom. She’s worked diligently to keep it that way since college.”

  “So what?” Eric took a bite of his torte, and also took a moment to enjoy it. When he opened his eyes he smiled at her. “Who needs you to be a size six? Who needs you to be anything other than who you are?”

  She sat back. “You have to understand. Hearing you say that sounds so...foreign. Particularly when who I am is rarely good enough, or hinges on...”

  She stopped, then met his gaze. “Hinges on me doing what my family thinks is right for me.”

  “I can’t understand how this happened. You just don’t seem like the type, you know?”

  “I know. I truly think it goes back to my brother. I felt the weight of all that expectation. It made me feel responsible. As if maybe, if I could fulfill the dreams they had for him, it would somehow take away the pain of his death.” She deliberated for a moment, then confessed, “He was the one who saved me in the water that day. Two months later, he was gone. He saved my life only to lose his. Tell me that isn’t cruel and unfair.”

  He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. She knew how it sounded.

  She defiantly ate another bite of dessert, and then Eric said quietly, “So you have a good case of survivor’s guilt. But you can’t always live your life for him, Molly.”

  “I know. And my parents are good people. Privileged, yeah. But when he died, I remember the horrible weight of grief around the house. How my mom hugged me a little too tight at night, and Dad walked around looking as if he’d been kicked. I tried to make it better however I could. To make it up to them somehow.” She was abashed to find tears on her lashes. She dotted them away with her napkin and took a steadying breath.

  “Then maybe they’ll be proud of you for being you, too.”

  “Maybe. I think, though, they’ll see it as a betrayal. And I’m not sure how to get around that. I’d like their support.”

  “You’ll have it.”

  “How do you know?”

  He leaned forward. “Because anyone who really knows you can’t resist you.”

  Heat rushed up her cheeks. “Oh, go on.”

  He laughed. “I said it and I meant it.”

  They finished their dessert and then it was time for the bill. Eric signed off on it, reminding her that he’d been the one to ask her to dinner, and then put his hand solicitously along her back as they left the dining room. She leaned into the feeling of his warm palm, protective and only a little bit possessive, not shying away from the fact that they were together. And then they ambled back to the guest rooms.

  “I have a bottle of red in the room. Care for a nightcap?” he asked.

  They both knew he was asking her to his room for more than a glass of wine, and Molly considered the clothes she was wearing. She still wasn’t confident, but if Eric were going to see her undressed tonight, she didn’t want his first image to be that of her supportive undergarment that “smoothed out her lumps.”

  “I have one in my room as well,” she replied. “Compliments of the tour company. There’s no way I can drink it all myself.”

  He tugged on her hand and she turned around so they were facing. He leaned in and put his lips to hers, the touch warm and firm and surprisingly gentle.

  “What was that for?” she asked, when he’d pulled away.

  “Something to keep me going until we get there.” He kissed her again, until her knees felt like jelly and she found herself melting into his arms. If he kissed her like that again, they’d never make it back to her room.

  Somehow they did, and she got out her key with trembling fingers. With one foot in front of the other she made it inside the room, while he shut the door with a firm click behind her.

  Wine. Wine would buy her some time to get herself together.

  She went to the table and opened the bottle, putting it down to let it breathe a bit. Eric stood in the middle of the room, in his jeans and shirt, looking good enough to eat. Her throat tightened. Where had all this nervousness come from? It wasn’t like this was her first time, after all. And yet the way his dark eyes settled upon her had her unnerved.

  “Moll,” he said softly, and she crossed to him, slipping into his arms as he kissed her fully this time, a bit wildly, and very differently from any of the times before. This kiss was openmouthed and hot, with very little in the way of restraint. Her body shook as she kissed him back, then moved away when he reached for the tie on the side of her dress.

  “Wait a minute,” she said, more breathless than she cared to admit. She stepped back and put her hands to her cheeks. “Just...give me a few minutes. Why d-don’t you—you p-pour the wine, okay?” She was stammering but couldn’t seem to stop, even when she took a reassuring breath. “O-okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” And with that she darted away, grabbing a slip of silk from a drawer as she rushed to the bathroom.

