???
I could do this. My long hair was in curls, my make-up was applied to make my eyes pop with a touch of glossy balm on my lips. I frowned at the thought of my mangled bush. After setting up a mirror on the toilet seat and a wall for support, I think I did a good job of making it look like Chucky’s hair.
I loved my simple black dress with the gold belt resting just above Ellis. A few accessories and a tiny mist of perfume, and I was ready. This was it—the first real date since…well, since the stick turned pink.
“Okay, Ellis. Mummy can do this,” I told him, patting my stomach, unsure if I was reassuring him or myself.
The bear was judging me as well. His eyes seemed to follow me around the room like a creepy portrait.
I needed him to come out safe and sound, but I would miss carrying him around with me like a kangaroo in my pouch. The buzzer blasted through the apartment, and I grabbed my bag before slipping my designer loafers on. Screw heels, I wanted to walk on the pavement not end up sprawled on it.
The grey suit clung to his shoulders like it was painted on, the white shirt beneath unbuttoned just enough to reveal a triangle of golden skin. My mouth went dry at the hollow of his throat, at the dark stubble shading his jaw. If I reached up on my toes, I could even kiss his sexy stubbled—
“Do I pass your inspection?” The deep voice rumbled between my legs.
No. That was my hormones and celibacy echoing back. The voice came from him.
Heat flooded my cheeks. I'd been staring like a creep. I glanced up sheepishly to see the amusement twinkling in his blue eyes.
“Maybe if you lost a few more buttons on your shirt,” I said with a grin, deciding to go all out.
Elliot's smile didn't widen, but it changed. The amused glint in his blue eyes sharpened into something predatory.
“The night is young, Ms. Hutton.” His gaze dragged over me like a physical touch, lingering where the gold belt accentuated my waist. “Shall we?”
When he offered his arm, I gripped and slammed my door shut harder than I’d meant to.
Elliot's arm tensed beneath my grip as we descended the stairs. “Nervous?”
“Just out of practice,” I said. His pulse jumped where our skin touched—fast and eager.
“You and me both.” He guided me toward the exit, his palm hovering near the small of my back.
I glanced at him. With that face, that car, those hands, he could’ve had anyone. So why me?
“What age are you, Elliot?” I asked curiously.
“Forty-two,” he said, opening the door for me.
Had I been missing out by dating younger men?
Elliot’s manners were old-fashioned, but I loved his care and consideration.
“Am I too old for you?” he asked when I remained silent.
The Bentley’s lights flashed, glinting off his wedding-band tan line. For a second, his eyes weren’t amused but just empty.
“Not at all, Elliot,” I said, sliding into the leather seat. “I was thinking that I should've dated older men.”
His smile unfurled, slow and satisfied. Then his fingers grazed my calf as he tucked my skirt inside, shy of lingering. This was a man who knew how to wait for what he wanted.
And God help me, I wanted him back.
???
The night was magical, and by the time my spectacular Seville orange dessert came. I was hooked. His lips were moving, but my eyes were on the four shades of orange on my porcelain plate. We drove forty minutes to reach the fine dining establishment, but it was worth it.
Then his hand darted out, commandeering my spoon.
