“No, I asked. Tell me.” He adjusted in the seat, turning his body toward hers. She had his full attention now.
Oh lord! The last thing she wanted was to get wrapped up in talking about her career; they’d be in the limo all night while she beguiled him with stories of Sacagawea, the Battle of Gettysburg, and life on the Nile River during the reign of Nefertiti.
Veda’s words echoed through Becca’s head then, “And don’t you dare talk history. You’ll have him passed out asleep in thirty minutes or less. You’re going on a date, not narrating a bedtime story!”
“Another time, perhaps.” She looked down, fiddling with her hands.
His blond brows arched. Oh! Right; there wouldn’t be another time.
“I, uh, I love all history honestly—from ancient Egypt to the Wright Brothers. But I’m incredibly awed by the Celts and their traditions and lifestyle. I’m Irish so…” she trailed off. Not like he cared where her ancestors came from.
“That’s cool.” Ugh, it was the answer most people gave when she got passionate about her own genealogy, too. Dammit, Becca, you’re blowing this! “Celtic, huh? I can see that in your hair and skin tone…and your emerald-green eyes.”
She blushed. If she had to guess his heritage, she would say he had some Dutch in there somewhere or Welsh. That tanned skin…
“I’m not sure of my ancestry.” He seemed to answer her unspoken question. “I was adopted.”
Rebecca’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t expected that. Nor that he would admit to it. Was that public knowledge?
“You’re definitely European, for sure,” she quipped, her mind stating the first thing that came to it.
“Or from Antarctica.” He looked up thoughtfully, his big palm cupping his perfectly square jaw, and Becca grinned. Paxton laughed and patted her hand. “I’m just messin’ around. I’ve thought about doing that whole DNA ancestry thing. It seems kinda neat.”
Becca nodded, afraid to voice anymore thoughts on the matter—afraid to screw this date up any more than she already had. Before she could form another thought, he was asking more questions.
“So what do you do for fun?”
Fun? What’s that, she started to ask, but decided not to get into talks of her chaotic life. “I don’t have much free time.”
“Oh? You gotta play as much as you work. Don’t you know the quote?”
Her mind was running through all kinds of ideas for how this man might ‘play,’ but she shoved them out. “I, uh, I like to read, obviously…” History geek! “I, too, watch Netflix on occasion, and I can play the flute.”
“You know, I never learned an instrument. Embarrassing, right?”
What was embarrassing about that? He was a powerful athlete. He ran after quarterbacks and could stand upright on a surf board; that was a feat unto itself. She had no words. Paxton simply looked down, grinning.
“What do you watch on Netflix? Let me guess… Lost in Space?” She frowned. “No? How about The Witcher?”
She shook her head. “I loved Peaky Blinders, Knightfall, and of course, Outlander. I haven’t seen the others, but they’re in my list.” She confessed.
“Should’ve known. Celtic roots and all.” He opened his palms out. “I haven’t started Outlander yet. But it seems I watch more Netflix than you.” He feigned a guilty look, and she giggled. “Oh, wow.”
“What?”
“You have the sexiest little laugh.”
Her eyes hit his. Had he just called her sexy? No, he said her laugh…
“Sorry. I, uh…” He looked away as if he were uncomfortable then looked back at her, quickly shelving it. “You like The Palms?”
“Oh, I-I uh, I’ve never been.”
With the amount of medical bills owed to the hospital for Mam’s treatments, Becca barely got by with a weekly grocery budget, let alone eating out. It wasn’t a luxury she nor Veda afforded.
“Well, you’re in for a treat then.”
She felt her cheeks flush, unable to form a response.
“So, if I were to come to The Museum of Natural History, could I get a ‘personal’ tour?” His grin made her insides flutter, and the look in his eyes gave her the impression that he wanted to tour more than the museum exhibits. All the “personal” things she wanted to do to him, with him… Focus, Becca! Focus!
“Uh, of course, I—I could arrange something.”
“I’d really like that.” His hand moved gently over the back of hers, and she visibly shivered. How could the touch of a man built to destroy be so soft? “Do you have family here?”
