Smolder (Georgia Smoke #6)

• Thirteen •

“Then, you’ve been dating the wrong men.”

Royal

This was like walking into a fairy tale. The lighting along the ground lit up the trees, which were heavy with red apples, with a warm glow. Nothing too bright, but just enough to see what we were picking. I had never been apple picking before. I’d heard friends talk about it in the fall, but it wasn’t something I’d ever done. Trying not to act giddy about it was difficult.

Standing on my tiptoes, I reached for a shiny one to take from the branch and almost fell forward, losing my balance. Amory came up so close behind me that I could feel the warmth from his much larger body, and it caused me to shiver.

“Like this,” he said as his hand took the apple, then twisted it before easily plucking it free. “Twist and pull.” His breath was hot on my ear as he leaned over me to drop the apple in the white paper bag I was holding by the sturdy handles.

I didn’t trust my voice just yet since his being in my personal space was causing my heart to flutter in my chest. I nodded my head instead. When he moved away, I wanted to spin around and tug him back to me. I wouldn’t do that, of course, but the scene playing out in my imagination was having a fine time with the idea.

“Just up ahead is our stop. Do you have enough, or do you want to fill another bag?” he asked me.

I stared down the row of trees to see the end was more lit than where we were now. What was up there that was going to be a stop for us?

Curious, I held up the bag. “These are great.”

His hand touched my lower back, and I bit my bottom lip, holding in the sound that was about to slip out if he kept this up.

“What is up there?” I asked him, hoping I didn’t sound as affected as I was.

“Dinner,” he replied.

I turned my head and looked up at him. “Dinner? How? We are in the middle of an apple orchard.”

The corner of his mouth inched up slowly. “I have my ways.”

This wasn’t my first date by far. I’d been on many dates since Grams allowed me to start dating at seventeen. However, this was the most unique, romantic, and well-planned thing any guy had ever done for me. Granted, there might be a blanket with a bag of fast food up ahead, cold from him having left it here hours ago, but somehow, I doubted it. Amory was thorough with everything he did. Including his pursuit of me. I was starting to question why I’d fought against it so hard.

I liked him, and the more I was around him, the more that like was turning into affection. Maybe it was closer to lustful emotions because the man was all the things. Whatever it was, I didn’t see a reason to keep pushing him away. He hadn’t run off once he got a look into my home life. He’d even bailed my dad out of jail.

“What are you thinking? You’ve gone quiet.” His voice was slightly husky.

“That if charm were an Olympic sport, you’d get the gold.”

His deep, smooth laugh gave me chill bumps. Oh, yes, he was getting to me. There was no way out of this now. I wanted to be here. I wanted him. I’d never wanted Merce like this. Thinking of him put a slight damper on my mood. He’d texted me in the car, saying he missed me and wanted to see me. I still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t the one who had told Professor Brereton about me.

We stepped into the clearing. I stopped, taking it all in, and a gasp escaped me. It wasn’t a blanket on the ground, nor was there a bag of food. Instead, there was a small table with two chairs, a lit candle, and two silver domes covering what I assumed were our meals on each side. The trees surrounding it were filled with twinkling lights, giving the entire setup a magical ambiance.

“Wow,” I whispered.

“I hope you like Italian. I felt like it was the safest bet.”

I nodded. I liked whatever he wanted me to eat. This was … this was incredible.

“How …” I paused, shaking my head in amazement. “How did you do all this?”

“Made a few calls,” he replied simply, as if this had been easy to pull off.

“You made a few calls?” I asked, smiling at how ridiculous that sounded.

He’d done more than make a few calls. He had spent a lot of time and money on this.

“I’ve worked up an appetite,” he said, leading me toward the chair to my left.

I watched as he pulled it out, then nodded at me to take a seat. I didn’t move, but just stood there, soaking it in. Him in. This entire moment in.

He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

I licked my lips, then laughed. “Nothing. I’m just… this is all …” Pausing, I tried to think of the right way to say this. “No one has ever done anything like this for me before.”

He flashed me a cocky grin. “Then, you’ve been dating the wrong men.”

“Boys,” I supplied, walking over and taking a seat. “I’ve been dating boys.”

