Francesca opened the door a little before seven to reveal Keaton standing on the other side, his hand raised as if he was about to knock.
She sucked in a breath as his blue gaze raked over her. He looked ten kinds of hot and sexy in a pair of black pants and an olive-green collared shirt.
“Hullo,” he said slowly, looking into her eyes.
“I saw you park,” she said, gesturing behind her to the picture window that looked out to the street in front of her building. “Not that I was staring...or waiting...or babbling.”
“Take a breath, Francesca.”
She drew air in and out of her lungs, trying—in vain—to calm her racing heart. “Why am I so nervous?” she asked, hysterical laughter rising up her throat. She swallowed it down and forced herself to smile. “I’m sorry I’m nervous. It makes me babble.”
“You have no reason to be nervous,” he said and pulled an arm from behind his back to reveal a bouquet of yellow roses. “Or to apologize. I like you being excited for me to arrive.”
“Excited,” she repeated dumbly. There were at least two dozen blooms in the massive bunch, each flower more vibrant than the next.
“These are for you.” He handed her the bouquet. “I wasn’t sure of your favorite but since yellow roses are synonymous with Texas, I thought you might enjoy them.”
“You know that song was written about a slave girl,” she said as she lifted the flowers to her nose, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. “She was said to have distracted the Mexican general Santa Anna so that Sam Houston and his men could ride across the plains and have their victory at the battle of San Jacinto.”
“Fascinating,” Keaton murmured.
Francesca’s eyes snapped open. “I’m still babbling,” she muttered then took a step back into the apartment. “Please come in while I put these in water and try to get my brain working again.”
She could barely make eye contact with him. Keaton Whitfield was handsome, smart and very successful. He could have any woman he wanted, and all Francesca could manage was to give him a history lesson on a famous Texas folk song. She was an idiot.
She took a vase from the cabinet, filled it with water and arranged the flowers as well as she could given that her fingers were trembling. Keaton took her hand as she turned back to him, tugging her closer. “I like how your brain works,” he said. “I like a lot of things about you.”
He leaned in on the last words and his lips met hers. Francesca wasn’t expecting the kiss, which left her no time to panic. She simply reacted to it, savoring the feel of his strong but gentle mouth against hers. He smelled like an intoxicating mix of mint and subtle cologne, and she had the craziest urge to press her nose into his neck.
Her eyes drifted closed instead, just as he ran his tongue across the seam of her lips. She felt the touch all the way down to her toes.
Too soon he pulled back. “I knew kissing you would be perfect,” he whispered as he smoothed the pads of his thumbs over her cheeks.
“I don’t have a lot of experience,” she answered, “but don’t you normally save the kiss for the end of the night?”
He laughed softly. “I couldn’t wait. Do you feel less nervous now?”
She thought about the question for a moment then nodded.
“Right,” he agreed. “Don’t mistake me, Francesca. I have every intention of kissing you at the end of the evening.” He pressed his lips to the sensitive place under her jaw. “I intend to kiss you as often as possible,” he said against her skin. “You have no reason to be nervous.” His lips brushed hers. “It will always be like this between us.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice coming out in a squeak. She cleared her throat. “But I’m a little worried.”
He lifted his head, smoothed a curl away from her face. “About what?”
“Well,” she said, biting down on her lower lip. “if you start the date like that, I’m not sure how you’re going to top it.”
Amusement flashed in his eyes. “Then we’d better start the evening so we can find out.”
She grabbed her purse from the table, flipped off the lights and locked the door behind her. As they walked out onto the sidewalk, Keaton took her hand. She glanced toward Lola May’s to see Ciara, Lola May and several of the regular customers staring out the front window.
“We have an audience.” With his free hand, Keaton gave the group a small wave.
“I’m sorry,” Francesca muttered. “Everyone is curious.” They were probably trying to figure out what a man like Keaton saw in someone like her. At least she wasn’t so inexperienced to say those words out loud.
“They care about you,” he answered and she glanced over her shoulder toward the diner.
Ciara blew her a kiss, Lola May gave her the thumbs up and the two older men, who were truly like pseudo grandfathers, fist bumped each other then waved again.
Francesca smiled. Maybe Keaton was right and it wasn’t that no one believed she was good enough for him. They were her family, and they wanted her to be happy.
Then she noticed where Keaton was leading her. “A limo?” she asked on a gasp.
“I thought it would be fun. Have you even been in one?”
She shook her head. Stinky tour buses, yes. Limousines, no.
The driver was waiting next to the back door and opened it as they approached. Francesca whispered her thanks as she climbed in, scooting forward on the plush leather seats.
