“Same here,” I answer in a whisper before he releases my hand and allows me to step back. The scent of him hangs in the air—cigars, and cinnamon. It is a strange combination, nothing like anyone I’ve come across before, especially since my dad and none of the men he considers friends have ever smoked in this house.
“Shall we?” Mom breaks the silence with a nervous grin, and we all follow her to the dining room table, where I notice four places have been set. I didn’t plan on sitting with them, but it seems my presence is needed.
I settle in beside Mom as she slides her chair forward. The two men take their seats, Dad, at the head of the table, while Mr. Shaw settles in opposite me. Even though I’m not usually a nervous person, this man sets my stomach tumbling as he takes me in. It’s almost as if he’s assessing me for something.
Dinner is served moments later. The fragrance of spicy tomato soup and fresh, warm bread fills my nostrils, but even that can’t wash away the scent of Mr. Shaw.
“Tell me, Scarlett,” he speaks as I lift the spoon, scooping up the red liquid. “What is it you would like to accomplish in life, or better yet, what is your career choice?” Intrigue glints in his eye. Assessing me, he smiles, tipping his head to the side, and I wonder if he does it so he doesn’t look as scary. But it only makes him seem more sinister in his appraisal of me. He reminds me of a dangerous animal, watching its prey, stalking until it’s time to strike.
My gaze holds his for a moment before I focus on his mouth as he takes the spoon to his lips. The wetness from the soup causes a gentle glisten to capture and hold my attention. The deep red color reminds me of blood and just how predatorily he looks as he swallows, his tongue darting out to savor the taste of his kill. His throat works, the Adam’s apple under smooth, tanned skin has my body doing strange things. I’ve never really watched a man like I’m doing with him, and I’m not sure why.
“Scarlett?” Mother’s cool tone brings me back to the present, and I clear my throat, casting her a quick glance.
“Yes, sorry. I’d like to hopefully open my own media agency,” I tell him with confidence brimming in my tone. “The need for honest reporting is something that has become somewhat of a passion of mine. What do you do?” My inquiry causes him to chuckle, the sound low, rumbling through his chest, and I wonder what’s so funny.
“I don’t think little girls should be so curious,” he tells me, then sips another mouthful of his soup, but each movement he makes sends heat through me, and I can’t explain why. His use of the term little girl rankles me, but I don’t bite because he’s trying to annoy me. I can tell with how he’s watching, waiting for me to take the bait.
He’s handsome, classically so, with sharp features and a jawbone free of stubble, but there is a dark shadow over the otherwise olive skin, which tells me if he doesn’t shave, there’d be a beautifully thick beard. His lips form a tempting cupid’s bow, with the lower lip fatter than the top. A mouth I’m sure could do sinful things if given a chance.
I’m not overly experienced, but I know enough to recognize a man who can make women swoon with a mere glance. His dark brow arches, and I realize I’m staring again. Shaking my head, I drop my gaze and eat my soup in silence, unsure of how to take him. Or even why I’m here in the first place.
“And you’re planning on running it all by yourself?” he asks, and I feel his stare on me once more. The heat of it captures me, and I nod. “Words, little girl.”
“I’m not a little girl,” I bite out through gritted teeth, shoving my bowl away in frustration. “I’m twenty. I’m an adult.”
This causes him to chuckle, his head angled as he regards me with amusement. “Oh?”
“Scarlett!” My mother’s tone turns my name into a curse word. Her heated glare is scorching me, but I don’t look at her. I’m staring at the man before me.
“Yes,” I answer back, causing him to laugh once more. “It’s not funny. I’ll be twenty-one in a month, and when I complete my internship, I’ll have the necessary experience to start my own business. And I’ll be able to do anything a man can do, possibly even better.” Folding my arms across my chest, I don’t turn my attention away from Mr. Shaw.
He sits back, and I don’t miss the way his gaze flicks to my chest before meeting my stare as he regards me, the corners of his mouth upturned. His hands rest on the table, fingers tangled in between each other, and a thought of just how they’d feel touching me sparks through me for a split second before he speaks. “I like your fire, little red.” His tone holds what I can only deem respect with fire blazing in his eyes. “It’s refreshing. Most women cower in my presence,” he continues, pushing to his feet, which has both my folks standing as well.