Page 29 of Breathing Wisteria
“Excuse me, sir? I’m sorry to interrupt your meal, but you have an urgent phone call.” She hands Flynn a portable handset, offers a discreet smile and exits as quietly as she entered.
Flynn glowers at the phone before he brings it to his ear and barks out, “What.”
He listens for a moment, his forehead creasing and I’m struck by memories of stroking a hand over him, smoothing it across his brow, in an effort to remove those same creases. How many times did I do that over the years?
“Shit. Okay, yeah, send them in.” The phone is slammed down on the table and he exhales a harsh breath. “A blogger posted that I was here and now there’s a shitload of photographers out front.”
He scowls at the table, lost in his own thoughts while I try to process this information. I don’t know why this is a surprise. Once I had reached a place where his name inspired more happiness than regret, I vigilantly stalked him through social media, magazines, and television, anything I could, in a desperate attempt to stay connected to him in some small way. I cheered his successes and hurt over his—very rare—failures. So, it shouldn’t come as any surprise that if I spend time with him, the paparazzi would find out. But for some reason it does. I feel rattled, and a sense of unease blankets me.
The double doors at the entrance of the restaurant are flung open and two hulking giants barrel their way in. After indulging in the tranquil atmosphere of Serenity by Havenworth today, with its unassuming staff, the dominating presence of these guys is disconcerting.
“Wyatt, this is Zane and Connor, my security guys.” He pushes away from the table, standing abruptly and addressing the larger of the two. “I’ll go out the front with Connor, you take Wyatt out the back. You arranged another car?”
The big guy, Zane? nods. “Campbell organized it before he called you. Both cars should be waiting. I really think I should take yo—”
“You’ll take Wyatt,” he commands. “Do they know who I’m here with?”
Connor, I guess, moves closer to the table.
“No, Giselle only posted that you were spotted here having dinner. No mention of Miss Monroe.”
“Giselle? I should’ve known.”
My head, which has been bouncing between these three imposing men, stops on Flynn.
“Who is Giselle?” My question stings with accusation. Yeah, so Flynn wasn’t the only one with jealousy issues, sue me.
For the first time since he took the call, Flynn’s visage relaxes, and he lets loose with a low chuckle.
“Giselle Cross, she’s an entertainment blogger. Think Perez Hilton, but bitchier.”
“Oh. She sounds delightful,” I respond drolly.
“Yeah, she’s a fucking treasure.” He takes hold of my hand and pulls me up, using slightly too much force so I fall into him, and have to place a hand on his chest to steady myself. The feel of his body pressed up against mine fires up every synapse, leaving me wanting.
Oh, he’s good.
Never one to ignore an opportunity, he leans down, and his lips find mine. Slowly, so goddamn slowly, his mouth slides against mine before he takes a taste, his tongue gently tracing the line of my bottom lip. Then, without warning, he bites down and as his teeth sink into the fullness of my lip, a pulse throbs violently in my clit.
Pulling away, he places a final, gentle kiss on the spot behind my ear where my tattoo resides. The same spot that makes my eyes roll back in my head.
He nods toward Zane and my face flames, realizing what they just witnessed.
“You go with Zane and he’ll take you back to your apartment. Connor and I will lose the photogs and then I’ll come to you.”
His words snap me back to reality and, as much as I wish things were different, it’s important I make it clear that this is not going to go any further.
Ever.
“Don’t do that.” I make sure my voice is firm in an effort to undo any confusion that kiss caused. “Tonight was fun, but it’s not going to happen again.”
I hear the shuffle of feet behind me, an embarrassed clearing of a throat, but Flynn ignores it, keeping his stare fixed on me for an uncomfortable moment.
“Let’s go, Connor. Zane, make sure no one follows you.” Then he strides out without looking back.
I follow Zane through the kitchen, heading for the back entrance, eager to get home and put this night behind me. My emotions are too chaotic, and I need to get some distance.
The kitchen is almost empty at this late hour. Plus, I assume with only two diners they were using a skeleton staff, so there is an awkward silence lingering as I do my best to keep up with Zane’s fast pace.
