I hesitated, suddenly shy, which was ridiculous. His stare had me feeling exposed and wanted at the same time, like he saw more than I meant to show.
I slipped the coat off my shoulders. He took it from me, hung it carefully on the rack by the door, then stepped back to look at me again. He licked his lips, and my nipples hardened.
“Jesus,” he breathed. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
“Don’t be a creep, DaVinci.”
“You been tryna hide this fine ass body from me.” He moved closer, and that familiar scent reached me first. I’d been smelling it in the car, mixed with whatever was cooking in the back.
He placed his hand on my lower back, not asking but guiding me into the main dining room. His palm was warm through the thin fabric of my dress, and I was acutely aware of every point of contact.
Inside, Ignite was transformed. Candles everywhere. Soft music I couldn’t quite place. One table in the center of the room was set like something out of a movie.
“You did all this?” I asked.
“I had some help with the setup. But the idea? That was all me.” He pulled out my chair and waited for me to sit. Instead of moving away, he leaned down, hands on the armrests, boxing me in. His mouth was close to my ear. “I’ve been thinking about tonight for days. About you. Here. With me.”
My whole system glitched for a second.
“Everything cool?” he asked, still right there.
“Yeah.”
“You sure? Because you look a little nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
Some part of me knew this was fast. Wild-fast. And if this was anybody else, I would’ve pumped brakes so hard they would’ve heard it in the parking lot. But there was something about him, something familiar and steady under all that intensity. Like we were skipping steps I should’ve cared about… but didn’t.
“You lying to me already?” He straightened up, but not before his fingers brushed the back of my neck. “It’s just me, Angel. Relax.”
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one trying not to combust.
He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with two bottles of wine. He set a glass in front of me, then sat across the table.
“To first dates,” he said, raising his glass.
“And taking chances,” I countered, clinking mine against his.
The wine was so good. Smooth. I took another sip and watched him do the same. I watched his throat work when he swallowed. Watched his hand wrap around the glass stem—big hands, capable hands, hands I kept thinking about in contexts that had nothing to do with dinner.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
“You already said that.”
“I know. I’m saying it again.” He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. “That dress is something else, Lo.”
And new nickname. He had so many for me, I’d probably never answer to Halo again.
“Good or bad?”
His eyes held mine. “Both, stop playing. It’s making it hard to focus on being a gentleman.”
“Who asked you to be a gentleman?”
Something flickered across his face, surprise, heat, amusement. “You playing with me right now?”
“No. I’m just saying, I didn’t come here for a gentleman. I came here for you.”
