Page 131 of Bad Run

Memories of this morning float to the surface, and the ache between my legs throbs heavy and tight with desire. A fierce hunger swirls in my belly, and it isn’t for food.

At the thought of food, my stomach vocalizes its hungry existence with a loud growl.

“I think that’s your stomach telling us food first.” He chuckles.

“Food first,” I confirm.

Lance extends his elbow out, allowing me to hook my hand in the crease, as he leads me into the elevator and out of my apartment building. Ever the gentleman, he opens the passenger door for me, helping me inside before getting in on his side.

The drive to the restaurant is smooth sailing, which is rare for LA at night mid-week. Our conversation flows as we each fill the other in on our day.

When we arrive at the restaurant, Lance ignores the valet attendant and rushes out of the car to open my door himself. He grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together, and leads us to the entrance.

A cheerful hostess dressed in all black, with red-painted lips and a tight bun, greets us and immediately guides us to our table.

I take in the rustic and modern steakhouse as we walk through the large, warm space. It’s all reclaimed wood and black metal finishings, and smells incredible. My mouth waters just thinking about food.

The hostess points to the booth facing the kitchen. “This is you. Your server will take your order shortly.”

“Thank you.” Lance nods.

“The chef’s tasting table, huh?” I ask, slipping into the booth.

“Only the best for you.” Lance winks as he slides into the spot beside me.

“Smooth.”

“I thought so,” Lance says, amused by my observation. He lifts his arm over my shoulders and pulls me closer to his side. His citrus and pepper cologne fills my nose, making me dizzy.

Ignoring the way his nearness sends my body reeling, I pick up the menu and study it, while Lance studies me and not the menu.

“What are you getting?” I ask.

“Same as usual. The signature roasted beef Wellington.” He spins one of my curls around his finger. The spot on my head where my roots meet my scalp tingles, sending shivers down my spine.

“Come here a lot?” It’s taking everything in me not to grab Lance by the collar and kiss him.

“This is Reed’s favorite place. He drags us here all the time.”

“Ah.”

The server arrives and, like Lance, I order the Wellington with roasted vegetables, potato puree and red-wine demi-glace sauce, and a glass of Pinot Noir.

I place my hands on the table. Lance reaches over and runs his thumb over the gemstone. “You’re wearing it.”

“You said you wanted me to. Should I not have?”

With his thumb and forefinger, Lance tilts my chin up. Blue eyes, so rich in color and depth, find mine. “No. You should. No more taking it off. You hear me?”

The air crackles with electric energy, and Lance’s irises darken. A storm brews behind his indigo gaze. I reach out and grip his wrist like an anchor, steadying myself in their destructive wake.

“Gwen.” The growled command to answer vibrates between my legs.

“I hear you.” My answer is a whimpered plea. “I won’t take it off.”

“Good.” He swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, and I match the movement.

The bustling restaurant, the people, the entire world, everything around us melts away as we stare at one another. A voracious wave of lust washes over me, and my nipples harden to painful points beneath my bra as my brain pleads for him to kiss me.