A Modern Love Story (20 page)

“And the fact that you see it now only shows me all the more that you’re ready for this.”

“Jesus, Leah. Talk about putting pressure on a guy.”

“Sorry, Lucian. No pressure intended. All right, I better be off. Lawson sends his best, and we’re both looking forward to when you and Robbie can visit again.”

“Yeah, we’ll have to plan something soon. Tell Lawson I said
hey
.”

“You bet. Take care.”

“Yup. Bye.”

He held the phone in his hand, tapping the end of it against his chin. After a couple of minutes, he pushed of the couch and began to pace. Finally, he dialed Robbie’s cell.

“Hey, handsome,” she answered. “How you doing?”

“Good. Fine. Great.”

She giggled. “You okay? You sound weirded out or something.”

“I’m cool. I just wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

He swallowed, listened to the background noises on her end—music turned low, the buzz of traffic, the sound of her directional clicking. “I was wondering if you’ve got plans for tomorrow night.”

“Nope. Not really.”

“I was thinking about taking you out to dinner, or something.”

She paused. “Don’t you have to work?”

“No,” he snapped. “Why?”

She drew her words out. “Because it’s Saturday night and you own a bar.”

“Conrad’s got it covered. So, do you want to, or not?”

“Well, when you put it like that, who could resist?”

“Sorry. This is… Maybe this is a bad idea.”

“Now, wait a minute. I didn’t say that. The fact is, I’d love to have dinner with you. It’s
you
that doesn’t seem so sure.”

He stopped pacing and focused. She was right. It was all coming out wrong. He just had to say it. “Robbie, would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night? I would love it if you could.”

“Absolutely.”

He let out a breath a bit harder than he’d intended, earning a giggle from Robbie. A sound he ignored. “Great. I’ll pick you up at six. Sound good?”

“Six works for me. Where are we going?”

He froze. Shit. “Can’t it be a surprise?”

“Sure, but you at least have to tell me how to dress.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If you’re taking me for pizza, I’ll wear jeans. If you’re taking me someplace else, I’ll dress accordingly.”

“Oh. Someplace nice.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you at six then.”

Luc fell back on the couch like a man that had just walked five miles through the desert. This dating crap shouldn’t be so fucking hard.

*****

Luc tugged impatiently at the knot in his tie as he walked into Robbie’s apartment building. Deciding he would never be comfortable wearing one, he gave up trying to adjust it and rapped his knuckles on her door. A minute later, the door swung open and Luc found himself fighting the urge to drool on his way-too-tight tie.

Robbie was a vision—absolutely stunning and deliciously irresistible. Her hair was swept off her milky shoulders which were showcased in the dark green spaghetti strap dress. The cut exposed the top mounds of her luscious breasts, begging for his hands and mouth to honor and appreciate. The bodice hugged her slim frame, then streamed over her hips and thighs. When his gaze dragged up to her eyes, he saw the color of the dress complimented her eyes, making them appear limitless in their depth.

He wanted to grab her, devour and ravage, but that would negate the whole purpose of the night; to show her she meant more to him than just a good lay. Of course, a little taste couldn’t hurt. Without saying a word, he hooked his hand around her neck and pulled her in.

The chemistry between them ignited the moment their lips touched. He felt her hands on him, tempting him as they gripped his shoulders, ran down his back. His own hands roamed, skimming over the surface of her in a mad rush to feel every curve and dip all at once. She moaned as her fingers dived into his hair, her hips pressing against his.

He broke away with a groan and squeezed his eyes shut, leaning his forehead against hers.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just trying to get a handle on myself.” He opened his eyes to witness the concern in hers, and he gave her an easy smile. “We should go. We don’t want to miss our reservation.”

“You don’t want to…” She stiffened, pulled away. “Oh. Okay.”

How the hell could she look so rejected?! How could she
not
know how much he wanted her—in every way possible. “Babe, don’t you know how much I want to take you down right now? Jesus, the things you do to me…” He clenched his jaw, fisted his hands to keep them restrained.

“Then…” Her brow creased as she gestured vaguely into the air.

“We’ll be late.” He knew it was a lame excuse, but it was the better alternative to admitting why he wouldn’t just fucking take her right then and there.

She studied him, then smirked playfully before moving in. “We can find another place to eat. If you could just feel how—”

“Do
not
finish that sentence unless you want that sexy little dress shredded across your whole damn floor.” She arched her brow when he grabbed her wrists. “Taking you to dinner… This is important to me, Rob.”

She softened in his grip and smiled. “All right.” Leaning forward, she lightly kissed his cheek. “Let’s go then.”

