Page 17 of Wicked Lies Grow Wildflowers

Me: Hello, Xander. It was good seeing you. Thank you for meeting me for the paperwork, and congrats on finalizing your home purchase.

There. Perfectly professional and definitely doesn’t hint at the attraction I’m feeling. I release a breath, on edge as I anticipate his reply. I feel like a giddy middle schooler waiting for their crush to text back.

My phone pings almost immediately.

Xander: We both know I don’t care about the house, Maeren.

My heart thunders out of my chest, toes curling as I read the message, his rich voice sounding inside of my head as if he’s talking directly to me.

Me: What do you care about, then?

Xander: You, Wildflower. The only fucking thing I care about is you.

Me: You don’t even know me.

Xander: I know enough, and it’s more than you think.

Alarm bells sound in my head.

More than I think. More than I think.

It clicks into place then. I thought there was no possible way it could be Xander leaving me all of those little tokens or trinkets or whatever the hell they are.

But it’s the only answer that makes any sort of sense, no matter how slight.

He did figure out my place of employment, so why is it so hard for me to believe he found out where I lived, too?

Honestly, I’m relieved it’s likely him. My panic attack and phone call to the cops were overzealous, it seems. I decide to call him out on it.

Me: Have you been watching me? Following me?

Xander: If I said yes, would it scare you?

It should scare me. It should scare anyone, but it doesn’t, because while he is extremely intimidating, he exudes safety, if only towards me.

Me: No.

Xander: It should. You should really be very scared, Maeren. I’m not a man who plays games I don’t win. When I set my sights on something, I get it, I make it mine. Do you understand?

Me: Yes. I do.

I don’t actually understand, not fully, but I want to. I want to know all about how deeply he wants me.

Xander: Sweet, innocent Maeren, you don’t have a fucking clue, so be careful what you agree to. I’m not a man who appreciates broken promises. You won’t be able to back out of this.

Me: Good, because I don’t want to.

What the hell am I doing? I don’t know anything about him, just that he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever met and his gaze lights me on fire. I know I want to trace his jaw with my tongue and explore every plane of his body. I know I just want him . Whatever that may entail, I’m ready to find out.

Xander: I’m picking you up tonight at six. Be ready, and hungry.

I don’t know if he means for dinner or something… else. Either way this has definitely escalated quickly, but I’m ready for it. I deserve to make choices that only benefit me for once.

I agree and spend the rest of the day anticipating his arrival.

It doesn’t even dawn on me that he didn’t ask for an address.

Of course he didn’t need one if he’s been here before, several times, apparently.

I try not to let that bother me and when five o’clock rolls around, I realize my adrenaline hangover has mostly abated.

Pulling clothes out of my closet, I try on various outfits and immediately take them back off.

I don’t like anything and though my closet is full, I feel like I have nothing to wear.

I settle on a variation of my usual attire; a knit turtleneck and high waisted jeggings with knee-high boots and my plaid peacoat.

I don’t want to be overdressed, just in case we go somewhere casual, but I also want to look good for him, even though a few hours ago I felt anything but.

I fix up my makeup and try to make myself look less exhausted.

Even through my fatigue, I’m giddy when five forty-five hits and at exactly six I hear a car pull up outside.

When I open my apartment door, Xander’s hulking frame takes up the width of the entry. My eyes snap up to meet his and I let out a breathy, “Hey.” He has a way of stealing the oxygen from the air around him and it’s all I can muster.

He looks me up and down before his gaze settles on my lips. “Hello, Maeren. You look beautiful. Are you ready to go?”

“Thank you,” I smile. “Just let me lock up.” As I turn to lock my door, I can feel his gaze boring into me.

My cheeks flame and I probably look as red as a tomato right now as I remember our earlier phone conversation.

It appears we are both skating around the words we exchanged, not wanting to acknowledge what they mean now that we are face to face.

When I turn to follow him out, I avoid eye contact, already intimidated and not wanting to show it.

Xander ushers me ahead and I can still feel his intense stare which does nothing to cool the heat burning across my entire body.

The car ride over to the restaurant is awkward, to say the least. Maybe not for him, but I personally hate the discomfort of a first date and the effort it takes to not stumble over my words out of nervousness.

He asks me questions about my friends, my job, my hobbies, and I tell him the truth about it all.

Not that there’s much to tell. I volley similar questions back and he gives me answers that seem truthful, though I have no way to know if he’s bullshitting me or not.

He owns a website building business and his hobbies include coding and working out—that one is quite obvious.

He’s in pretty decent shape from what I can tell.

Not overly muscular but a healthy balance.

The conversation feels too normal, too mundane, compared to the riveting sexual tension that has loomed under every word we’ve exchanged before.

