Page 43 of The Best Thing He Never Wanted

“I’m not so sure. I think flirty women and bad pizza may be your kryptonite, Mr. Wilder.”

“You’re right about the bad pizza. Won’t argue with that.” He steered her toward the bar. “Think I’ve earned a drink for surviving all that British food. You’re coming with me, right?”

She laughed softly. He was hardly a charmer, but there was something about the way he said it—as though of course she was coming with him—that warmed her through.

“Of course I am; I owe you a whiskey.”

As they headed that way, he glanced down at her. “You’re not planning to make me talk to it again, are you?”

“No. You’re safe. You can drink it in peace.”

They didn’t sit at the bar this time. They ordered their drinks and carried them to a booth in the corner. Blane waited for her to sit, then slid onto the bench beside her.

Bea raised her glass toward his, but her smile faded before they touched.

She knew what the toast was this time; what it had to be. The only thing left was goodbye.

His gorgeous gray eyes met hers, and the light seemed to go out of them. He tapped his whiskey against her wine without saying the word.

“We’ve got a while.” He checked his watch. “Not long, but I ain’t saying that word to you just yet.” He looked at her. “I’ll say it when we get out of the elevator. How about that?”

She had to swallow before she could answer. The wave of emotion that hit her took her by surprise.

“Okay.” Her voice cracked a little on the word.

He inhaled sharply and sat back.

Oh dear. She hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable. “So, what’s next for you?” she asked, determined to move them along. “What other kinds of jobs do you do? I know you oversee security teams who guard country music stars. What else?”

“Whatever comes our way, mostly. We work some government contracts. These days, we mostly send the teams out. Cash still likes going himself. Thinks he’s some kind of superhero.” His mouth twitched. “Me, I prefer training the guys who are gonna be on the ground. Don’t like admitting it, but I’m getting older. No matter what I think, I’m not as fast or as sharp as the younger guys anymore.”

She couldn’t resist. “You’re fast and sharp enough for me.”

He held her gaze for a long moment. She could get lost in those eyes. Then, just before the moment stretched beyond what either of them seemed able to bear, he huffed out a laugh. “That’s because you’re British and don’t know any better.”

She slapped his arm. “I told you. You’re terrible.”

This time he actually chuckled. And if she could, she would have bottled that sound and taken it with her. He sipped his whiskey, and she stared down into her wine. She wanted to make the most of every minute she had left in his company, but she was far too aware that those minutes were ticking away.

His big hand rested on his thigh beside hers, utterly still.

And somehow, it never occurred to her to think he was impatient. That he might be ready to leave. She would have assumed that once. With Simon. But with Blane, she knew better, even though she couldn’t have explained how. He wasn’t waiting for the evening to be over.

He was feeling it run out, just as she was.

She’d heard the expression—an easy silence—but she didn’t think she’d ever experienced one before. Not in the company of a man, anyway. Yet everything about being with Blane was easy, even if she’d never have guessed it from the look of the man.

He turned in his seat to face her, resting an elbow on the table. “You called me darling.”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. You called me darling.”

She knew exactly when he meant. “I did, Blane. But then, you married me without my knowledge, in front of two complete strangers, just to get yourself out of a photograph. I think darling was the least of the liberties taken.”

His mouth twitched. “Wasn’t complaining.”

He looked away, his gaze settling somewhere across the room. She was beginning to recognize that too. It was what he did when he had a truth to share and wasn’t sure how she’d receive it.