I inhale sharply. “Two. No flirting.”
His brows rise. “Impossible.”
“Jaxon..."
“Ruby,” he says, lowering his voice, “I’m not going to pretend I don’t want you.”
My breath catches.
“But I’ll behave,” he finishes.
I look at him suspiciously. “Behave how?”
“I won’t touch you unless you ask.”
My thighs clench so fast I think I sprain something.
He notices.
Of course he does.
I snap my menu open like a shield. “Let’s just… order food.”
He smirks but lets it go. “Fine.”
We order. We eat. We talk.
And it’s… nice. Too nice. DANGEROUSLY nice.
He tells me about his early business disasters. I tell him about my first terrible article that got me hate mail from cat owners. He laughs. I smile. We forget to pretend.
Halfway through dessert, he looks at me with that deep, steady intensity that makes my pulse trip.
“Ruby,” he says softly. “I meant what I said earlier.”
“You say a lot of things,” I murmur.
“This one matters.”
His hand slides across the table, not touching me, just close enough that the space between us feels charged.
“One night wasn’t enough,” he says.
My chest tightens.
“Jaxon…”
He doesn’t look away.
“I’m not asking for yes tonight,” he says. “Just don’t walk away again.”
I swallow hard. “I’m trying to protect my job.”
“I’ll protect your job.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is for me.”
