Greatest Distraction (Distracted #1) (13 page)

Crap, I had, hadn’t I? I just didn’t want to deal with the fallout, the invasion of my privacy. The moment the shutter had clicked, capturing the two of us embracing, my treasured solitude was over. Paparazzi would be everywhere now, on constant ‘
Ryen watch.’ It was a pressure I’d hoped to avoid.  Opening my mouth to speak, Dane held a hand up, halting my words in my throat.

“B -
the dancing. I fucking
loved
dancing with you, Ryen. I can’t even explain it, except that I didn’t want it to end. In that moment I knew I was the luckiest SOB in the room.
You
were in
my
arms. Any negatives you may have on that point are way off. And, lastly, C -” he said, catching his breath while I stared open-mouthed. “I’m elated we met. Stop being so damned guarded and defensive – I like you. I thought about you the entire flight here, and had even hoped you’d be here, though I thought it was impossible. There … that about cover it?” he asked, his face flushed.

“Um
… yeah,” I answered, speechless. My brain couldn’t process his words, instead continuously repeating them like a skipping record.

“Good.” With that, he slammed his mouth against mine. My first reaction was to pull back, to shove him away, but apparently my head and my body were on different pages. I let him kiss me, melting into him as his hand gripped my face, gently holding me in place. His lips were soft, warm, and his stubble teased my cheek.

I gasped when his tongue darted out, running across my lips as a silent request. Granted access, he explored my mouth, every nook and cranny. It’d be a long time since I’d been kissed like this. I was in heaven. It took only a moment for me to respond, pressing my body flush against him and allowing my tongue to meet his. He tasted like gin and man, and so good it should be illegal. He’d dropped his hands at some point, moving them to rest along my sides. I couldn’t have stopped the moan that escaped me when his thumbs grazed the sides of my breasts, even if I’d wanted to. Boy did I
not
want to at the moment. Suddenly someone cleared their throat behind Dane.

“Ignore them – they’ll go away,” he growled into my open mouth before deepening the kiss. Damned if that wasn’t the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to me.

“Mister Ranucci, your car, sir.” I recognized the voice as John, the valet. Despite his obvious disappointment, Dane broke the kiss, idly tucking a strand of hair that’d escaped my chignon behind my ear. Kissing me a final time, almost chastely, on the lips, he turned. Well, if he didn’t look like the cat that ate the canary. I stayed quiet as he collected the keys, trying to slow my breathing before I passed out.

Dane ushered me toward his car, a shiny blue Mercedes coupe. It wasn’t surprising that his car would be intimidating, like him. I was surprised, however, that he actually owned a car in the city – I told him so too.

“I don’t own it … it’s a rental. I don’t like being chauffeured to crap like this – I like to leave whenever I want. Renting makes it easier,” he elaborated as he helped lower me in it. He even leaned down to pick the bottom of my gown up, making sure it was safely away from the door as he shut it.
Awww
.

The inside of the car was nothing short of luxurious. Black leather seats and carbon fiber greeted me, looking plush and rich and masculine – exactly the car I would have envisaged for him. There were more buttons on the console,
gear shift, and doors than I’d ever know what to do with. Dane climbed in, looking ridiculously in control as he started the engine and pulled away from the curb. Of course he’d be at home in something like this. His rental kicked my little Civic’s ass.

“What kind of car is this? Other than a Mercedes
,” I asked him, genuinely curious. I wasn’t a huge car buff, but I had a healthy appreciation for them.

“It’s a CLS 63 AMG S Coupe, decked out of course.” His face lit up as he spoke – boys and their toys and all that. I opened my mouth to ask him another question when my stomach growled. It was so loud in the silence of the vehicle that I cringed.
Real ladylike, Ryen,
that voice scolded me. I only now realized I hadn’t eaten anything except breakfast, plus the little snacks on the plane. Grey Goose, unfortunately, isn’t considered a food group.

“Hungry?” Dane asked, chuckling.

“Famished,” I whispered, ignoring the silent wisp of desire I felt at his grin.
No. Don’t get it bad, girl. Don’t.

“I know a place,” he said as he eased out into traffic. How he could maneuver in Manhattan was beyond me, but he managed like a pro. He must rent a car often, or at least drive in other big cities.

We rode in silence, but not uncomfortably so. Dane had turned the radio on at some point, letting a variety of soft music filter through the speakers. I’d found I really enjoyed being in his company, even when neither of us were talking. The few times he’d caught me watching him, he’d smiled and ducked his head, almost shyly. Damn, shy looked good on him as well.

Not going to
lie, I kept waiting for the real asshole to appear. I knew it was unfair, and that it was still early, but it was the truth. Unfortunately, I knew better than most that the real person behind the face could take months to show up. It was disappointing we couldn’t just tattoo “bad guy” and “maturity of a snail” on their foreheads. Maybe then us girls would have a chance – easy, pick the guy with no tattoo and Blam! Instant boyfriend material.

“We’re here, beautiful.” God, he needed to
not
call me that, especially on an empty stomach. The butterflies were almost too much to bear. Food. Need food.

Looking out the windshield, I caught sight of the “place” he knew. Apparently we were eating at All American Pancake
… in formal wear. We were going to look like two kids on prom night. My belly didn’t care though – catching even the slightest whiff of pancake batter and I was sold.

“This place smells
amazing,” I said as Dane helped me out of the car – such a gentleman. Like he first had at the music hall, he offered me his arm. Taking it, he led me through the door and into breakfast food paradise, all the while dressed like we were headed for the Oscars.

