The familiar artistic urge to drink in the vista tugs at my heart like a cord toward the railing that surrounds the rooftop, but my hand might as well be glued to Dane’s arm. I can’t bring myself to put distance between us, not after that magnetic interaction in the elevator.
A reckless, giddy thrill thrums through my system. The strange high should be slightly alarming, but it’s too addictive for me to question it.
We reach the bar, and Dane summons the bartender with a single nod. The gesture is almost imperious, but the air of authority suits him.
I’m so caught up in his commanding bearing that I don’t immediately protest when he orders an old fashioned and a glass of champagne. It’s not until the crystal flute is placed in front of me that I realize he’s ordered for me.
I shoot him a small frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was going to order something different.”
I can’t afford champagne, but I’m too embarrassed to admit it. I intend to pay for my own drinks, but this means I can only have a single glass of bubbly on my meager budget.
A dark brow lifts. “Oh? Don’t you like champagne?”
I shrug as nonchalantly as I can manage. “I had planned to order a strawberry daiquiri.”
He huffs a laugh, and the rich sound surrounds me like I’m being submersed in warm honey. “Why am I not surprised? I should have known you’d want something sugary.”
I tilt my chin at him, puzzled. “And how would you know something like that?”
His half-smile is a touch indulgent. “Those badges you wear on your apron,” he explains. “I particularly like the happy donut.”
I release a small laugh of my own—a shy, girlish giggle I’ve never heard issue from my own throat before.
“I didn’t realize you pay so much attention to my pins.”
“I want to know you.” He gestures at the glass of champagne. “Leave that. I’ll order a daiquiri for you instead.”
“That’s okay.” I say quickly. I definitely can’t afford to waste the precious bubbly. “I like champagne.”
His expression firms to something slightly stern. “I’ll get whatever you want, Abigail.”
I meet him with my own steady stare, standing my ground. “I want the champagne. You don’t have to order for me.”
“What if I like ordering for you?” he replies with a small smirk that makes my belly flip. “What if I want to take care of you?”
There’s a teasing edge to his questions, but his smoldering gaze is pure temptation.
I sway toward him for half a heartbeat, drawn in despite my independent sensibilities.
I find the willpower to pick up the champagne flute and tip my glass at him in a sardonic toast. My heart is fluttering, and my fingers tingle against the cool crystal. My entire body feels alive in a way I’ve never experienced before.
“Thank you, but I can take care of myself. I’m happy with the champagne.”
His eyes spark, and his nostrils flare slightly—like a predator that’s caught the scent of its prey.
A giddy high floods my veins, and my arm practically floats upward as I lift the flute with a teasing smile of my own.
“Cheers.” I clink my glass against his.
His smirk sharpens to a grin that’s almost feral, and he silently lifts his own drink. It’s not a capitulation; he’s indulging me. I’m not the only one caught up in this wild energy.
“Come on.” His hand abruptly engulfs mine, and he tugs me away from the bar. “You’ll want to watch the sun set.”
I lift a brow at his imperious tone, but my insides are molten. I don’t mind his highhanded manner one bit, and he’s absolutely right: I would love to watch the sun set with him.
