His attention turns to my work. I’m seized by the sudden urge to step in front of him so that he can’t see my art. For some reason, it feels too deeply personal; I squirm at the prospect that he might critique my paintings. Someone as suave as Dane probably has expensive taste in art, and even though painting is my passion, I’m far from gallery-worthy.
His head cants to the side, considering for a long, agonizing moment.
“I’ll take all of them,” he says with a sweep of his arm to encompass the entire table.
“What?” I ask on a puff of air.
His lips quirk in a devastatingly sexy smirk. “You heard me. I want to buy all of them. And then we can talk about meeting for drinks tonight.”
An ingrained instinct to protect myself tenses my muscles, and I forget all notions about being charmed by his white-knight behavior. “I don’t want your money.”
His jaw firms in response to my swift defiance. “It’s not charity, Abigail. I want to buy your art.”
I’ve offended him, but I won’t bend. “No, thank you.”
I might be struggling to make ends meet, but I will not be indebted to anyone. I’ve learned the hard way how to stand on my own two feet, and I won’t make myself vulnerable to financial manipulation ever again.
It would’ve been one thing if he’d simply asked me on a date. But the qualifier that he wants to buy the privilege makes my stomach churn. What more will he expect of me when he’s bought and paid for my time and gratitude?
“Let me help you,” he says, his tone heavy with something like admonishment, as though I’m being stubborn for no reason.
“No, thank you.” My back goes ramrod straight once again.
His gaze flicks over my squared shoulders, noting my stiff posture. Then his eyes capture mine. They glitter with irritation and something a bit darker that I don’t fully acknowledge. A shiver races through me, but I hold my ground.
Dane blinks, and the disapproving glint vanishes from his eyes. They’re warm with concern again, and his handsome face is fixed in a rueful smile.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he says, his voice resuming his smooth, alluring cadence. “If you’ll forgive me, I’d still like to meet for a drink tonight. I’ll feel better if I can see that you’re okay at the end of the day.”
My mind reels. Did I imagine the darkness lurking behind his eyes when I refused him? He’s so genial now, completely disarming. His six-foot-four frame even seems less imposing, as though he’s making himself less intimidating in order to put me at ease.
I suppose it’s a small mercy, considering how shaken up I am from the robbery. Dane said he’s a doctor. He must have a good bedside manner to adjust his bearing in order to reassure me.
My reaction to his offer to buy my paintings was terse, and he was just trying to help me. I won’t back down and allow himto purchase them, but I am grateful to him for checking on me when I fell.
And he’s still the gorgeous man who comes into my café every morning and greets me with a warm smile.
“A drink sounds nice,” I agree. “Where do you want to meet?”
His grin lights up my world, and I’m breathless for an enraptured moment.
“The Magnolia Hotel at eight. Have you been to their rooftop bar? The views are beautiful at sunset.”
I return his grin, my own smile a bit punch-drunk and giddy. The last few minutes have been an emotional rollercoaster.
“That sounds great,” I reply.
“I’ll see you then,” he says warmly. “I’ll let you get back to your paintings.”
The world around us slides back into focus. Somehow, everything had fallen out of existence during my intense exchange with Dane.
He shoots me one final crooked smile and turns. I watch him saunter away until he disappears into the crowd of tourists that fill the bustling market.
My mind is tumbling through the wild events that’ve unfolded over the last fifteen minutes. I’m so absorbed by excitement for my date with Dane that I don’t pause to worry over the fact that I’ve agreed to go out with a customer from the café.
10
DANE
