What a Girl Wants (10 page)

“Really?” Oddly, that bothered her—a lot. George may wear overalls and grease the way some women wear diamonds, but she was really very beautiful.

“I like her,” was all Sebastian said.

“He’s got good ideas, too,” George chimed in. “Who knew?”

“I did,” he replied cheerily. Then he turned to George. “Ariana lost her keys.”

“Of course she did.” She walked over to her desk and pulled out the extra set from the drawer. Instead of giving them to her, George handed them to Sebastian. “Bring them back.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her and headed out. At the door, he looked over his shoulder at her. “You coming?”

She ignored George’s snicker as she followed him back to her place. She frowned as he unlocked the door and held it open for her. “I don’t have time today for any of this.”

“Any of what?” he asked.

“This.” She waved a hand between them. “Whatever you’re doing.”

“I’m helping you into your flat. See?” He unlocked her apartment door and ushered her in. “And I’m here to escort you to our meeting.”

She shook her head as she set her bag down. “What meeting?”

“The meeting I set up with a woman who owns a shop at the Ferry Building. She’s interested in carrying your products.” He looked at his watch. “Go pack up a few samples. Marjorie’s expecting us.”

Marjorie? Ariana crossed her arms. “I never said—”

“I know,” Sebastian interrupted good-naturedly. “But you’ll like Marjorie. Her sensibilities are like yours. I told her about your mission statement and she’s excited to meet you.”

“I have a mission statement?”

“You do now.”

She bit her lip, curious despite herself.

As if reading her mind, Sebastian said, “You don’t have to decide anything. Just come talk to her. I think in talking to her you’ll see expanding your distribution a little won’t be a bad thing.”

“I’m wearing yoga pants,” she said weakly.

“If that bothers you, then go change,” he said with an amused smile.

She put on jeans and a sweater with boots, because boots made her feel in charge and she didn’t want Sebastian to convince her to do something she wasn’t into because she couldn’t resist his voice.

Sebastian made her bring a few samples to share with Marjorie.
Made her
. Ariana mentally rolled her eyes as they got into her car. He didn’t have to twist her arm—she was always happy to share her products, even in this instance.

They arrived at the Ferry Building. Sebastian took her hand and led her through the stalls of vendors and the throng of people enjoying the unseasonable afternoon. They stopped in front of an adorable kiosk with a sign that read By The Sea. On the shelves, there were all sorts of luxury treats to indulge all the senses.

An older woman smiled as Ariana touched a cashmere throw. “That’s made by a local woman,” the shopkeeper explained. “She has a contract with a farm up north that grows the cashmere for her specifically.”

“It’s lovely,” Ariana murmured, impressed.

“Marjorie?” Sebastian asked the woman.

“Yes. You must be Sebastian.” Her gaze lit as she faced Ariana. “And you’re the owner of Dew Me.”

Ariana shook her hand. “Thank you for meeting us,” she said politely.

“Sebastian told me all about your products. Do you have samples for me?” Marjorie asked without preamble.

Sebastian set the small bag on the counter.

“I brought a hand lotion and lip salve, as well as a couple other products people usually love.” Ariana watched the woman dive into the bag, opening a lotion and liberally slathering it on her hands.

Marjorie lifted her hands to smell them. “Nice. The texture is nice, too.”

“I don’t like lotions that are too heavy,” she explained. “I grow the verbena I used for the scent in my garden.”

“You have a garden in the city?” the woman asked, inspecting the label.

“A rooftop garden.”

The woman hummed. “I like the label. It’s a nice touch.”

It was one of her generic labels, with a cat lounging in a grass. She’d draw something different if she supplied products for this store. She looked around. Like a red bridge and a little sailboat maybe. Or a mermaid perched on Alcatraz.

“Do you do body scrubs?” Marjorie asked, breaking into her reverie.

Ariana nodded. “Sugar or salt.”

“Super.” Marjorie faced Sebastian. “I want the lotion and body scrub. Let’s start with two hundred bottles of each, to see if I can sell them.”

“Two hundred,” Ariana exclaimed. She shook her head. “I need to think about this.”

“Fair enough,” Marjorie said with a shrug. She opened a drawer and then held a card out. “When you’re ready, call me. I think your products will do well here.”

She murmured thanks, studying the card as Sebastian discussed a few things with the woman. Then he took her arm and led her into the bustle of the Ferry Building.

“That went well,” he said brightly. “You know what it deserves?”

“What?”

“Ice cream.”

She narrowed her gaze. “You aren’t going to try to convince me to fulfill the order she requested?”

“The only thing I’m going to try to convince you is to share your ice cream with me,” he said, taking her hand. “Come on.”

“Now?”

“Definitely now.” He pulled her toward the shop. “There should always be time for treats, Ariana, especially to acknowledge sweet moments. Life’s too short not to indulge.”

His tone was light and flirting, but the serious look in his eyes was what made her nod in acquiescence. “You take ice cream so seriously.”

“Not ice cream. Life.” As they stood in line, he said, “I had a brain tumor. I wasn’t supposed to live, and then when I did live, they weren’t sure I’d ever walk or speak again.”

She froze, gaping at him. “What?”

He smiled wryly. “I didn’t tell you so you’d feel sorry. I don’t want sympathy. I’m telling you as a cautionary tale. Duty can always wait a few minutes. Hi,” he said to the clerk who was ready for them.

He ordered two scoops, and she managed to mumble her order despite the bombshell he’d dropped on her. He paid for their ice cream and guided her outside to a bench on the pier.

She looked at him and tried to imagine him ill, but he looked vital and alive—more than anyone she knew. “You’re all good now?”

“Yes.” He smiled, holding up a spoonful of ice cream. “So good.”

“Seriously.”

