My hair is down tonight, so I reach up and push a stray lock behind my ear as I chew, then pull the rest back slowly over my shoulder to expose my neck. The dress doesn’t allow me to show much skin, but this is the one place I can entice his gaze. I arch my head to the side to display the column of my neck and gently run my fingers down the side as I pretend to think some more.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I suppose I’d try to draw your eyes somewhere you might want to put your mouth.”
I glance at Ash to see him sitting very still, his mouth parted, his eyes fixed on my neck.
“What about you?” I ask. “What would you do on a date to let a woman know you were interested?”
Ash drags his eyes away from my neck and smiles, realizing what I did. He puts his fork down and leans back in his chair. He crosses his arms over his chest, and his biceps bulge against the fabric of his jacket as he thinks.
“Me personally?” he says after a few seconds. “I’d find ways to touch her whenever possible. Like, I’d put my hand at the small of her back when we walk. Graze her shoulder when I pass by. ‘Accidentally’ grab the bottle of wine at the same time she does so our fingers touch.”
I stare at him, and I swear my heart trips over itself. He’s done all those things tonight, and now my mind reels with the question of whether all that was just for show as I’d assumed, or whether Ash really is trying to tell me he’s interested.
No, don’t be ridiculous, I chide myself. Fake dating needs to look convincing or it doesn’t work. I can’t let myself think the charade is real.
“So let’s say the thing with your neck got the guy’s attention,” Ash says, spearing a piece of steak with his fork. “What’s your next move?”
I shake myself back to reality and consider a moment. Honestly, I’m not much of a flirt, so my arsenal isn’t big. I might find a way to draw a man’s attention to my cleavage if I were wearing a different dress, but this one has too high a neckline. It doesn’t matter, though. Ash and I are playing a game, so my next move can be something out-of-character. If he can pretend, then so can I.
I slip off my shoe on the side of the table facing the windows. The tablecloth is long enough so no one should be able to see what I’m doing unless they’re looking for it, and I find Ash’s ankle under the table with my toes. His legs are long, so he’s easy to reach, and I run the top of myfoot up the inside of his calf outside his pants.
Ash’s knife screeches across his plate loudly, and my foot stops as he looks around and mumbles an apology to diners nearby. Thankfully, the tables are spaced relatively far apart in this area of the restaurant.
When the attention is off us again, I move my foot higher. I reach his knee, then push my luck and start to slide my toes along the inside of his thigh. His eyes flare, and I’m about to smile and withdraw my foot when he reaches under the table and grabs my ankle. I jolt in surprise, and my gaze locks with his.
“I’m not sure doing something like that is a good idea,” he says, his voice taking on a huskiness that makes my stomach flutter.
“Why not?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
Ash’s thumb caresses back and forth against the inside of my ankle, and it’s all I can do not to whimper audibly.
“Well, if a woman ran her foot up my leg like that for real,” he says in a low voice, still gripping my ankle, “I might just snap and haul her into my lap, hike up her dress, and finger fuck her pussy until she screamed her orgasm in the middle of a Michelin Star restaurant.”
My jaw drops open, and Ash grins enough that his dimples appear.
“That seems like an extreme reaction to some teasing,” I say hoarsely, but, God help me, I can’t help picturing Ash doing it.
Ash shrugs. “I suppose it depends. If it was a woman I already spend half the daydreaming about fucking, maybe a little teasing like that would send me over the edge.”
My mouth works, trying to form words, but I have no idea what to say. My brain tries to convince me he’s still speaking in hypotheticals, but I know he’s not. The realization Ash Gunnarsson might actually want me has caused a complete system shutdown.
“I…,” I start to say but can’t get any farther.
“Are you ticklish?” Ash asks suddenly, and his other hand moves under the table to tickle the underside of my foot.
It takes all my self-control not to scream, but I jerk my foot soviolently that my knee hits the underside of the table with a loud thud, and everything on it jumps. Mercifully, the wine glasses stay standing.
Once again, the eyes of a few diners swing our way, but Ash stops tickling me, and we both sit perfectly still until they look away again.
Finally, Ash lets go of my ankle, and I slip it back into my shoe.
“I…hate being tickled,” I say quietly.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, and I feel bad for saying anything.
God dammit. I need help here.
“I’ll be right back. I need to run to the ladies’ room,” I say as I rise from my seat and grab my clutch.
