I square my shoulders and walk downstairs.
I don’t know what to expect when I go downstairs, but I definitely don’t expect to see Cavin McCarthy sitting in one of the camel-colored chairs in my living room, having a drink with my father.
Oh my god. Why can’t he be outside, waiting in the car, so I can just run out to him? I don’t want to prolong this torture.
Cavin rises when I enter the room. And again, I think:gentleman. His mama raised him well.
“Erin,” Cavin says with a bow, and his eyes linger on me a second too long. He takes it all in—my dress, my makeup. “You look…” He clears his throat. “You look gorgeous.”
And it may be the first honest thing he’s ever said to me.
Will I ever be able to look at my future husband again and not remember the Dom in his sex club, the man who ruled that dark world, the lion in his lair? Because even now, with that look in his eyes—appreciative, a little stunned—I can feel his hand around my neck again.
And a part of me thinks, for one crazy, wild moment, that when his eyes meet mine, he’s thinking of that too.
“Thank you,” he says politely to my father. “That’s excellent whiskey.”
“I’ll have a case sent to you,” my father says with a nod. I’ll hand it to my dad—he knows how to play the part well.
“I’d appreciate that,” Cavin says with a loud, firm slap of hands and a handshake. And then we’re headed to the door, and he’s opening it for me. I have a little shawl draped over my elbow because Bridget told me to, and it all feels surreal. Why am I looking forward to going on a date with a man I hate?
His car is absolutely gorgeous. It smells like leather and luxury, it’s spacious, and it’s immaculately clean.
“This car is gorgeous,” I tell him.
“Thank you,” he says. “It’s a loaner.”
“Oh, right. What happened the other night?”
“We don’t know yet.”
There’s a pause, and I wonder if he thinks it’s awkward. What exactly qualifies as an awkward pause? Three seconds? Five? Is there a scientific measurement? How do people know these things?
“Well, it’s a very nice car for my first date.” I instantly press my lips together.Whydid I just confess to that?
He shrugs. “Aye. What do you mean?”
“I mean, well, you know, it’s my first date. I might as well go in style.”
“Your first date with me,” he asks quietly, “or your first date, period?”
Oh no. Was I not supposed to tell him that? I bite my lip and look out the window. It’s probably unusual for someone who’s twenty-six years old to be on her first date, but I’ve never wanted to date before.
“Um, no, just… just first date in general.”
“Alright. No pressure or anything,” he says with a smile that’s almost boyish. “Though I’m honored to be your first.”
He can’t look at me that way. When he looks at me that way, I forget that I’m supposed to hate him.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Bridget
How are you doing?
I text her back. We text for a few minutes, and Cavin gives me a side glance. I realize this is probably rude and put the phone down in my lap.
“Erin, tell me a little bit about yourself,” he says quietly.