His smiled grew somber. “All healed, but it was hard. I had to relearn to talk and walk. It took a year, a long lonely year.”

“Your family—”

“Was dead, and I had no idea that I had extended family in England. When I found out, it gave me something to work for. I owe the Summerhills more than I could ever repay,” he said seriously. “When I found out I’d likely die, all my friends disappeared. I don’t blame them. You don’t want to hang out with a dead man walking.”

She took his hand, staring him in the eye. “They were not friends. Friends don’t abandon you.”

He glanced down at her hand in his and then back into her gaze. “Not everyone is like you.”

“Stubborn?” she asked with a quirk of her lips.

“Loyal and principled.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. The brush of his lips caused goose bumps to rise on her arm. “You know what?”

“What?” she whispered.

“I think I love San Francisco,” he said, his gaze trained on her. “It feels right.”

“Are you staying?” A strange hope rose in her chest.

“I’m thinking of it.” He rubbed her knuckles with his thumb, then turned her hand over to kiss the inside of her wrist. “Did I tell you I like my shaving cream?”

She shook her head, bemused. “You actually used it?”

“You made it for me,” he said as if offended. “Of course I used it. Feel.”

She held her breath as he rubbed her wrist against his cheek. She knew she was supposed to pay attention to the quality, but the touch of his skin to hers made her shiver with so many longings.

She glanced at his lips. She bet he kissed divinely. She bet he gave everything when he kissed.

As if knowing just touching wasn’t enough, he tugged her hand to bring her closer. “Does your dad own a shotgun?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Never mind.” He leaned in and inhaled at her neck. Before she could ask what he was doing, he kissed her there and then on her lips.

He tasted sugary and creamy, a delicious cocktail of sweetness and lust. He smelled both familiar and exotic.

Because she couldn’t help herself, she put her hands on his biceps. She liked the solid feel of him so much, she trailed them up to his shoulders, humming in appreciation.

His hand cupped her head, tipping her to open to him more.

Her breath hitched in her throat, shocked by the need that shot through her. If he’d touched her all over, right there on the pier, in front of all humanity, she wouldn’t have stopped him.

That made her pull back. Her lips felt swollen with the feel of his, and they formed words awkwardly. “What are we doing?”

“Kissing.” He frowned. “Don’t you like it?”

“I do. A lot. Too much.” She frowned, too.

Which made him frown more. He held her still and looked her in the eye. “I’m not kissing you to get you to go along with your dad’s plans, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

She laughed. “My dad is the last person I’m thinking about right now.”

“Oh good, because that’d be weird.”

His lopsided grin went straight to her heart. She couldn’t help herself—she pressed a quick kiss to his lips, and then she did it again, slower, savoring.

Sebastian was the one to pull away this time. “I’d like to state for the record that I think you’re amazing for seeing what you want and going for it. I may be honor bound to Edward, but I admire your vision. I think that all your clients are lucky you care for them.”

Before she could say anything, he started kissing her again.

“Wait—” She pulled away enough to look into his eyes. “So why
are
you kissing me?”

He held her chin. “Because I can’t help myself,” he whispered before his mouth touched hers again.

‡

T
he kiss stayed with him, lingering long after he accompanied Ariana home, keeping him warm into the night and through the next day. Kissing her had been like being engulfed in a peppermint cloud. It made him wonder if she’d taste like candy canes all over.

He got in a car to go see her, feeling hopeful. Maybe if he were lucky, he’d get to do it again.

The car let him out in front of Ariana’s studio. He bounded up the steps just as a young woman in stylish yoga clothes walked out. It took him a second for him to recognize her as Ariana’s sister, Annabelle.

She, on the other hand, recognized him right away if the sly smile on her face was any indication. Hands on her hips, she blocked his path. “Isn’t this a surprise?”

“Are you really surprised, Annabelle?” he asked.

Ariana’s sister dropped her façade and shook her head. “Actually, I’m happy to see you. You’re good for Ariana.”

“Uh-oh.” He leaned against the building, arms crossed. “Have you two been discussing me?”

“Of course.”

“Is this where you threaten my life if I hurt her?”

“Hell no. I think you’re good for her.”

He looked at her askance. “Reverse psychology, huh?”

“I mean it.” Her brow furrowed. “Ariana’s always been insecure about herself and her endeavors. She tried a bunch of different things because she has so many interests, but she thinks she failed at them.”

“That seems like a harsh assessment.”

“Right?” Annabelle nodded. “Each one of those trials led to her current success. She doesn’t see it that way, but you’re changing that.”

He raised his brow. “How do you figure?”

“She told me about the shop at the Ferry Building. She’s actually considering expanding.” Annabelle patted his chest. “So keep up the good work.”

Surprised, he watched her bound down the rest of the steps, her ponytail swinging as she went on with her day.

Amazing. Shaking his head, he rang the bell and, when he was buzzed in, took the stairs two at a time up to Ariana’s apartment.

She was in the kitchen, mixing something in a big bowl. She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “I haven’t driven you off yet?”

After the kiss they’d shared on the pier, he wasn’t sure he could be driven off, even if she suddenly grew a second head. Even then, it was more of her to enjoy. “You need to try harder.”

She chuckled and returned her attention to the bowl in front of her.

Closing the door, he resisted the desire to walk up to her and kiss the back of her neck. He hadn’t earned that privilege yet. “Are you making cookies?”

“Exfoliating scrub.”

He leaned over her project and sniffed. “It smells like summer.”

“I mixed in lavender from my garden,” she said, setting the wooden spoon aside and reaching for a little spatula and jar. “The client I’m making this for likes the scent of lavender. She used to spend her school holidays with her grandmother in the south of France. It reminds her of home.”

“Maybe one day you’ll show me your garden.”

“Maybe.”