He pushed my chair in, then leaned down close to my ear. “Let’s change that.”

I sucked in a breath and inhaled his clean scent. Mint and spice. Whatever it was, I wished I could bury my head in his chest and stay there.

Amory lifted the dome in front of me to reveal a pasta dish—I didn’t know the name of it, but it was creamy-looking and smelled divine.

“Spaghetti alla carbonara,” he told me. “It’s one of my favorites.”

He set the dome down on the grass beside us, then walked around to sit in the chair across from me. The small candle between us was in a crystal holder that kept it safe from the evening breeze. He’d had to have help. It hadn’t been lit very long, and the silver bucket—filled with ice and a bottle of wine—was clearly chilled, but the ice wasn’t melted. I looked around us for any way someone could have gotten here without me seeing or hearing them pass by. The only option I could tell was that they had come from the other side of the property. It was dark, so I couldn’t see, but I assumed there was a road or building out that way.

He reached over to pick up a long, narrow dish that had a linen napkin over it, and he removed the cloth to reveal bread, along with an oil, then placed it between us.

“I’m not a wine drinker,” he told me. “But Minna informed me that white wine would be the best choice.” He pulled it from the bucket and looked at it. “Frascati. I’m sure it’s good. She’s excellent at pairing the best wines with foods.”

I had no clue what that was, but it was white wine and probably cost a fortune.

“Who is Minna?” I asked, trying not to sound like a jealous female.

He took the wineglass in front of me and began to fill it. “Minna is our cook. She’s been with my family a very long time. To be honest, Mexican is her specialty, but she agreed with me that Italian was a better option for tonight.”

He had a cook. Of course he did. His father had built the college football stadium. They probably had an entire staff at his house.

“It smells amazing,” I told him as he handed me my glass.

“She’s the best,” he replied, then poured his wine.

I lifted the glass to my lips and tasted it. Oh, yes, this was expensive. No wine I had ever tasted went down so smoothly.

“Good?” he asked.

I giggled and nodded my head, setting the glass down. “Not the right word. I could drink the entire bottle.” Not that I would. One glass was going to be my limit.

He grinned and reached for the bread, tearing off a piece and then dipping it into the seasoned oil before holding it out to me. “She makes this from scratch. Both the bread and the oil.”

I needed a Minna in my life. I took it from him. “If you watch me eat this, I won’t be able to enjoy it properly.”

He tore off another piece, then soaked it in the dip before putting it into his mouth and taking a bite. I watched his jaw as he chewed and the way his muscle flexed in his neck. God, that was nice to look at.

Realizing I was gawking at him, I quickly looked down at my plate and took a bite of my bread, feeling my face grow warm. I was out of my depth with this man. He was much too worldly, sexy, and sophisticated for me to handle. I was going to mess it up. He would never be able to take me out in public.

“Relax, Royal. It’s just me and you. Whatever has you all tense, stop thinking about it. Enjoy the meal,” he told me.

I looked up at him. “Sorry. I’ll try.”

He picked up his fork and twirled the noodles with it. “What’s your favorite type of music?” he asked.

I pressed my lips together and shook my head.

“What?” A curious gleam sparked in his eyes.

“Fine. But you’re gonna laugh.”

“Never.”

I stared at him for a moment. “Classic country,” I admitted.

“What’s wrong with that? George Strait is a king.”

I shook my head. “No. Classic country. As in George Jones, Waylon Jennings, Johnny Cash, Loretta Lynn, Willie Nelson, Hank Williams Senior, not Junior.”

His eyes widened. “So, classic , classic,” he said. “And you’re almost twenty-one. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Grams loves them all. She has at least a hundred albums. I grew up listening to them. I didn’t hear other music until I was older. Whenever I hear ‘You Ain’t Woman Enough,’ I can still see Grams holding her wooden spoon in the kitchen, singing it like she wrote it.”

Feeling a real smile stretch across my face, I realized my shoulders weren’t tense anymore, and I wasn’t battling with my lack of self-confidence. Amory was giving me an odd look. As if he didn’t recognize me or was confused. That made me laugh.

“What?” I asked, amused.

His gaze softened. “Nothing. I just like listening to you talk. Hearing about your life.”

This man was going to ruin me for all the others.