All of the typical first date get to know you questions feel out of place with us.

His answers are normal and not what I expected from him, though the tech savviness makes sense, he seems like the type.

None of this is to say there isn’t any sexual tension between us now.

I can’t keep my eyes off his strong hands gripping the wheel, and he keeps glancing over at me each time I speak.

We both know the other is thinking about things far more informal than the placating conversation we are having.

We pull up to a local Italian restaurant twenty minutes later and he opens my door for me.

Maybe chivalry isn’t dead, though Xander is anything but a gentleman.

He guides me to the restaurant with a hand on the small of my back.

I’m so focused on the heat radiating from his touch that I almost lose my footing.

I try to play it off but I hear him let out a small chuckle as he steadies me.

The playful sound catches me off guard. He comes off so cold and calloused half the time, and I like this side of him.

The meal is shockingly normal, though I do have a hard time focusing on some of the conversation because his jawline is distracting, as are his luscious lips that felt so good against my own.

He’s surely caught me staring far too many times, but who blesses men with looks this good?

Anyone could easily fall victim to his charms. Hell, even our waitress was clearly flirting with him, and I will admit it made my blood boil.

When she leaned over our table and placed her hand near his arm, I debated stabbing her with my fork, which is irrational considering this is a first date.

He isn’t mine and I’m not his either. But every time Xander spoke to her, he was staring right at me, and that made butterflies stir up the wine in my stomach.

So much has changed in the last couple of days. We went from the barbed words and barely restrained wrath of a few weeks ago to this . And while there’s been a spark between us since we met, this mutual kindness feels like a cosmic sized change, especially in such a short period of time.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks me, his eyes crinkled with his knowing smile.

“Actually, yeah. Dinner’s been nice, and I have to admit, I’ve not been on a date in some time.”

“I’m glad. I’m enjoying myself and I kind of like it when you’re being nice to me,” he winks.

I roll my eyes but I can’t help the blush that creeps up. “Don’t get your hopes up too much, I’m sure there are plenty of ways for you to keep earning my wrath.”

“Now that sounds like you intend to have me around for a while.” Of course that would be his response. I think he likes our push and pull, and I have to admit, I do too.

As the meal went on, things got more personal, and he started asking about my family, a topic that is off-limits on all dates forever, let alone a first date.

No one wants a broken girl with baggage.

I tried to brush off his inquiries, and blessedly, he got the hint.

I could tell he wanted to know more though, but I appreciate that he didn’t pry.

His eyes took on an edge when I said that I don’t have any family aside from my mother who I’m essentially estranged with.

That situation sobered me enough that the buzz from my wine dissipated and I suddenly wished to be home, away from the questions.

This is why I don’t date. I just can’t voice my past trauma, let alone try and make someone understand it.

Xander will either run away from the crazy or pity me like all the others, and I can’t bear to face either.

Therefore, deflection is the best answer.

The energy in the air has shifted and he can definitely tell.

He flags down the waitress to pay the bill, and I excuse myself to the bathroom because I need a breather.

Exiting the bathroom, I’m distracted with fixing my hair and almost crash right into Xander— again . Why is this becoming a common theme with us?

“Didn’t we meet just like this?” he asks smugly.

“You’re very funny.” My voice reeks of sarcasm. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, baby, lead the way.”

He just called me baby . I think I may die.

When we arrive at my apartment, he walks me to my door.

“Thank you for coming, Wildflower.” He leans down and brushes his lips against mine softly, testing the waters.

I lean into the kiss, letting him continue his advances.

He languidly kisses me back, taking his time, tongue slowly reaching out for entrance into my mouth.

I open up for him and deepen the kiss; he tastes like the sweetest dessert.

I so badly want to invite him in but I don’t.

It’s too soon. I need to take things slow, feel them out first. I already feel like we’re rushing things, but I don’t have much dating experience to go off.

We’ve known each other for nearly a month now and that’s enough time for our first date to feel appropriate.

Still though, I’m not ready to take things any farther than this.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts when his hand roams up my stomach.

He cups a breast in his hand and squeezes gently, my nipples hardening beneath my bra at the contact.

I moan into his mouth and claw my fingers into the door behind me, wishing I could dig my nails deep enough to keep me anchored in this moment all night, drowning in the taste of him, forgetting anything else.

I could act like a normal, baggage free girl and pretend just for the night that I could let him get close, but that isn’t my reality.

I’d wake up in the morning sad that it was built on a lie. So, I gently push him off.

He steps back as I say, “Goodnight, Xander, thank you for dinner.”

I step into my apartment, shutting the door and him out—the only thing I know how to do.