Well,
godammit
. That was
all
he had to say to get his point across? He stared after her, dumbfounded, before jogging to catch up.

It was a bit of a drive to The Wine Cellar, and all the while Luc had to force himself to concentrate on the road instead of the scent of Robbie’s perfume…her sinuous movements as she crossed her legs…the sound of her contented sigh as she watched the scenery go by. Small talk helped to distract him. Grinding his teeth helped even more. But the long tortuous journey was well worth seeing her face light up and eyes pop when he pulled into the parking lot.

“The Wine Cellar? How did you manage this?”

“The owner is a steady customer at Hooligan’s.”

“Really?” She pulled her wrap tight around her shoulders as they walked across the parking lot.

Luc slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, banking on body heat to help warm her up. “Hooligan’s is a class act you know. Of course he’s been there.”

She giggled, as he knew she would. “How foolish of me to think otherwise.”

After the
maître d
’ took Robbie’s wrap, she trailed her fingers down the lapel of Luc’s suit jacket. “Well, aren’t you mister tall-dark-and-handsome personified. I couldn’t have asked for a better looking date.”

“Neither could I.” He felt like a damn idiot saying it, afraid it would sound like a mandatory return compliment. She was simply beautiful and he should have fucking thought to tell her that the moment he saw her. Dammit. If he wanted to use the night to show her what she meant to him, he’d better think faster on his feet than that.

The
maître d
’ showed them to their table, and they settled into small talk as they perused their menus and chose their wine. It wasn’t until they were waiting for their food that the conversation turned more into the direction Luc had hoped it would—the more getting-to-know-you personal kind.

“I love these,” Robbie commented, fingering the petals of the flowers set in the middle of the table.

Yes. Women liked flowers. Unfortunately, he was as uneducated about flowers as he was about relationships in general. “What kind are they?”

“This particular one…I’m not sure. I just know I love it.” She lifted her eyes and smiled. “I like wild flower arrangements with bold colors.”

“I thought chicks liked roses.”

“Some
chicks
might. I don’t.”

He noted his mistake—hard not to when it was clearly pointed out and highlighted with a quick glare. He hoped straight forward worked as well as it had before. “I don’t think of you as a chick, Robbie.”

“You better not.” Her lips twitched, but she purposefully turned her head away as she took a sip of her wine.

“Or what? You’ll kick me in the tutu?”

Robbie snorted and nearly spit out her drink.

Luc held back his own laugh. “Well, that was attractive.”

She smacked him in the arm as she dabbed at her mouth with a crimson linen napkin. “Oh, my God. I haven’t heard that in
forever
.”

“Shit, babe. You’re the only person
I’ve
ever heard say that.”

“Not in years, I haven’t.”

“You never did tell me what it meant.”

She shot a glance at him and blushed. “No, you’re right. I never did.”

“Oh, you’ve got to tell me now.” He took her hand, rubbed his lips against her knuckles. “Please?”

She giggled, her cheeks becoming more flushed. “It stems back to ballet.”

“I figured as much. Go on.”

“Back in the day, commoners had to sit right up by the stage whereas the wealthier people had the better view in the middle and back of the theatre.”

“Okay.”

“Well,”—she took another sip of wine—”the commoners had a…
unique
view of what was under the ballerina’s skirt. Or lack thereof, as the case may be. They labeled this…
area
as her tutu.”

He chuckled, leaned forward to brush his fingers across her cheek. “So tutu
does
mean crotch.”

“Ah…yeah. Eventually they figured out a way to fix the costume problem, but the label
tutu
stuck.”

“And aren’t you just the clever one for knowing these trivial facts. I love that about you.”

She smiled, looked down. “Thank my father for that one.”

“I certainly would if I could.” He squeezed her hand. “We haven’t talked about that in awhile.”

“About what?”

“Your family. You quit bringing it up. Why?”

She shrugged. “What’s the point?”

“What do you mean? You always had a plan to find them someday.”

“I might. Someday. When I can afford a private investigator. I actually looked into it a few years ago.”

“And?”

“They are ungodly expensive. Or at least the good ones are.”

He pulled his shoulders back, felt an edge of temper seeping into his tone. “Why didn’t you ask me? I’ll help you pay for one.”

She laid a hand on his arm. “It’s no big deal, Luc. I’ll do it eventually. You should be focusing on your business, making it the best you can.”

“Robbie—”

“Look. I know you’re not made of money, and I would never ask you to sacrifice what little you have to try and find someone who might not even exist. If the state couldn’t find them, what makes you think a PI will?”