“What can I getcha?” our waitress, Maggie, according to her badge, asked, completely un-phased by our finery.

Dane raised his eyebrows at me, clearly indicating for me to order first. I let my eyes quickly scan back over the menu before looking up and smiling.

“I’ll have two eggs over hard, an English muffin, toasted – no butter – an order of Canadian bacon, and a half stack of pancakes,” I told her, grinning. Most girls would feel self-conscious with a mile-long order, especially with a guy they may like, but not me. I was hungry and any man who ever tried to quash my food choices in favor of a preconceived image wasn’t a keeper in my book. “Oh! I’d also like a glass of orange juice and some coffee, cream, sugar, and water on the side, please.”

Dane look
ed surprised, but pleased, the side of his lips turning up to reveal his dimple. His eyes were sparkling as he turned his attention to the waitress.

“I’ll have the same,” he told her, making me smile.

“Hungry, Mr. Ranucci?” I teased him as I took the restaurant in. I was amazed at how homey it felt. The colors in the place were bright, accented by the fluorescent lights. Primary-colored booths, black-and-white checkered tile, and a stainless steel bar area – complete with stools – gave the place an awesomely fifties-style vibe. The waitresses wore blue and red-old fashioned uniforms, in lieu of poodle skirts, and there was no record playing jukebox, for which I was grateful. Too much of a good thing goes bad fast. The best part of the place, in my opinion, wasn’t the framed and autographed images on the wall, or the décor, though both were great touches. No, to me, it was the smell; the bacon grease and pancake batter was ridiculous. Imagine what your kitchen would smell like while cooking all your favorite breakfast foods, compacted in a smaller space, and you’d almost be close. My food couldn’t get there fast enough.

“Now that you ask, I’m starving, Miss
Macek.”

The way my name rolled off his tongue was distracting and I fidgeted. Luckily I was saved from having to say anything in return by our drinks being placed in front of us. Maggie proceeded to pour our coffees from a ceramic carafe and placed a small glass of milk, along with an assortment of flavored creamers, between us.

“Sugar is just there,” she said, pointing to a caddy on the table. “Your food should be up shortly.”

I thanked her before I pulled my coffee close to me. Pouring only a bit of cream, followed by one sugar packet, my cup was ready to go. I sighed happily as I breathed in the rich aroma and took a sip.
Perfect
. As I brought the mug to my lips for another swallow, my attention turned to Dane.

“What, in the name of all that’s coffee greatness, are you doing to that poor drink?” I asked him. I know I sounded appalled, but I couldn’t help it
. The brew was obviously fresh and not cheap Folgers, either, and here he was, completely annihilating it. Four sugar packets lay empty and discarded on the table, at least three more in his hand, poised to be dumped in. I shuddered to think what he was planning with the creamer.

“What?” he asked, following through with his continued
abuse. That poor cup of coffee. I tried to close my eyes as he reached for the hazelnut-flavored creamer, but it was just too much.

“No!” I exclaimed and he hesitated. I sounded crazy, but didn’t he realize what he was going to ruin?
It’s coffee … not cotton candy for crying out loud. “Please, please, don’t dump that in too. You already have about a pound of sugar in it. Want a little coffee with your sugar? Geez. Did you even taste this? It should be savored. I just can’t let you drink that monstrosity.” Dane stared at me, perplexed, the offending cream teetering in his hand. My eyes were glued to it, hoping I could will it to not pour by sheer will. Thankfully, my mind power must’ve worked, because he gently set the small container down.

“Wow
… passionate about coffee much?” he asked.

“Here, try mine,” I demanded, pushing my mug toward him and accidentally knocking over the stupid liquid. Horrified, I watched as it tipped and dripped down the table, right into his lap. The whole scene unfolded and I swear it was almost in slow motion.
“Oh, shit! I’m sorry,” I said, dropping my head into my hands, hiding my face.

Laughter met my mortification and I glanced up to find Dane cracking up, almost falling out of his chair,
napkin in hand. I tried to apologize again, but only managed to look like a fish, my mouth opening and closing fast.

“Are you this passionate about
everything
? Or were you merely trying to get me out of my pants? If it’s the latter, I promise, you won’t need to spill something on me when the time comes. If it was the former…” his voice trailed off, mischief blatant in his face.

“If it was?” I prompted, curious to his thought process and desperately trying to ignore the last thirty seconds or so.
What the hell are you doing, Ryen? You haven’t been
this
bad since Tristan in the sixth grade.
The voice in my head was seriously starting to piss me off. It was like a bad prom picture – it wasn’t going away, and all it did was embarrass you long after the time had ended.

“I already know you’re the passionate type, I felt that when I kissed you
– but if that passion extends to everything, I’m in for a world of the best kind of trouble,” he answered me, dabbing at his pants, not at all angry with me, it would seem. Instead, he actually seemed even more intrigued.

“Try the damned coffee,” I muttered, unsure of what to say to that. Was I passionate? I guess I was, probably in everything I did, I just never really thought about it. Coffee, though, was … well … it needed a freaking shrine in my opinion. Abusing coffee could possibly be the first, and only – at least so far – tick against him.
You’re stupid
, came the voice again.
Nuh-uh, you are,
I told it back
.

I held my breath as Dane finally reached for my mug and lifted to his lips.
Enthralled, I watched as his eyes closed and his tongue peaked out to catch any stray liquid left on his mouth. He hummed a sound that could be either satisfaction or disgust, making me nervous. I couldn’t explain why it was important to me that he liked the silly caffeinated drink, but it was. It didn’t make any sense, even to me, but it was what it was.