Page 5 of Dax
It’s like he’s invaded my mind. Taken over my thoughts.
The whole week I’ve been trying to focus on work. God knows there’s enough of it.
What with all the orders that are coming in and the desperate search for a new premises.
I check my hair and makeup one last time in the compact mirror I keep in my bag and head towards the restaurant.
But, just as I’m about to open the doors, a deep, gravelly voice from behind me says, “there you are.”
I spin around so fast I almost trip over my feet. “You scared the hell out of me,” I gasp.
“Sorry,” he purrs, stepping close so there’s only a hairsbreadth of distance between our bodies. “I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you.”
His hand grabs my side and before I know what’s happening his mouth is pressed against my lips and we’re kissing.
I close my eyes and lose myself in the moment. It feels so good, when it’s over, I have to look down at my feet and check that I’m not floating on thin air.
“Usually a man would wait until the end of the date to kiss a woman.”
“I’m not any man.” He bites his lip and steps away. “Besides, if I didn’t kiss you now, I’d be thinking about it all night. It’d ruin the date. How am I meant to pay attention to what you're saying with those luscious, red lips right there in my face, begging to be claimed.”
“Well,” I say, blushing profusely, “I wouldn’t exactly say begging.”
“I would,” he smiles, opening the door for me, and guiding me into the restaurant with a gentle touch to the small of my back that sends ripples of pleasure straight to my pussy.
The Matre d' welcomes us with an obsequies air, unlike any I’ve experienced before. He guides us to the nicest table in the whole place. A waiter appears by his side as if from nowhere and presents us with a vintage bottle of champagne. Uncorking it with a pop and pouring us both a glass.
Dax doesn’t even bother to look at him. The whole time he watches me keenly. Like he’s devouring me with his eyes.
“That’s fine,” he tells the Maitre D', before shooing him away with an absent flick of his hand.
The rest of the night goes by in a blur.
I didn’t realize Dax was ex-military, but as soon as he tells me, it all makes sense.
He has that confident, alpha kind of presence. Like he’s seen things and done things, and like he’d do it all over again if it meant saving someone's life or serving his nation.
When the deserts finally come, the restaurant is all but empty, but the staff don’t seem to mind waiting for us to finish.
I wonder, for not the first time, what Dax might have done to command such amazing service.
But I don’t get a chance to contemplate the thought much longer.
My phone rings. It’s one of the many realtors I’ve been dealing with trying to find a new location for Prints Charmings.
I look at the time on my phone and gulp.
A call at this time of night is either really good news or really bad news. And, seeing as how I put down an offer on a place earlier today, I cross my fingers and my toes, and anything else I can cross, and pick up the call, hoping for the best.
I can tell immediately from the tone of her voice, and the circumspect way she’s getting to the point that it’s bad news. “We didn’t get it,” she finally says. “But don’t worry, we’ll find you somewhere, I promise.”
I hang up the phone and finish the nearly full glass of white wine which is sitting in front of me.
“What’s the matter.” Dax squeezes my hand. He rubs his thumb over my fingers and looks into my eyes.
“Just more bad news,” I say, trying my best not to sound upset. It's been such a magical night, and I don't want to ruin it with all my worries.
But, before I can stop myself, I’m ranting to him about how a massive, asshole development group are buying up all the land where my business is. How they want to knock it all down and build high-end apartments, a country club, and whatever the hell else the super-rich desire.
