Chapter Four

Exchanges

“I hope you like the dress.” She didn’t normally chase men for compliments—hell, aside from her sons, she hardly knew any men—but then the men she did know didn’t usually ask her to places like Worthington’s. “I know you asked for something special, but I don’t have the largest selection to choose from.”

She watched briefly as Robert strode away with her jacket, revealing her uninspiring black choice for the evening, and instantly regretted bringing it to Kyle’s attention. He signaled for her to take the seat opposite before seating himself. She squirmed as he took his time with his verdict. After several long seconds where his concentration crawled over every inch of her body, he finally broke the silence.

“I suspect you have the ability to make anything special, Amy.” His blue eyes shone as she settled in her chair. “You look ravishing.”

She gulped, abruptly aware of how dry her throat had become. “Well, th-thanks.”

Clearly, he was only being kind. There was no way she looked ravishing. She wasn’t even certain that she’d ever looked ravishing. The best she’d hoped for was a ‘you look lovely’ comment, but his compliment had genuinely stunned her.

“It’s true.” He chuckled, evidently noticing her disbelief. “You’re beautiful, yet I don’t think you have any idea how wonderful you are. Who knew Graham had captured such a delightful wife.”

“Yes, well...” She wouldn’t really have described her and Graham’s courtship as her being ‘captured.’ More like they’d stumbled into one another, and neither of them had any impetus to look elsewhere. Her marriage had been stable but not exciting. “Thank you again.”

“Let’s order champagne.” He grinned as he signaled for a nearby server to attend them. “I’m in the mood to celebrate.”

“Champagne?” Amy couldn’t recall ever having tried the wine, let alone exulting with it. “What are we celebrating?”

“Our meeting.” Determination echoed in his tone. “And, you agreeing to let me bring you here, although you really should have told me you were walking. I would have arranged a car if you didn’t want me to collect you.”

Not this again.

She fidgeted on her seat as he gave the order for the most expensive bottle of champagne the restaurant had, unsure how she felt about his disapproval. Her instinct was to push back with defiance, but oddly, his chiding was affecting her in perplexing ways. Heat had pooled at the apex of her thighs, spiraling to the tiny nub at her sex that inspired pleasure. It had been a long time since she’d made time for any sexual gratification, and she couldn’t understand why his admonishment had inspired its potential.

“I really don’t mind walking,” she assured him as soon as the server had retreated. She pressed her thighs together, trying to understand her body’s bizarre response to Kyle’s criticism.

“Hmmm.” He sounded unconvinced by her defense, although why she required one, she still wasn’t sure. “I’d like you to be safe, Amy.”

“Why?” The question burst from her lips. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your concerns and all of this...” She motioned around at the restaurant. “But what does my safety have to do with you?”

“I’m just trying to do the right thing.” His lips tugged upward. “The stats around violence against women are scary.”

He was right about that. Amy had known enough girlfriends who’d suffered at the hands of their male partners. It seemed as though the occasional ‘bad apple’ had grown into a forest of cruel trees.

“That’s fair.” She pressed her palm onto the cool table linen. “It’s just that your interest is a little perturbing.”

“Perturbing.” He smirked. “I admit, I’m an intense kinda guy.”

“Yes.” She sensed some of the tension easing from her shoulders at his explanation. The fact he’d acknowledged the personality trait was pleasing, and she didn’t have a problem with intensity. In fact, she was starting to think she quite liked it. “I see that.”

“Does it bother you?” His gaze bored into her.

“Your intensity?” She laughed, though the sound was nervous. “No, not at all.”

“That’s good. I have strong opinions about a lot of things, but it wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

Was that an apology? Her attention trailed over his strong, stubble-covered jawline, trying to decide.

“Your Armand de Brignac, sir.” The server returned, brandishing the no-doubt incredibly expensive bottle in her hands. She rid the bottle top of its dark covering and started work on the cork as she spoke. “Would you like to taste?”

“I’m sure the Armand de Brignac is fine.” Kyle’s chin rose. “If it’s not, we’ll let you know.”

The server smiled as the cork burst from the bottle, and she poured the golden liquid into Amy’s glass. “Madam.”

“Thank you.” Amy reached for the stem of her flute, drawing it closer while Kyle’s glass was filled. Lifting her gaze, she met his eyes as the server concluded and left them in peace.

“To you.” He lifted the flute toward her.

Mirroring the act, she allowed their glasses to touch.

“To tonight,” she corrected, content to shift his focus from her. A part of her relished his consideration, but another, more intuitive facet wondered if she could survive all of his attention. “To enjoying ourselves.”

“I’ll drink to that.” His concentration pierced her as they both sipped at the fizz.

“I have a question,” she murmured, feeling the liquid slide down her throat. Her burning desire to know if she should call him William, Will, or Billy was peaking. She knew so little about the man. How he liked to be referred to would be a decent starting point.

“Then, ask your question.” His hand rose to gesture for her to go ahead. “I’ll do my best to answer.”

“I wondered what I should call you.” Suddenly, her query seemed downright pathetic. Of all the things she could ask, why was she pursuing this flimsy line of inquiry? “Do you like to be called William, Will, or maybe Billy?”

“I like Mr. Kyle.” His deep chuckle whipped around the table. “Or, sir. Especially if you say it.”

Her fingers tightened around the flute’s stem. Sir. He wanted her to call him sir? What the hell did that mean?

