Page 45 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

“Why is everyone staring at us?”

“Katie,” he says calmly, “I’m very important in the business world.”

That’s it? That’s the explanation? Michael raises one finger, and a server appears at the table so fast it’s honestly a little alarming.

“Yes, Mr. Amato.”

This is some weird shit.

“Katie, what would you like to drink?” he asks, and the server turns her attention to me.

“Um, orange juice?”

“Same for me,” Michael says, wrapping his fingers loosely around mine. “And you wanted the crepes, right?”

I nod. “Blueberry, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the server says before stepping away.

I watch her go, mildly confused. She’s definitely older than I am. Not just a little older either, and yet she called me ma’am. I glance around the dining room again, very aware that this entire place orbits around the man sitting across from me.

Chapter 16

Michael

Iwatch as Katie bites into her blueberry crepe, and I wish I could say it looks elegant. It absolutely does not.

She’s halfway through her second bite before she realizes I’m staring. Blueberry filling and powdered sugar are now involved in a way that would horrify any respectable brunch guest. I have to fight back the urge to laugh.

“What?” she demands.

She’s looking at me with open disgust. That expression right there—half irritated, half suspicious—is exactly why my brain is suddenly picturing her in my bed with that dress somewhere on my floor.

“Nothing, Doll. You’ve got a little blueberry right here.”

I lean forward with a napkin. She startles at the movement, her body going stiff for a split second before she seems to realize what I’m doing. She relaxes and lets me wipe the smear from the corner of her mouth.

“Thanks,” she mutters, her cheeks turning pink.

Then she glares at me.

“You’re still an ass.”

I lean back in my chair.

“And yet, you’re still here.”

“Free breakfast,” she says, taking another bite.

I laugh loud enough that several patrons turn toward us. It’s wildly out of character for me, but I don’t give a fuck. The only thing that exists right now is the goddess sitting across from me—completely uncivilized and somehow still the most beautiful thing in the room.

“You’ll take me home after this?” she says.

She’s serious now. The teasing edge from earlier has vanished.

“If that’s what you want,” I say, letting the butter knife roll through my fingers against the table.

The metal flashes once under the restaurant lights.