Becca nodded, for her lungs were frozen by his touch; unable to draw air in, completely in awe of his beauty.
“That’s nice. I wish I did.”
“Your mom is back in Hawaii?” Oh good, her voice had been recovered; she wouldn’t need to go digging through Lost and Found.
He nodded his head. “Yeah, just moved back from California—Huntington Beach, aka Surf City, USA—where I was raised. My mother was born in Hawaii, but we moved from Oahu to California when I was nine. I was actually born in Cali.” He looked down bashfully. “My parents divorced not long after that. My father apparently made a new family in Missouri. I hadn’t seen nor heard from him in over a decade, then year before last he attempted to reach out to me. It’s true what they say about people coming out of the woodwork when you come into wealth…” Paxton trailed off, and Becca found herself gaping—not only at the sadness of the man before her, but at the awe that he had opened up to her about something so intimate. “Sorry,” he quipped with a smirk. “On the next episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, Paxton Guthrie will be talking about his dog, Ol’ Yeller,” Paxton scoffed sarcastically.
“I’m sorry, Paxton,” was all Rebecca could say at that moment. She wouldn’t get into her pathetically-sad life with him. He’d end up simply leaving her in the limo and hitching a ride to the nearest bar if she did.
“No, I’m sorry. You’re just really easy to talk to.” His eyes pierced hers again, and she realized she was seeing a side of him that no one else got to. Why was he telling her all this? She’d barely spoken ten words; how was she easy to talk to? She sucked at talking to people she didn’t know, unless it came to what she was passionate about. Then one couldn’t shut her up. “Hey, this is supposed to be fun, right?” That big sexy smile of his came back.
She nodded with a sly smile herself.
The limo came to a halt at that moment—perfect timing—and once again Becca’s heart raced. Pax took her hand and assisted her after he’d gotten out of the vehicle.
The Palms was extravagant, even from the outside, and Rebecca couldn’t fathom the cost of the food within. A month’s worth of groceries would be gone in an instant. Wasteful, that’s what it was.
They were immediately sat when Pax came through the door, her arm tucked through his. Rebecca took in the elegant restaurant, boasting gold embellishments, marble-tiled floors, and chandeliers. It smelled of old money and the air seemed stuffy, like she couldn’t take a deep breath in.
They were led to a private table set up on the deck overlooking the Chattahoochee River with a big window. Oh, good; at least there was that.
Pax helped her to a chair before the maître d’ placed a napkin in her lap and handed her a menu. There were no prices listed; that had to mean it was astronomical.
Becca smiled over at Pax as he asked her if she was a wine drinker and whether she preferred white or red. She didn’t much care since she didn’t drink often. Wine was another unaffordable luxury. She chose white, and Pax ordered a bottle of something French she’d probably not be able to repeat if asked.
She browsed the menu, seeing numerous French words that she was vaguely familiar with. She wouldn’t be picky. If he wanted to order for her, that was fine. She was here to see him, not to eat, and didn’t even know if she could eat as her stomach twisted into knots.
“The ceviche is to die for. Let’s have one of those, Sven,” Pax stated once th
e waiter had presented the wine and poured them a glass.
Sven nodded and walked away.
“See anything that strikes your fancy, m’lady?”
Becca couldn’t even pronounce half of the menu, but wasn’t inclined to admit it. It had been too long since she’d taken Latin, and Irish had obviously come easy; not French. “Any suggestions?”
“The halibut cheeks are exquisite, if you like fish.”
“I love fish. A filet works, too.” What the heck were halibut cheeks? She’d never had them but bet they were prime dollar. Not like it mattered to him though, she remembered. She didn’t miss the way Pax wrinkled his nose; she frowned. “You don’t like,” Becca talked as she read, “Kobe beef?” Oh shit! Of course it was a Kobe beef filet! Never mind, I’ll do the halibut, she thought.
“I’m pescatarian.” Pesce meant fish, right? “I don’t eat poultry or meat.”
Becca nodded. How did a man get as big as he was by only eating fish and vegetables? Her curiosity got the better of her. “Do you eat eggs?”
