Page 17 of Her Supermodel Stalker
She pauses again and says, “So are you saying we’ll steal other people’s ideas?”
“I wouldn’t call it stealing,” I chuckle. “It’s call inspiration. Are you in?”
She looks as if she’ll consent, but then she surprises me again. “Why me? Why not Sam?”
Damn. Why is she being so difficult? Is she afraid of being with me? I run my fingers in my hair with frustration. Patience. Of course, she’s wary. I tell myself. I’ve just barged my way into her life like a predator, kissing her the first day we met, and fingering her the second day. I’m lucky she’s still standing here talking to me. Anyone else would’ve reported me to the police.
I take a deep breath to come up with a convincing answer. “Because you need the opportunity to learn and to grow. You want to become a winemaker, don’t you?” I ask in a patient, calm voice that in no way mirrors my agitation.
She bites her lip but doesn’t speak until she stops the car in front of my house. “I can’t because I don’t have the time to get a certificate.”
I take a moment to understand what she’s talking about. “You’ll get the time,” I say to her, placing my hand on her knee. “We can easily arrange it.”
She shivers and gazes at me with her brightened hazel eyes. “Do you mean it?”
“Yes,” I said, smiling. “I can give you time off, a paid leave. I’ll pay for the tuitions, too. How long does it take?”
“About two years,” she says, beaming. “But I don’t have to leave work entirely. I could just take a couple of days off, or half day off each day…if it’s possible.”
“Of course it is possible,” I say. “Whatever you want. We can talk about it later. Answer my question now. Are you in for Friday’s dinner?”
She bites her lip again. “Okay, but… what kind of places are you taking me to?”
“I’m thinking about the Bernard’s Vineyard Restaurant.”
She gasps. “That’s an expensive place exclusive to their wine club members.”
“I know. I have the membership,” I say. I’m planning to join it, but she doesn’t have to know the details.
She looks uncertain again. “I don’t have anything nice to wear.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Are you sure?” Her mouth drops.
“Yes.” I open the car door, but I don’t get out without pulling her to me and have a taste of her sweet lips first.
Chapter 9
Lexi
It’s Friday afternoon. The office is empty, but I’m still sitting in front of my desk working, or pretending to work. In reality, I’m waiting impatiently for six o’clock to arrive.
Am I really going to dinner with Devin Gamble? The thought stirs a flutter of butterflies in my tummy, like it has in the past few days. Oh God. Is it too late to back out? It’ll be a mistake to spend the evening alone with the irresistible man. Every time when I was alone with him, I ended up losing my head. Letting him kiss me in the winery and finger me in his bathroom. Holy cow. What’s gonna happen this time?
When the computer clock finally turns to six, I close the files I’m working on, and then the computer. On my way to Devin’s house, my hands shake with anxiety. Calm down, I tell myself. It’s just a dinner.A business dinner. He’s giving me a chance to learn and to grow. But who am I kidding? I know he wants more and so do I.
I stand in front of Devin’s front door a moment later. My heart caught in my throat. Part of me hopes he will not answer the door and that he’s changed his mind about it, but the other part prays otherwise.
My prayer is answered promptly, and Devin stands in front of me, holding the door. My heart skips a beat. He’s so incredibly handsome in a navy blue blazer over a t-shirt of the color of his eyes. Above a pair of Chelsea boots, straight-fit wash blue jeans hug his long muscular legs snuggly. Ohmygod. It’s my favorite Devin Gamble look! He smells good, too, earthy, woody, uncut grass on a warm day...
“Hi Lexi, I thought you changed your mind.” He smirks and indulges me in my gawking for a moment. Damn. He’s so cocky. He must be used to seeing the effect of his good looks on women.
“Sorry I’m late.” My voice comes out a bit squeaky, betraying my nervousness. “I was err… busy.”
“No worries,” he says and takes my arm, ushering me into his house.
I’ve been to the house many times when Mr. Fernandes owned it, but now it looks very different. There’s a lot less furniture. In fact, there is hardly anything in the living room beside the couch and the coffee table, and of course, the grand piano. Is he really planning to live here, or does he prefer more free space?
