“I don’t think so. It’s too early.”
“Indulge me?” His smile was sweet, nothing mischievous.
Other than an occasional glass of wine, I wasn’t much of a drinker yet recalling Shay’s threat, I figured the wine would relax me. “Okay.”
After the waiter left, Shay glanced around. “Why did the maître d' call you Miss Logan?” Of course, he’d noticed.
“After I arrived here, I took Dad’s first name as my last, creating a new life for myself and Griffin.”
“You didn’t want any link to your past?” I heard the pain in his voice, saw the ache in his eyes. I swallowed and he blinked, changing the topic. “You manage this entire place, I mean all four floors?”
“Why? Do you think I’m incapable?” Indignation stiffened my shoulders, and I straightened in my seat.
“No.” He reached for my hand, sliding his fingers into mine. I tried to pull back, but his grip tightened. “I’m impressed, Blue. How do you cope? This is an extremely big place.” Okay, why did he rankle me so much that I was hard of hearing when it came to his compliments. His admiration appeared genuine.
“I manage.” I shrugged trying not to notice how his thumb stroked the inside of my wrist. Or how my body came alive at his touch. Or how my panties felt distractingly wet.
Thankfully the waiter arrived with a bottle of wine, and as soon as he poured, I downed my entire glass. When I held it out for another, familiar with my non-drinking habit, the waiter gave me a quizzical look. I narrowed my eyes and he tipped the bottle, giving me my refill. I glanced at Shay and his brow shot up, his laugh soft. Without thought, I wrinkled my nose at him, and polished off the second one.
Another laugh, huskier this time, drew my gaze. “Do I intimidate you that much, baby?”
“What makes you think you do?” I felt my body relaxing, warmth courtesy of the wine rolled through my body.
He tipped his chin at the wine glass. “For someone who didn’t want to drink. Two in two seconds?”
I didn’t recognize the laugh slipping past my lips. “Maybe it helps me relax around you.”
The waiter appearing with our food prevented him from replying. “So, how did you become the manager of this shopping mall?” he asked after we’d taken a few bites in silence.
Against my better judgement, not to, I sipped half my wine and I dabbed my lips. “When the managerial position became available, I was already considered a star sales assistant and our team leader coaxed me to apply. As part of the job requirement, the three applicants had to come up with an idea for this space.” I waved a hand in the air, motioning to the restaurant. “It was empty then. I wouldn’t call this a shopping mall rather a center since it isn’t that huge. Being the only one for miles, it can get pretty busy. As a sales assistant, I’d seen plenty men grumble while their wives shopped. So, my idea was to turn this empty floor into a combined classy restaurant with a burger and milkshake bar.” I pointed to the far right where the black and white décor with an artistic flare morphed into a light pink and white casual set up. “Caters for all types of shoppers. I did a lot of research, built a model of what I thought would work and here I sit as the manager for the last three years.”
“Wow, well done,” he lavished me with a sweet smile.
Warmth trickled through me. “Hard work pays off, I guess.”
He nodded then sat back in his seat and the sudden intensity of his gaze left me reeling for a minute. “You and Caleb? Any plans to make it a permanent thing?” I choked on my drink. After I came down from my coughing fit, he reached forward and wiped the tears from my cheeks. “What’s wrong, Blue, did I say something wrong?” One corner of his lips kicked up in a knowing smile, like he was on to my secret.
“Can you really define permanency?” I asked, my smile cheeky. He didn’t answer.
The band’s tempo changed, and a woman stepped up on the small stage and when she began singing the soft strains ofA Thousand Yearsby Christina Perri, Shay held out his hand. “Dance with me.”
I didn’t do tipsy well and instead of declining, I slid my hand into his and allowed him to lead me onto the dance floor, empty apart from an older and by the looks of things, a still very much in love couple. He pulled me into his arms and began swaying us.
Whether it was the wine or sheer virility of his body under my touch, I found myself reacting to him, wanting more than just a dance. I had to distract myself. “Does it hurt?” I asked, noticing his slight limp.
“Hurt?”
“Your leg.”
He shrugged. “Some days. I’ve learned to live with it, though.”
“Was it the only injury?”
“Nightmares. They can get real heavy at times.”
“What are they about?”
He looked down at me, his eyes saying a thousand words, yet his mouth merely smiled. I gathered he didn’t want to talk about it.
