Because all my plans of telling him this date is off, to go home and leave me to my reality TV because we are never—ever—going to happen fly right out of my head.
“Grab your purse, cookie,” he orders softly.
And I don’t even resist.
I just grab my phone and purse, let him help me into my coat, and I…
Follow him right out the door.
Twenty-Six
Jace
“Right this way,”the hostess murmurs, and I don’t miss the hungry look she tosses my way before she turns and starts leading us to the private table I’d arranged for in the back of Dean’s.
The steakhouse is a city classic—fifty-plus years in the business and reservations are still nearly impossible to get.
Luckily, I know Dean himself.
And he did me a solid, arranging for the table.
I know it’s because he’s a nosy fuck, same as I know that Brooks will likely text me later because I made the mistake of telling him I couldn’t meet up tonight.
And then when he asked why I couldn’t, I’d made a second mistake in telling him the real reason why.
So, now I have two nosy fucks on my case.
And a woman who doesn’t want to be here.
I step forward and take her coat, passing it to the hostess before I tug out her chair.
Flowers and woman, lush curves and silken skin.
She sits and I push it in, unable to resist trailing my fingertips down the bared flesh of her spine revealed by her dress.
I don’t miss her shiver, but I rein myself in before I stroke again, rounding the table, passing off my coat as well, and settling into my own chair.
She’s beautiful, so fucking beautiful it takes my breath away.
And that’s why I don’t realize I’m staring at her, not speaking.
At least until she whispers, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You know why,” I say softly, but the genuine confusion on her face has me adding, “You knew exactly what that dress was going to do to me, cookie.”
Confusion slides away, replaced by mischief.
Fucking beautiful, that.
“See, gorgeous?” I tease, leaning forward and running the backs of my knuckles along the bare skin of her arm, watching the goose bumps appear, seeing the way my touch has her melting.
She may not want anything serious—or cough, anything more than a quick fuck before I walk my ass out the door—but she likes my touch and hasn’t had her fill and so…I’m going to take advantage of that, going to bind her to me, going to make her mine.
And then what happens?
The question is quiet, silky smooth, but with a hidden barbed edge.
Because…then what?
