CHAPTER THREE
BAXTER
I can’t help reflecting how odd life is while strolling hand in hand with…
Stopping, I whirl to face her, our linked hands tugging her closer to me. Not that I mind the closeness. Not at all. I’m glad she suggested lunch. “What’s your name?”
A bit of color warms her cheeks in a delightful blush, reminding me again of how young and wholesome she seems. All things I avoid when seeking romantic partners. And that doesn’t matter a wit to my cock, which has been semi-hard since I first laid eyes on her.
I’m a million times more jaded than this sweet girl could ever be, and I want her with an intensity that should alarm me.
It doesn’t.
Anticipation sharpens senses that the alcohol dulled.
The slim yet strong fingers grasping mine, the delicate scent of apricots that teases my nose every time the breeze lifts her brown hair, and mostly the way she sneaks long sideways peeks at me. I’m aware of all of it, in a way I’ve never been before.
“Jade Davis,” she says in a soft, firm voice, her brown eyes locked with mine.
My breath catches. Such a lovely name, perfectly suited for her.
I have a feeling she has no clue who I am and while I’ve never been embarrassed of my reputation, a curl of something unpleasant burns in my chest.
It’s fear, I realize with a sort of dazed detachment. All the sins of my past have gathered to roost on my shoulders, weighing me down. I’ve only just met this woman and already I don’t want to lose her.
I’m an asshole. People magazine once listed me as one of the most unlikeable men in Hollywood. I framed that sucker, and it hangs behind my desk in my downtown LA office. I own that title and have never given a fuck. So it shouldn’t bother me now because no matter how much I want her, I’ll probably still end up being an ass and ruining things.
“I’m Baxter McDaniels,” I say, giving her hand a squeeze and waiting for recognition to fill her eyes while steeling myself for the hard gleam of calculation that will take over. It’s as familiar to me as is my own name. I know the score. It’s all about what you can gain from being with the other person.
It never comes.
The warmth and interest from a moment ago remains in her gaze, unchanged. Her lips part in a smile. “Baxter,” she says like she’s tasting it. “That’s different.”
“So is Jade,” I say softly, the tension of a moment ago leaving me. “Well, Jade, now that we are properly introduced, let’s get lunch.”
When we enter the enormous stone lodge, a few heads turn our way. The staff is used to dealing with diva celebrities, so none of them bother with me. And honestly, I’m not that famous. My name is more recognizable than my face, so most of the attention we’re garnering is because of Jade. Pulling her closer against me, I can’t help throwing a few glares at the men whose eyes linger longer than is polite.
“Oh, shoot,” she says, bringing all my attention swiftly back to her. A frown pulls her lips down and I want to end whatever or whoever caused her distress. Who knew a caveman lurked inside me?
Before I can ask, Jade catches my eye and gestures between us. “We’re not dressed for the dining room.”
This is news to me.
I take in her hip-hugging snug khaki shorts that expose the toned and tanned length of her legs and the simple cream-colored t-shirt that’s playing peekaboo with her collarbone. Nothing wrong there. She looks fresh, bubbly, and utterly adorable.
Now me? I’m another story in yesterday’s wrinkled clothes. I couldn’t give two shits what others think about my attire. You think George Clooney doesn’t come onto sets dressed down? And don’t even get me started on the BO some big-time stars stink up the studio with. If not for the convenience of green screens and CGI, I would film on location all the time just to avoid being anywhere in close contact with half of Hollywood.
But I’m not in Hollywood. I’m here with Jade and I’m wishing I was nicer dressed and more presentable for her. That aside, we’re here to eat lunch and clothes be damned, we’re going to eat lunch.
Raking my hand through my tangle of curls, I grit my teeth and stare down the host, who is visibly squirming while edging closer to the sign proclaiming their dress code. No tank tops? No sandals? What type of resort is this?!
“We’re fine,” I say, narrowing my eyes on the man.
Jade’s fingers tighten on mine. “Hey, it’s no biggie, let’s hit the tavern.”
My jaw clenches with the need to press the issue. If I were alone, I would kick off my sandals and storm barefoot into the dining room. I highly doubt they would stop me, either.
I’m not alone though, and the thought of disappointing Jade does weird things to my gut. I smile down at her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Lead the way, beautiful.”