Keaton settled next to her and took her hand. “I was so busy kissing you that I forgot to mention how beautiful you look.” He traced his thumb in circles over the inside of her wrist, setting off a stream of tiny sparks across her skin. “You make that dress seem like something out of a fairy tale.”
She’d chosen a beaded cocktail dress that indeed made her feel like a princess. It was deep purple color with a scooped neck and an empire waist. Between the diner and her classes, Francesca didn’t have much need for fancy clothes. But Ciara had insisted on taking her shopping after her break up with Lou. Retail therapy, her friend had called it. Francesca had thrown out every band T-shirt and article of black clothing she owned. She associated the dark color with all the nights spent trying to hide herself backstage at Lou’s gigs.
Ciara had encouraged her to buy an outfit that represented the new chapter in her life and who she wanted to be. As soon as Francesca had seen the flirty, youthful dress she’d known it was perfect. It had hung in her closet with the tags still on until tonight. Tonight with Keaton she was who she wanted to be. She felt like the best part of herself when she was with him.
He didn’t expect her to change to accommodate his needs the way Lou had or try to limit her options so she wouldn’t get hurt, like her mother sometimes did. Keaton helped her see that there was more to her than she gave herself credit for. Even if this magical night was the only one she had with him, she’d always remain grateful for that gift.
“This is better than a fairy tale,” she said. “Because it’s real.”
“Yes, it is.”
As the limousine wound through the streets of downtown Austin, Keaton told her about his visit to the ranch his half brother Graham still helped manage when time allowed. He seemed surprised that she didn’t ride, but she explained that she’d spent her entire childhood near downtown. Austin wasn’t as big as London, but there were plenty of non-cowboys living in the city.
“One of the few things my mom would tell me about my father,” she said, leaning her head back against the soft leather of the limo’s backseat, “was that he wore a cowboy hat when he stayed at the hotel.” She picked at the hem of her dress. “She called it his ‘damned hat.’ I always thought maybe he had a ranch or some kind of horse property. I imagined that if I ever got to know him, he’d teach me how to ride.”
“I’ll teach you,” he offered.
“I’d like that,” she answered with a smile, both because she loved the idea of being on horseback and because it meant Keaton was thinking of spending time with her beyond tonight. She already knew she wanted more.
The limo came to a stop in front of a charming, redbrick building tucked into a quiet street west of downtown. Francesca glanced out the window and sucked in a breath. “Do you know where we are? This is Il Fontaine.”
Keaton chuckled. “Who do you think gave the driver directions? They’re expecting us.”
The door to the limo opened and he started to move toward it, but she grabbed his arm. “This is the top-rated restaurant in the city,” she said. “It takes months to get a reservation here.”
He flashed a small smile. “One of the partners at the firm designed the space. He made a call for me.”
“It’s super expensive,” she said on a hiss of breath. “We can do something less—”
“We’re having dinner at Il Fontaine,” he said calmly. “For the record, I’d really like to punch the man who made you believe you don’t deserve the best of everything.”
She opened her mouth to argue then snapped it shut when tears pricked the back of her eyes. She did believe she wasn’t deserving of the best. She wanted to change that. Not that she needed five-star dinner dates, but the fact that Keaton wanted her to experience this meant a lot to her. She wished it was as easy as blaming Lou the Louse, but Francesca had allowed herself to be made to feel small. She hadn’t expected someone to care if she felt differently.
She scooted toward Keaton and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for tonight.”
He tapped a finger on the tip of her nose. “The night has barely started.”
“It’s like the kiss,” she answered. “Between you and me, it’s bound to be perfect.”
* * *
The evening made Keaton want to experience everything through her eyes. In London, between his work and the social circles in which he now traveled, he’d been to countless formal dinners. Nothing about an exclusive reservation at a trendy restaurant, a menu of elaborate food prepared by a famous chef or an expensive bottle of wine impressed him.
But it all felt new with Francesca. Thanks to the partner at his firm, he’d been able to book Il Fontaine’s private dining room on the third floor of the building. They sat at a table for two, the space lit by dozens of candles. The room boasted an impressive view of downtown Austin, and it felt like they were a world away from everyday life. It was a feeling Keaton wanted to capture and hold.
He’d arranged for an eight-course tasting menu selected by the chef because he wanted to concentrate on Francesca. She’d been delighted by every new plate brought to their table, from the butternut squash soup they’d started with to the brie in crispy phyllo dough with candied pecans to the pan-seared scallops that had been served as the main course.
