“What the fuck, Xander? You know each other?” Ed’s eyes dart between me and Xander.
I should say something. But, as horrible as it is, this is the most enjoyable part of the evening thus far.
Both men stare at me with their eyebrows raised. God, I just want to send them both away and enjoy my pasta.
But the good-girl syndrome kicks in. “Stop threatening my date.” I sigh, glaring at Xander.
Xander snorts. “I wouldn’t need to if he finally fucked off.”
“Cora?” Ed croaks.
Is this man seriously asking me to defend him? Xander’s behavior is abhorrent, but grow some balls, Ed, for fuck’s sake.
When I say nothing, he repeats. “Cora?”
“Dude, read the room,” Xander scoffs. “And if I find you anywhere near her again, you will have bigger problems than lost dignity. Lost clients and broken bones come to mind.”
“You’re out of your mind.” Ed snatches his jacket and, without looking back, storms out of the restaurant.
Xander’s warning scores big time with me, and I’m not even questioning my sanity anymore. I really don’t want to picture how he would deliver on that threat.
Fuck his tactics, though. He saved me from a dreadful evening.
If I find you anywhere near her again… That was hot. And disturbing.
Xander turns to me, sporting his cocky grin. He takes Ed’s seat and gestures for the waiter who almost trips, trying to reach us as quickly as possible.
“Mr. Stone.” He bows.
And, of course, he knows him by name. I don’t even try not to roll my eyes.
Xander grips the Sauvignon bottle and takes it out of the ice bucket. “Take this back, and bring us your best Zinfandel.”
“Of course.” The waiter scurries away.
I wish the whole caveman routine, softened by his wine order, wouldn’t send a kaleidoscope of butterflies amok in my stomach.
“Where were we?” Xander smiles at me. And this time, it’s not the cocky smirk. It’s a genuine smile. I think.
“There is nowehere.Iwas on a date, andyouruined it for me.” I should thank him, but his ego is big enough already.
“You look beautiful.”
He takes my hand and brushes my knuckles with his lips. It happens so fast, I don’t get to snatch my hand back.
Also, I don’t want to. The feather-like touch reverberates through me with a need I really don’t want to feel.
“What are you doing?” I croak, finally yanking my hand from his, clasping it to my chest as if it were injured because he touched it. Or precious. I can’t decide.
This man is good at many things, but he excels at stirring conflicting feelings in me.
“Trying to salvage your date night.” He pushes Ed’s unfinished plate to the side with his index finger.
“Well, your heroic attempt isn’t appreciated.”
It’s exhausting how much I fight this attraction. At this point, it’s hard to remember why.
“Really? I’ve been sitting at the bar for the past twenty minutes, and I would bet my kidney you were looking for a reason to bolt.”