“Very formal.” She forced the words out, aware, yet again, that her cheeks were reddening. “Calling you Mr. Kyle seems strange, but I’ll comply if that’s your choice.”

The idea rankled her, but as she sipped the champagne, she supposed it didn’t matter. Tonight, she was just like Cinderella, and as soon as her carriage left the restaurant, she’d end up in rags. Let him insist on formalities. It wasn’t what she’d anticipated, but he was the one paying for the meal. It was his prerogative.

“You don’t like sir, then?” His leer should have irritated, but it only seemed to heighten his attractive features, highlighting the depth of his blue gaze.

“I don’t call anyone sir.” She grazed her thumb over the intricate cut glass and took a long swig of her drink. The bubbles danced directly to her head as she settled the flute on the table. “Why would I?”

She drank so little anymore that even a few sips seemed to affect her, especially where bubbles were concerned. The low thrum of polite conversation around the restaurant muted as she swirled the drink around the glass, her confidence buoyed by its impact. The fizz tasted good as it warmed the back of her throat, and she wondered how much each mouthful was costing him.

“Tell me about your marriage to Graham.”

Wait, what? She blinked at him, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. “What does my marriage have to do with anything?”

“I’m just curious.” He placed down his flute. “Of course, don’t feel you have to share if you don’t want to.”

“Curious?” She laughed out loud, vaguely cognizant of her inhibitions falling away. That was what alcohol did to her. Along with her finances, it was the reason why she rarely touched the stuff anymore. “More like nosy.”

His brow rose at her mocking response. “Nosy?”

“Yes.” She eyed his response, abruptly concerned that she might have gone too far. Kyle didn’t know her. He might not understand her wacky sense of humor and that she meant no offense. “I mean, my marriage is really none of your business.”

“True.” His tone was curter, as though he had indeed been put out by her accusation. “But I thought we liked each other, thought we were being honest with each other.”

Were we?

She stared at the remaining champagne in her flute. She liked what little she knew about him. He was kind, generous, and gorgeous, but she didn’t recall when there had been any agreement. So far as she knew, she’d only assented to meet him there and for him to treat her to a meal.

“I’ve not been dishonest.” She shrugged. “I just didn’t come here to talk about my dead husband.” The thought of Graham amidst the tug of attraction she felt for Kyle was confusing.

“I’m sorry.” His brow furrowed as he reached across the table for her free hand. “I didn’t want to upset you, only to understand you a little better.”

“I’m not upset,” she insisted, watching as his huge palm encased hers. His skin was warm, elevating her already rising temperature, though she couldn’t be sure if the genesis was the intriguing man sitting opposite her or the champagne. “Maybe just puzzled. I thought we were having dinner.”

“We will have dinner.” He motioned to the menu that had been left by the server. “I’d just like to know you, that’s all.”

Know me?

The man was a virtual stranger, but for some reason, the idea of him knowing her was unreasonably enticing. She longed for them to spend more time together and liked the idea of their scintillating interaction extending beyond that one night, but she had to be realistic. A man like him was not going to stick around, especially once he figured out she was homeless and broke.

The least Kyle would expect was for her to be solvent and live in her own place. She was almost fifty, for God’s sake!

She’d struggled on after Graham’s death and thought she’d been doing all right, but the taste of the high life Kyle had lavished her with—with their isolated table at such a plush dining establishment and one hundred percent of his focus—had made her rethink.

She wasn’t all right. How could she be? She was lonely, and she wasn’t coping with the family’s bills. Her debts had risen to a boiling point—a place where robbing Peter to pay Paul was no longer sufficient—and those same bills were about to erupt and consume her.

It’s been so long since I’ve had any male attention that interest from a man like Kyle is downright overwhelming. She lifted her glass to her lips. Especially when the wolf is at my door.

“Would you like that?” he pressed.

“I thought this was a one-night thing?” Her heart rate sped up as she asked, the potential ramifications of the answer bubbling at the back of her mind.

“It is.” His hand withdrew, his fingertips skimming over the tablecloth as she watched them retreat. “That’s what we said, but it could be more... if we wanted?”

“More?”

Emotion simmered inside her, her excitement at the prospect of getting to know the mysterious Kyle mingling with the rising sense of desolation at what awaited her once the spell was broken and she found herself on the streets.

Why was she indulging in the fairytale when reality demanded so much of her attention? She should be out there looking for somewhere to stay. She should be—

“I like you, Amy, and I think you might want someone to take care of you.”

I do want that.

Her anxious thoughts were immediately extinguished by his interjection, but she bit down on what she wanted to say, what remained of her pride preventing her from speaking.

How could she ever reveal who she was to a man like Kyle? What would he think if he knew how hard-up she truly was?

She closed her eyes, feeling the burgeoning dread escalating in the pit of her stomach. Maybe she shouldn’t have come. She’d thought it would be good to have one night of fun before reality bit, but she’d been wrong.

Spending time with him and knowing what life was like for those who had the funds available had only served to make her feel worse. She was used to being comparatively poor, but seeing the evidence of a lifestyle she could never have made turning away all the more painful.

“Amy.” His voice softened, pervading her misery. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head as her emotions peaked, tears burning in her eyes.

Damn . Her toes crunched in her cheap shoes . Don’t cry!

But try as she might, she failed to suppress the tsunami of woe.

Nothing was okay.

As her tears started to fall, she wondered if she would ever be okay again.