Gideon fills the doorframe when I open it. He’s all warm eyes and wicked grin, dress shirt rolled to his elbows, the edge of a tattoo peeking where his forearm flexes. His hair’s dark ash brown, swept back but stubbornly tousled, and there’s a streak of silver near his temple that makes him look older in the best way—seasoned, not soft. The scruff along his jaw is days old, rough and perfectly unbothered, framing a mouth that curves like it’s used to both smirking and sinning.
His eyes are storm-gray, and he looks at me like he’s already memorizing me; every line, every curve, as if he’s trying to figure out how I’ll feel once he finally has both hands on me tonight.
“Green,” he says, low. “You know what that color does to me.”
“I wanted to behave tonight,” I tell him, stepping out so he can look his fill. “Consider this a warning label.”
He laughs and takes my coat from the hook like it’s his job. “Put it on before I forget the dinner part.”
We walk down to his car, a sleek thing that purrs more than it drives. He opens my door. His palm finds the small of my back as I slide in. That touch is a switch. I push my dominant side to the back where it belongs with him. I let the bratty, soft part of me step forward and stretch her legs.
The city glows in strips of neon and shadow. I watch the lights run across his knuckles on the steering wheel. He smells like peppermint and clean soap and something darker at the edges.
“Long day?” he asks.
“Normal busy.” I look out the window as we stop at a red light. “How was your world of contracts and million-dollar kitchens?”
He smirks. “I got into a bidding war over a penthouse. The usual ego parade.”
“Who won?”
He glances at me as the light changes. “I did. Always do.”
That’s Gideon. Confident without apology. He was like that the first night I met him at Velvet House, a man who knows what he wants, who doesn’t flinch when he sees a woman who might bite back.
When we pull up to Soy & Sea, the valet’s already waiting. The sign glows soft gold against black glass, modern and polished. Inside, the restaurant smells like warm rice and citrus and the faintest touch of wasabi.
We follow the hostess, her posture’s perfect and her black hair is pulled into a sleek bun, to a small corner booth tucked behind a bamboo divider. Gideon’s hand brushes my lower back as I slide into the seat. He sits across from me, unhurried and completely at ease, one arm draped over the back of the booth.
Menus appear, smooth black leather with gold lettering, and before we can open them a waitress steps up beside the table.She’s petite, with sharp eyeliner and a polite smile that never quite reaches her eyes.
“Good evening,” she says, her tone practiced but pleasant. “Welcome to Soy & Sea. My name’s Aiko, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
Gideon doesn’t even look at the menu. “Old Fashioned,” he says. “Extra orange peel.”
She nods and turns to me. “And for you?”
I glance at the cocktail list, all fancy descriptions, before tapping one at random. “The Sundown Kiss,” I say, mostly because the name makes me smile.
“Excellent choice.” Her pen scratches softly against the pad. “I’ll get these started for you.”
She walks away, disappearing into the glow of the bar, and I exhale a breath.
When she returns, the drinks are exactly as promised; his amber and smooth with a curl of citrus, mine pale pink with sugared edges and a slice of lime perched on the rim.
Gideon watches me take the first sip. “Good?”
“Dangerously,” I say.
He grins. “My favorite kind of thing.”
We skim the menu together, trading comments and pointing out things that sound good. He picks first, tapping his finger beside the Dragon’s Breath Roll and the Black Samurai—one built with spicy tuna and jalapeño heat, the other with dark rice, truffle aioli, and seared peppered tuna. Both sound like him: bold, sharp, a little indulgent.
“Figures,” I say. “You’d pick the ones that look like it will burn.”
He grins. “And you’ll pick the ones that look sweet but bite you later.”
He’s not wrong. I settle on a Snow Blossom—shrimp tempura with avocado and lemon, and a simple salmon roll because Ialways need at least one classic. “And the Kani salad,” I tell Aiko when she returns, setting my menu down.