He nodded, “And milk and cheese. Although not much. They’re treats.”
Then she, personally, treated herself a lot.
“I know what you’re thinking, but my mom was a vegetarian, and it just stuck with me. I’ve never even taken a bite of steak or chicken.”
Rebecca found herself gaping again. How did one live without sampling the simple, most delicious things in life?
“You keep dropping your jaw like that, Ms. Ryan, and I’ll be compelled to stick something unspeakable into that beautiful mouth of yours.” His grin was devious, and butterflies filled Rebecca’s belly, her lower half tingling. Good lord!
Becca hadn’t ever had a man speak to her that way and wasn’t sure whether to be turned on or appalled. Her sister, on the other hand, would pull him to the closest bathroom and have him make good on that promise; Becca wasn’t her sister, though. She immediately closed her mouth and looked down at the pristine white napkin in her lap.
Pax cleared his throat when Sven returned with the ceviche—whatever the heck that was—and Becca chose to stick to fish. She didn’t want to repulse him by ordering a steak, although he insisted she get whatever she wanted. All the while, she couldn’t get the image of her lips wrapping around his hard member out of her head. Her cheeks pinkened when he brought his wine glass up and toasted her.
“Cheers.”
“Slàinte mhaith,” Becca answered.
“Here’s to history. May we always learn from it and do better in the future.”
Becca grinned big at that; she always found herself saying roughly the same statement. “To history. And to you, Mr. Guthrie, and ACH for making a difference.”
Pax nodded, and they drank the wine that tasted smoother and more amazing than any she’d ever had; she even moaned as she pulled the glass away. “Wow, that’s delicious.” And she wasn’t much of a wine fan to begin with.
“It’s a good year,” he stated and motioned to the ceviche. “Try this. You like sushi, right?”
“Are you kidding? I love sushi.” But she quickly noted as the flavors of lime, shrimp, fish, cilantro and avocado ran across her tongue, that this was so much better. “Yum.”
“Right? It’s one of my favorites.”
“Mmm, this could turn me pescatarian, for sure.”
“Join the club, baby, I’ll show you the dark side.” He winked, and she tried not to focus too much on the fact that he’d just called her baby. “Just wait until you try this fish coming, I might just make a believer out of you tonight.”
His enthusiasm was infectious, and she found herself relaxing with him.
Paxton’s broad frame filled his shirt out so nicely, the fabric stretching tight across his massive chest. Blond hair peeked out of the top two buttons of the button-down, tempting her. He’d rolled the sleeves of his blue shirt up and appeared to be comfortable with her, in turn; she couldn’t help but notice the hair covering his tanned forearms, bleached white from the sun.
Becca began asking him questions, about the team, about his job, about football, and he answered them in kind as they dined on a salad set before them. He was excited for Sunday’s game against the Titans and stated his aspirations for the Super Bowl; she could immediately see he was passionate about his fellow teammates and the sport itself, which excited her too.
“I’ll bring you to the complex one day and let you meet the rest of the team, if you want,” he said it more as a question, and it made her heart pound in her chest.
“Really? You’d do that?”
“Sure, why not? You’re a big fan, right?”
She looked down, embarrassment painting her cheeks at the thoughts of the big Fathead in her room of him in his Poseidon pose, looking all the world like a sexy Greek god. “Well, I’m a big fan of Paxton Guthrie.”
He arched a brow. “Mmm, so you’ve said before. I bet you got a wall of my face in your room, don’t cha, sweetness? I’m the last thing you see at night before you go to bed and the first thing you see when your beautiful head rises.”
She wouldn’t confirm nor deny the allegations; his own head was big enough already. “I’ll never tell.”
“Then I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself then.”
The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable, and Becca didn’t know how to react. She’d never really been pursued by a man before, save for a professor in college that had turned out to be a creeper and the guy at the museum who’d taken her out for coffee a couple times, always came in for tours but stood in the back now. Again, another creeper. Why did she attract weirdos? Oh, because I am one.
Pax cleared his throat again and blushed. “So…you from here, Becca?”
