It’s more than nice, and her awed expression proves it. Pride warms my chest. I love being the one to pull that reaction from her.
I round the car and settle into the low seat, the leather mixing with her sweet scent in a heady combination.
Buckling herself in, she gets comfortable, and I press the start button. Hundreds of horsepower vibrate beneath us, eliciting a giggle from her. The divine sound resounds through me, pounding through my insides with new life force. Making this woman happy has always been a compulsion driving me.
I am still debating whether this moment is real or a figment of my imagination. After so long without her, it wouldn’t surprise me if I lost my mind. I don’t care either way, as long as I have her in any form, shape, or dimension there is.
“How was the meeting?” she asks, sounding genuinely interested.
That’s a good sign, right? She has me in knots.
“There’s an issue I have to take care of.”
“We can postpone our date. Work is important.”
I glance at her so she can see how earnest I am. “Nothing is more important than the time we spend together.”
A contrite look contorts her face, and she fidgets with her fingers, torn between giving in and putting distance between us. This is not taking it slow, but it’s still pure torture.
“I can’t read you. It’s uncanny. Dangerous too.”
“You can read me all right. You simply don’t know what to make of the knowledge.”
She looks out the window, seeming deep in thought. “Is your world always this black and white?”
“There is something, or there isn’t.”
“Quite simplistic.”
I wave a hand through the air before raking it through my hair. “All those shades of gray make it confusing.”
“Life is all about shades.”
“Not in mine.”
The drive passes too fast for my liking, and we soon reach the restaurant. It’s the best in town, booked months in advance, but because I funded the chef, I get a table without a reservation.
Inside, the maître d’ recognizes me and rushes to bring us to a secluded table that has the best view.
“Wow,” she says, taking in the exotic setting. It’s as humid as the Amazon, and the calls of indigenous birds and animals fill the air. An artificial waterfall cascades to her right, the dim light enhancing the experience.
I knew she would like it, but getting the confirmation puts me at ease.
The server comes immediately. “The chef wishes to prepare a special menu for you, if that’s all right.”
I wait for her to answer, and her eyes spark at the prospect. “That would be lovely.”
He presents me with a bottle of red wine, and I gesture for him to pour us the Chateau Petrus.
Bowing his head slightly, he fills our glasses and leaves.
While she sweeps her gaze over the restaurant, I can’t take my eyes off her.
Sipping from her glass, she says, “I could get used to living in Chicago.”
“Wait until you taste the pizza.”
“I love pizza,” she says, and it might as well be a fist thrown straight at my chest and sucker-punching my heart.
