“Bring it on, gorgeous,” he calls, flipping me a cute wink as he turns and races away.
God damn it. Focus, Shannon. Where was I heading? Quickly gathering my thoughts, I zoom off to ladies wear, and hit the jackpot when I see a beautiful scarf for Ma that’ll do her well this winter. I’ve paid for it two minutes later, and I’m on my way to the food hall, having had divine inspiration from the cashier who helpfully suggested a hamper for my dad, since he’s a real foody, and anything from Harrods would be a real treat.
I pick out a medium-sized basket, packed with lovely cheeses, chutneys, and biscuits. “Perfect.” I give myself a little pat on the back, at the same time wondering how my competitor is getting on.
And just as I’m wondering that, he literally skids into the food hall on his expensive leather-soled shoes and looks around frantically. I don’t want to count my chickens, but he looks flustered. And a quick glance at his hands tells me he still only has two bags—one for the sunglasses and one for the doll. Oh, the feeling is too good.
Since I’m obviously winning, I take a precious minute to admire him while he’s unaware, noticing for the first time when he moves to the cheese counter that he has on a rather snazzy pair of socks, the turquoise color with grey spots complementing his grey suit nicely. He’s really well put together, and obviously takes pride in his appearance. What does he do for a living? How old is he? I laugh out loud. What’s his name?
He’s facing away from me as I wander over to him, browsing the cheese counter. I reach up on my tippy-toes, getting my mouth close to his ear. And I inhale his lovely scent. “Victory smells good,” I say quietly, and he stills for a moment, and then slowly turns to face me. His wry, knowing smile hits me between my thighs.
“I don’t know,” he purrs. “Smells kind of cheesy to me.” Dipping quickly, he steals a kiss of my cheek, startling me, and his mouth lingers for long enough to send me back into a trance. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he breathes across my skin. “I really want dinner.”
And I really want you.
What? Shocked by my thoughts, I pull back quickly and move past him. “You’re not getting it,” I retort with a smile that suggests otherwise. “I have one more gift to buy.”
“And I’m still looking forward to dinner.”
His cocky answer has my feet moving faster, and I head to the men’s department to claim my victory. He doesn’t realize it, but he’s given me the idea for my final gift. I select a few pairs of socks from the array of fancy pairs and make my way to the checkout, but I stop halfway there, thinking. But only for a moment. Reversing my steps, I carefully select one more pair and quickly pay for them.
Then I make a mad dash for the elevators where we agreed to meet, as I stuff my purse into my bag and my heart pumps with anticipation. There’s no way he could have beaten me. I smile to myself, already relishing my victory—smug as can be—but it all falls away when I round the corner, finding Mr. Sexy as Fuck sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, his knees bent, his face a million shades of self-satisfied. Looking up at me, he performs an over-the-top yawn and a stretch. “What took you so long?”
My shoulders drop. “How?” I scan the floor at his feet. He still only has two bags.
Reaching into his inside pocket, he pulls out something and flashes it at me. “Gift cards.”
My mouth falls open, stunned. “You can’t do that.”
“They’re all within the budget.” He pushes himself to his feet and tucks them back into his pocket. “The budget you specified, I might add. There were no rules about gift cards.”
“But . . .” I fade off, frantically searching for a loophole to supersede the one he’s found, the cheating pig. “But . . .” I have nothing. He’s done me over, and I’m pissed off about it, the clever, annoying sod.
“But, but, but,” he parrots condescendingly, swaggering toward me and bending to get his face close to mine. “Look on the bright side.”
“What bright side?” I grumble. I’ve lost the bet. I’m not good with losing.
Stealing another kiss of my cheek, he turns me and slings his arm over my shoulder. It feels good, and momentarily chases away my slight. “You get to have dinner with me.”
“It’s not a bad consolation prize, I suppose,” I tease, earning a nudge of his shoulder. I chuckle as he leads the way, but then frown when I realize he’s walked us to ladies wear. “Why are we here?”