She internally squealed as he continued to call her by her nickname and nodded. “Sorta. I’m a transplant. I’m originally from Ireland, but a Georgia peach now. Since I was eight.”
“Mmm, a peach indeed.” He winked. She could get used to getting flirted with by this stud; it was as if she were dreaming. “Where do you live?”
“I’m not telling you! You might come stalk me,” she teased.
He laughed as she’d hoped he would. “Cautious. I respect that.”
“I live in an apartment downtown with my mother and sister,” she admitted.
“Three girls under one roof. I bet that gets interesting.” His expression was one of surprise.
Indeed, it did. Rebecca nodded. “It’s entertaining, to say the least.” She shrugged. “What about you?”
“Oh, I have a house not far from here. I just bought it last year. It’s swanky. So if you ever need privacy, hit me up. It’s more square feet than I’ll need in three lifetimes.”
She laughed. Fat chance at that! She’d never see him again after tonight. They both knew that.
“So, three girls under one roof…” he said again as if that prospect was unbelievable to him.
Rebecca looked down. “Yeah, my mom has lymphoma, and my sister and I take care of her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you. One of us is always there with her. It’s usually my sister in the daytime and me at night, due to my work hours. Every time we think she’s hurdled the bar, another setback comes along.”
He reached his hand out and took hers. “That’s tough. I’m sorry.”
Tough? He didn’t know the meaning of tough. After her young sister’s death, chaos had erupted. He only thought he was tough. If he had to live a day in her shoes…
Rebecca pulled her hand away and frowned, thinking about how inconsequential her life was to the mighty Poseidon.
Just then their entrees came, and she marveled over the delicacy in front of her. The hearty portion of perfectly pan-seared filet of fish, the al-dente asparagus and couscous, the lemon twist and garnish of parsley. It was too pretty to eat and more expensive than any meal she’d ever had. It seemed so frivolous and profligate, while her mother and sister were probably having Hamburger Helper back
home. Why in God’s name was she here?
She’d be sure to take a to-go box home so Mam could have a taste of it. But then how tacky would that look to Big Shot Paxton Guthrie? Never mind…
She felt his hand on hers again and looked up into his crystal, sky-blue eyes—eyes holding such beauty, so open. “Did I say something to upset you?” He furrowed his brows.
Becca quickly shook her head and tried to smile, truly grateful for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be here with him in such an opulent setting.
“I gotta ask: what made you enter the raffle for this date? How’d you hear about it?”
Oh great, Pax. Open Pandora’s box, why don’t ya? she thought but then decided only to give him what he’d asked.
“Oh, my sister and I frequently volunteer at the hospital.” That answered the question without bringing up events she’d rather not discuss on a first—and only—date.
“Wow, you’re a real humanitarian, Becca. You make me look like Darth Vader over here.”
She giggled and got a chin chuck as he smiled at her.
“You like the halibut?” he asked sincerely.
She hadn’t even tasted it yet, so she plucked up her fork and dove in. The thick, white fish held its form, akin to a filet of beef, and the flavors caressed her tongue as she bit into the juicy meat, moaning aloud as she savored it. It was literally the best thing she’d ever tasted.
“Oh, my God.” She moaned again and closed her eyes. Holy shit! If this was how the rich lived, she could do this for all eternity. Could food actually make a person have an orgasm? If so, it was happening. It was a food orgasm—a food-gasm.
When she looked up at Pax, the look on his face both frightened and electrified her all at the same time. His blue eyes had become stormy, his jaw clenched, and his brows were drawn in a tight line. His fist tightened on the table, and she saw his Adam’s apple bob. He’d become Poseidon, right there at their dinner table, and she suddenly felt an unrelenting desire to beg him—for mercy or rapture she wasn’t quite sure.
She watched his chest rise and fall as his breathing accelerated and his eyes continue to drill into her own. Time stood still. The wine was making her head buzz. That was it. That’s all this was, a trip for her overstressed mind. She was seeing things—hearing things as he said, “I wonder…is that what you’d sound like with me inside you, sweetness?”
PASS INTERFERENCE (Gods of the Gridiron Book 3) Page 3