He watched her sip her third glass of wine as the waiter set the dessert course on the table. It was a dark-chocolate flourless cake with an espresso mousse, fresh berries and whipped cream topping it.
“It’s almost too beautiful to eat,” Francesca murmured.
Not nearly as beautiful as you, Keaton wanted to tell her. He had no skill with flowery compliments or poetry but looking at Francesca made him understand how generations of love-struck poets had been inspired to place pen to paper. Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight and her wild mane of hair cascaded over her shoulders in a way that made him wonder what it would look like spread across his pillow. Heat pooled low in his belly at the mental image of this woman curled around him in bed.
“I’ve got to snap a picture to show Ciara,” she said when they were alone again. She pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of her dessert. “Does this make me seem like a total bumpkin? I bet you’re used to being served food that looks like art.” She made a face. “You must think the homestyle cooking at Lola May’s is so ordinary in comparison.”
“I choose to eat at Lola May’s almost every day,” he said with a chuckle. “Clearly it appeals to me.” He waited until she met his gaze then added, “But it isn’t only the food that keeps me coming back.”
“I noticed you the first time you walked into the restaurant,” she said quietly. She ducked her head and color rushed to her cheeks, making him understand she hadn’t meant to admit as much. A surprising zing of happiness shot through him in response.
“That’s not true,” he protested. “You wouldn’t even make eye contact for the first week I came in.”
She arched a brow. “You were wearing charcoal-gray trousers, a dark blue shirt and a striped tie. You sat at the counter and ordered a cheeseburger and fries. Lola May waited on you and, within minutes, she was giggling like a schoolgirl at whatever you were saying.”
“She’d told me the ages of her kids and I commented that she must have had them when she was just a toddler because she looks so young.”
Francesca snorted then raised her fingers to her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbled through her fingers. “But that’s laying it on a little thick, wouldn’t you say?”
“All I know is she cut me the first slice of the apple pie she’d baked that morning.”
“You’re too charming for your own good,” she answered, pointing a finger at him. “Do you always get what you want?”
He leaned across the table toward her. “Always.”
She reached for her wineglass, but knocked it with her fingers instead. Before either of them could react, the delicate piece of stemware tipped onto its side, golden liquid spilling across the table.
Keaton jumped up from his seat in time to miss the wine dripping into his lap. Grabbing the glass, Francesca let out a little yelp of embarrassment. “I’m so sorry,” she said, using her napkin to blot at the white table cloth. “Why am I so klutzy around you?”
“If I didn’t know better, Ms. Harriman,” he said with a wink, “I’d think you wanted me to take off my pants.”
He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Instead of a delicate blush, her cheeks flamed bright pink and her mouth dropped open as if he’d just accused her of running naked through the center of town.
“I—I don’t...” she stammered.
“It was a joke, Francesca.” He came around the table and reached for her hand. “A bad one, and I’m sorry for it.”
Her gaze fell to the floor. “I know I’m nothing like the women you’re used to taking out for a dinner date.”
“And I couldn’t be more grateful,” he said.
“You know I have a reputation for never dropping anything at the restaurant?” She moved to sit back down. He let her but kept hold of her hand. He couldn’t get enough of touching her, even so innocently. “Since I moved back to Austin, I haven’t broken a single plate or glass. It’s been almost two years.”
“Your record stands,” he told her. “The wineglass is still intact, and the plate of pot pie had a soft landing in my lap.”
She rolled her eyes. “You need to stop making me nervous.”
He laughed at the annoyance in her command. “I like that I have an effect on you.” With his free hand, he scooped up a spoonful of dessert and held it out to her. She bit down on her lower lip then opened her mouth for the bite. It was pure pleasure to watch her eyes drift close as a soft moan escaped her mouth.
“That is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,” she whispered.
He couldn’t agree more, but this time he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.
* * *
An hour later the limo pulled to a stop in front of Lola May’s.
The restaurant was dark, as were the windows in her apartment above the diner. Francesca climbed out when the driver opened the door, her entire body humming with need. Keaton had tucked her into his side on the ride home, his fingers tracing light patterns over the bare skin of her leg just under the hem of her dress.
She’d asked him to tell her about growing up in London, and he’d obliged with funny stories about the mischief he’d made at school and playing in his neighborhood soccer club. But between the slight buzz she felt from the wine and her awareness of him, she could barely remember a thing he said.
“I’ll walk you to your door,” he murmured into her ear, his hand coming to rest low on her back.
“Thanks,” she answered because she didn’t trust herself to say more. All of the other thoughts running through her head sounded like “stay the night” and she’d already embarrassed herself enough for one evening.