  Inside, she braced her hands on the edge of the sink while she tried to control her breathing. A glance in the mirror showed bright eyes and dots of color in her cheeks, as well as a few strands of hair loosened from her messy topknot. She left her hair as it was, then pressed a cool washcloth to her cheeks. This was it. When she went back out there they were going to go to bed together. He was going to see her...but she remembered how he said he liked curves and she hoped to God he wasn’t lying. With trembling fingers she untied the bow at her waist and the dress gaped open. Beneath it was her body shaper, and she peeled it off, then examined herself in the mirror. She had curves—so what? And a little paunch, but then, who didn’t? Why did she need to be perfect?

  She left her panties on and then shimmied into the nightgown she’d snagged from her drawer, a peach silk-and-lace one that was held up by spaghetti straps and fell to just above her knee—it was pretty and feminine and made her feel indulgent. For once she was grateful for her love of expensive underwear. It wasn’t the raciest outfit, but it wasn’t exactly her grandmother’s flannel nightie, either.

  She could do this. She wanted to do this.

  And so, with one last deep breath, she opened the bathroom door and stepped out. Eric was waiting with two glasses of wine in his hands, and his eyes widened when he saw her.

  “Goddamn,” he breathed, stepping forward. “You’re beautiful, Molly. Maybe the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  He handed her a glass of wine, and for once, she truly believed him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MOLLY ROLLED OVER and discovered Eric still sleeping; he’d stayed the night, despite how they’d talked about him going back to his room before morning in an effort to keep things private within the group. But then they’d been talking while basking in some serious afterglow and must have drifted off. He was facing her right now, his long lashes resting on his cheeks, the night’s stubble darkening his jaw and the lines around his eyes relaxed. She slowly stretched, feeling delightfully limber. Last night’s massage, bath, wine and after-hours activity had made her muscles very, very happy.

  She smiled and let out a sigh. Not just her muscles. She was happy, too. This living-in-the-moment thing was darn nice. She knew it couldn’t last forever, and a slight sense of unease slid through her as she realized that soon they would have to say goodbye. It wouldn’t be as easy as going their separate ways with a wave and a smile. At least it wouldn’t be for her. She didn’t just fall into bed with anyone, and Eric was not truly the boorish grump who’d walked into her hotel room on day one. He was caring and patient and fun. He’d held her hand during her panic attack, talked her into smashing her phone and sat with her in the night when she had nightmares. An ordinary, selfish guy didn’t do those things.

  He’d described himself as a workaholic, but she hadn’t seen that part of him at all. And he’d admitted that he hadn’t paid enough attention to his marriage. She liked him a lot, and it was hard to reconcile the man she was coming to know with the man
who lived for work and was emotionally unavailable. His words, not hers.

  Maybe this wasn’t the real him. Or maybe it was...

  He snuffled and shifted beneath the sheets, and she frowned. He could probably say the same about her. She was usually far more self-assured and confident, but the last few days in particular she’d allowed herself to be vulnerable. Which person was the real her? Which did she want to be?

  His lashes fluttered open and he gave her a soft and sexy smile. “Good morning.”

  His deep voice slid over her nerve endings like chocolate, rich and decadent. He reached out and snagged her by the waist, dragging her closer. Then he dipped his head into the curve of her neck and kissed it softly.

  He was such a good lover. Her heart stuttered. And a friend, too. How unusual to find both in the same person.

  “You should probably get back to your room. It’s nearly seven.”

  He nodded. “I know. There’s hanging out together and then there’s staying in each other’s rooms. I understand not wanting to inspire that kind of chatter in the group.”

  She relaxed in relief, but he added, “Not that it’s anyone’s business. We’re adults and we’re not with anyone else.” A startled look came over his face. “At least I’m not. Are you?”

  She shook her head wildly. “No, of course not! I would never—”

  “I didn’t think you would. But I wanted to make sure.”

  They really didn’t know that much about each other. The fact that she wanted to know everything scared her to death. This couldn’t go on past their trip, and now she was getting in too deep.

  He reached out and tipped up her chin with a finger. “Hey. You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

  Was she? No. She was just having other thoughts that were unsettling, to put it mildly. “No, of course not,” she answered, pasting on a smile. “Last night was...amazing. I’m just trying to regain my balance. This is kind of unlike me, you know?”