I look up at her. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re going to regret coming to dinner with me or if you’ll give me a second chance.”
Her lips part slightly. “That’s what you’re worried about? Another date after this one?”
I shrug, pretending it’s casual. Pretending I’m not tracking the Romero like a loaded gun.
Dallen leans forward, voice lowering. “Stephen, I’m a grown woman. I don’t do regrets because I had a good time with someone.”
My chest tightens for a completely different reason. “And our time together?” I ask quietly. “Was it a good time?”
Her gaze drops to my mouth. “Our night was…more than a good time.”
Heat curls low in my stomach, sharp and immediate.
Across the room, the Romero stands. My spine goes rigid.
He turns slightly, scanning the dining room now—slow, deliberate. His eyes pass over tables. Over faces. I keep my expression smooth, but inside, I’m already moving pieces on the board. Out of my peripheral vision, I see Dallen’s gaze follow my line of sight, landing on the bar, then back to me.
“Is someone bothering you?” she asks, and there’s steel in her voice now. Protective. Concern.
I swallow. If I tell her, I drag her into my world. If I don’t tell her, I’m lying by omission—and I’m starting to realize she’s the kind of woman who won’t tolerate that for long. The Romero’s gaze flicks in our direction for half a second and it’s enough.
He knows I’m here.
I reach across the table, covering Dallen’s hand with mine. “Finish what you were saying,” I say softly, forcing a smile that I know doesn’t reach my eyes. “Tell me how you got into law.”
Dallen stares at me, unconvinced, but she doesn’t pull away. “Stephen?—”
“Please,” I murmur, my thumb stroking the side of her hand like a promise and a warning all at once. “Just…tell me.”
She watches me for another beat, then nods slowly, as if filing this moment away for later discussion. “Okay,” she says, voice careful. “Well, it starts with my dad…”
And I listen. I really do. I listen to her words, the cadence of her voice, the way she lights up when she talks about something she believes in. But I also watch the Romero out of the corner of my eye, my body tight with the knowledge that dinner in Manhattan just turned into something else entirely. Something with stakes. Something I’ll have to tell Lucien about and our brothers.
Somewhere near the kitchen doors, a server drops a fork, the sharp clink cutting briefly through the soft murmur of the dining room.
And I don’t know yet whether Dallen is going to be the safest thing I’ve ever wanted—or the most dangerous.
EIGHT
DALLEN
“So that’swhy I’m a lawyer and a very good one. Now,” I stop talking about myself, wanting to know more about this mysterious man whom I can’t stop thinking about. “Tell me what you do?”
“I’m in real estate.” His eyes dart yet again to something behind me. I lean back in my chair, pretending to adjust my seat before I turn to look at what’s capturing his attention. Nothing at the bar or the restaurant looks out of place. There are people sitting at the bar drinking and talking, no doubt waiting for their tables to be ready, and those already dining.
What the hell is distracting him?
Maybe he isn’t as interested in me as I think he is.
I don’t say anything, merely watch him watch something else, and don’t ask anything more. I pick up my wine and finish it. Maybe I should leave. Maybe one-night stands that start off hot and heavy are as baseless as I fear they are.
Maybe he isn’t one of the nice guys.
Maybe there isn’t anything here except chemistry, because whether he’s ignoring me or not, distracted for some unknownreason, he’s hot as hell. And I still can’t get the orgasm he gave me—the first not brought on by myself—out of my head.
Still, that’s no basis to keep seeing someone. To date them just because they’re good in bed will never work out.
“Have you sold much?” I ask, attempting one last time to get his attention back.
