“You think they teach us how to identify a woman’s drink of choice?”
“No, but I think you have a supremely analytical mind and like to piece clues together, and somehow you decided that a woman like me drinks mojitos.”
“And what are the traits that would suggest mojito drinking?” he asked, enjoying the banter as the sun dipped toward the horizon.
“You tell me,” she said, crossing her ankles. Her toenails were painted violet. He wasn’t a man who cared about polished fingers or toes, but somehow this little detail seemed so very Sophie.
“Gorgeous, confident, smart, fun…and likes to enjoy things that taste good.”
She made some sort of sexy humming sound in her throat. “You taste good,” she said.
His dick leapt to attention, ready to give her a full salute. He dropped a hand to her leg, wrapping it around her calf and squeezing. “Everything you say and do makes me hard. It’s like you have a remote control to my dick.”
She laughed as heat poured down from the sky. “I actually ordered that remote last week. They sell them at Sharper Image. Can’t wait for it to arrive.”
Loud peals of laughter ripped through him, and this was a moment he would savor for a long time—the easy way she had with him, how she teased him, and toyed with him, and never backed down. He caressed her warm calf, kissed by the sun, as he tipped his forehead toward the iPad. “What were you reading?”
“A biography of Tommy Lee from Mötley Crüe. I have a thing for rock-star biographies.”
“Interesting. Anything to that?”
She pursed her lips together, as if considering the answer. “I think because the lifestyle is so extravagant and extreme. I read them for fun back in college, with a sort of wide-eyed awe, and these people seemed so foreign but so fascinating. They still are—the hours rock stars keep, the crazy things they do, the excess, the conquests, the dangers. It’s like a vicarious thrill ride into a world I’d never want to be in but adore watching unfold.”
“Are you a voyeur?” he asked with narrowed eyes.
“Ha. Hardly. I just like to see the curtain pulled back,” she said, taking a quick drink. Then she set down her glass on the small table next to her lounge chair. “What do you like to read?”
“Business strategy books to stay sharp. Thrillers to keep the heart rate up. And international news to stay educated. That probably sounds terribly prosaic.”
She shook her head. “No. Not at all. I love your reasons, too. They tell me more about what matters to you,” she said with a sweet smile. “Plus, I think whatever anybody’s reading is a good thing. Truth be told, I was actually switching back and forth between reading the Tommy Lee book, and this email exchange with my contact in Rüsselsheim.”
His ears pricked. “Your Bugatti?”
A grin stretched across her features, like a very satisfied cat. “I’m going there to check it out in ten days.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Are you bringing it back?”
“An import service will. But I want to touch it and feel it and drive it myself before the final sign-off.”
An image of Sophie running her hands along the sleek body of a high-end sports car played before his eyes. “What milestone is this one? You said you reward yourself for hitting milestones in giving.”
“I like numbers, especially the big fat ones with lots of zeroes, so I decided that since I sold my company for a hundred million dollars that when I hit that goal in money raised for others, I’d get this car.”
He whistled in admiration. “To say I’m impressed is an understatement. Both with the sale, but also with what you’ve raised.”
“Thank you. Though that’s not all from my pocket. I do give a lot to every cause I raise money for, but my bigger job is simply asking others to open their wallets. I’m lucky to know many generous people I can call on,” she added, as if that somehow lessened the accomplishment.
He tapped her knee lightly with his fingertips. “And you convinced them to part with their money for a good cause. It’s amazing, however you slice it. Why did you decide to go into philanthropy?”
She reached for her glass and took a long drink. “Because I could.”
He brushed his fingers along her thigh, loving the simplicity of her answer. She’d chosen to do good because she was in the rare position of being able to. She could have done anything with her time, her money, and her access, and she’d opted to donate the hours in her day to help others. The choice was a deliberate one, and it said so much about her, in his view, that she’d picked this particular path. “Beautiful answer. I love that. I respect that. Did you ever think about starting another company? So many other entrepreneurs launch additional businesses.”
“I had no interest in being a serial entrepreneur,” she said, shaking her head. “I know I’m lucky to have had the successful run I had with my company—to start it when I did and sell it when I did. And now I’m lucky enough to use all my business skills to help with things that matter more in the world. I’ve raised money for animal charities, for sick children, for cancer research, for kids in need, for troubled kids, and so on. I’d much rather devote my time to doing that.” Then added, almost apologetically, “Even if it can be just as much work and take just as much management as running my own company.”
“I hear you on that. It must be consuming at times. Everyone needing and wanting things,” he said, flashing back to the gala and the way the two ladies there practically hunted Sophie down to make their own cases for the children’s wing.
“That’s true. Which is why it’ll be all the more fun to go for a joyride in my new car,” she said with a glint in her eye.
Though Ryan could jet off to Europe with her and hole up in a five-star resort on his dime, she could do all those things for herself, too, and then some. Ryan did well for himself, but he wasn’t in a position to drop that kind of cash on a car, and she was. Perhaps for the first time he was keenly aware that while he was successful, Sophie was in another class. It didn’t annoy him and didn’t make him feel any less of a man. But he wanted to make sure she was fine with everything. “There’s not much I can give you materially that you can’t get on your own,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Does that bother you?”
She laughed loudly. “Not in the least,” she said then reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. Her smile was gentle and tender. “You don’t have to shower me with expensive gifts. You don’t have to give me presents at all if you don’t want to. I loved the peach tulips, and the pinot grigio, and I am in some kind of mad love with the dress you had your sister track down for me. It’s beautiful, and it’s perfect for me, and I didn’t have one like it, and I’ve been coveting one. So thank you,” she said with a squeeze of his hand, then added softly, “Besides, the things I want from you don’t cost money.”
He tensed for a moment, shoulders tightening and chest burning. He wasn’t ready to have a more serious talk about commitment. Letting her in and talking more was all he could handle. “Such as?”
She took her time answering, trailing her fingers along his bare arm. “What I want is for you to take me for a ride in my new car someday.”
A groan rumbled through his chest, escaping his lips. My God, she was so fucking giving. He’d struck gold when he met her. She was precious and rare. “Pretty sure I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”
“So that means you’d like to get behind the wheel?”
“There’s only one thing I want to do in that car more than drive it,” he said in a low voice, raking his eyes over her gorgeous figure.
She tapped her index finger against her lips and peered skyward. “Hmmm. You mean you want to see how far back the passenger seat goes?”
“Exactly. That’s exactly the kind of test drive I want to give you in your new car.”