She tripped a little bit at the top of the stairs and blamed the stupid heels she wasn’t used to wearing. She hadn’t had that much to drink, had she?
Keaton caught her and pulled her close. Her back pressed to his chest, she was once again enveloped in his warmth and the spicy scent of him. The combination did crazy things to her senses. She’d never had this reaction to any man, not Lou even in the early days of their relationship and not with any of the customers who’d flirted with her over the years at Lola May’s. Her body had a mind of its own when it came to Keaton, and she was having a difficult time remembering why she’d ever had doubts about this handsome, sexy Brit.
“Are you okay now, luv?” he asked, his voice a deep rumble that she was coming to crave as much as chocolate.
She let out a little sigh, tempted to snuggle closer to him. She wanted to turn into him and press her nose to the base of his throat. Her whole body ached to have his hands on her, to tip up her chin and kiss him. Instead, she jerked away, propelling herself the two steps forward to her door. There was no way she was going to maul Keaton in the hallway outside her tiny apartment. She placed her palms on the smooth wood to ground herself then reached into her purse for her key.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, jabbing the key into the lock. Once it clicked open, she turned to face Keaton.
He’d stepped toward her and reached out a hand to smooth her hair away from her face. “I had a great time tonight.” He lifted his arms to hold on to the top of the doorframe and her mouth went dry at the way his muscles tightened under the crisp fabric of his shirt.
“Me, too,” she whispered, swaying closer to him. “Thank you for dinner. I’ve never experienced anything like that. I can now check off a limo ride from my bucket list.”
One side of his mouth pulled up into an irresistible smile. “What else is on your bucket list?”
You.
She swallowed back the word. How many women had thrown themselves at Keaton? She refused to add her name to what she imagined was a long list.
“Rock climbing,” she answered. “Scuba diving. Paris.”
“Good to know,” he said and bent until their lips almost touched. “If I had my way, Francesca, I’d make all your wishes come true.”
I wish you would kiss me, she thought, and like magic, his mouth brushed over hers. The kiss was gentle and sweet, an exploration with a hint of something more.
She wanted the something more.
She wound her arms around his neck and went up on tiptoe, pressing her body against his. He released the doorframe and lowered his hands to her waist, spanning her curves with his fingers. He was hard in the places she was soft, and she reveled in the feel of him. Their contrasting backgrounds might make her nervous most of the time, but in this case their differences blended to make them a perfect fit.
Perfect.
There was no other way to describe how she felt in his arms. Her lips parted, a silent invitation. When he took it, sliding his tongue into her mouth, she wasn’t sure if the groan of pleasure she heard came from him or her. Either way, it ignited a fire inside her and suddenly she couldn’t get enough of him. The kiss deepened, all of her senses going crazy as his hands slid down her back and over her hips to pull her even closer.
She sucked in a breath as her belly pressed against the evidence of his arousal. It gave her a strange and gratifying sense of power to know that this man wanted her.
Almost immediately he pushed away and took a step back into the hallway. She heard him mutter a curse under his breath and her fingers went to her lips. She could still feel the imprint of his mouth on hers, and her whole body protested the distance between them.
When he met her gaze, he flashed an apologetic smile. “Well, then,” he said, clearing his throat. “That was unexpected.”
Unexpected. Francesca’s heart sank. There were other words she was thinking of—amazing, mind-blowing, awesome. Unexpected was a bit of a letdown, to say the least.
“A lovely surprise,” Keaton whispered and she wondered what he was reading in her eyes. He reached for her hand. “A perfect beginning and a perfect end. Talk about sweet dreams.”
Lovely and perfect were an improvement. Francesca studied him, hoping he wasn’t merely trying to soothe her bruised pride.
His gaze was gentle. “I should go now,” he told her, placing a tender kiss on each of her knuckles. “Before I find it impossible to leave.”
She wanted to believe he meant that, almost as much as she wanted to ask him to stay. “Thank you again,” she said instead. “It really was a perfect evening.”
He studied her for a moment, his gaze so intense it felt as if he was searching for an answer to a question he wasn’t even sure how to ask.
Then he smiled, the look he gave her turning playfully charming, and just like that, the moment was over.
“I’ll talk to you soon,” he said and disappeared down the stairs.
Francesca walked into her apartment and kicked off the shoes she knew would leave a blister on her feet. She inched to the window and peeked out from behind the curtains. Just before he got back into the limo, Keaton glanced up at her apartment. There was no way he could see her, but it felt like he was looking directly at her.
That man could make her melt with once glance.
She was in big trouble.