“Why?” The word escapes my mouth before I can stop it.
“Because I want to get to know you.”
“Why?” Great. Now I’m a human echo chamber.
“Because I like you, and something tells me I’ll like you even more once I get to know you.” His smile is blinding, especially his panty-wetting dimples.
“I’m forty-two.” It’s time to thwart his lunacy.
He doesn’t even flinch. His gaze stays on me, darkening with something I can’t name. Something that seems dangerous and thrilling all at once.
I’m wildly flattered by his attention and won’t soon forget it. I’ll pull this moment out when I need an ego boost or some inspiration for my spank bank, but he’s way too young.
The silence stretches.
Any minute now, I expect him to laugh, to back away, to remember his sanity. But he doesn’t.
Is he grappling for a kind way to escape?
“Oh…kay.” His mouth twitches, amused.
I wait for more, prepare for his hasty escape, but nothing.
Silence ensues. And clearly, he isn’t bothered by this strange stillness. He continues to smile.
When is he going to realize this iscrazy and walk away?
Our stare-off lingers in awkward silence or at least it feels so to me. His sexy grin widens and I can’t help myself. He’s mouthwatering.
The man hasn’t said any more since his vague drawn-out response and yet, I cross my arms, if only for some kind of protection. His silent persistence is getting to me.
Like our shared glances at his restaurant, I’m the first to crumble. “And you are…?”
He cocks a brow, feigning confusion as if he doesn’t know what I’m getting at. “I’m what?”
“How old are you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think so.” His grin widens, teasing as he slides a hand in his pant pocket. So casual and laid-back.
I narrow my gaze. He’s impossible.
“I tell you what.” He leans in closer, voice dropping. “Go out with me, and when we’re out, I’ll tell you how old I am.”
“Seriously?” I can’t help it and laugh, a mixture of tickled by his interest and irritated by his determination. “You know I could Google you, right? Sam Beaulieu, Mr. Hotshot Chef.”
He laughs softly. “I’m sure you could, but where’s the fun in that? Go to dinner with me tomorrow night? Please.”
His dimples flash again, and my knees along with my resolve give way. Heat coils low in my belly, my thighs clenching before I can stop them.
“Coffee.” Why didn’t I say no?
Now I’m bargaining?
What the hell, Olivia?
