Page 42 of The Marriage Mistake

I was off-balance. I wasn’t used to feeling this way about women. Women were transient, temporary, and they served a purpose.

Ember was different.

Difficult, stubborn, unflappable Ember. Brilliant, beautiful, witty woman.

In a matter of weeks, she’d be gone.

And then where would I be? Why did my mind keep circling this like it was some kind of existential problem? I’d known the woman a week. I would be exactly where I was before, and that was fine. I liked my life. I liked the boundaries I’d set in my personal life. I liked having Darby be the center of my universe.

When we got home, Darby disappeared into her room and Ember made for the stairs behind her. I reached for her, arresting the movement before my hand made contact with hers. She flinched every time I touched her; I couldn’t bear to see her do it now. Not after today’s disastrous lunch. Not after holding her all night when I had no right to. Not after stroking myself to lewd thoughts of her with only the flimsy bathroom door as separation.

She stood on the second stair and turned to arch her brows at me. “Yes?”

“I was thinking we could go out to The Pier this week. Maybe Tuesday? Darby doesn’t have basketball practice that night, so I can ask one of my cousins to watch her.”

“I suppose we have to continue to be seen together,” she replied, sphinxlike, unknowable. “Tuesday will be fine.”

I watched her go up the steps, hips swaying, back straight, and something shifted within me.

I knew what it felt like to hold her, and I was sick of telling myself I wasn’t supposed to want her. It might only be temporary, but it sure as hell wasn’t going to be fake.

Not anymore.

ELEVEN

EMBER

Jack snapped the menu closed and set it down before grabbing his wine glass and taking a sip. He watched me over the rim, a teasing smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “The oysters here are fantastic.” He set the glass down, fingers trailing up and down its stem. “And you know what they say about oysters.”

I returned my gaze to the menu. The chicken sounded nice, and the light in here was bright enough that I’d be able to tell if it was cooked through. “What’s that, Jack?”

“They’re an aphrodisiac. We order those, everyone will think we’re into each other.”

“The risk of becoming ill from eating raw shellfish is estimated to be one in ten thousand.” I lifted my gaze to meet his. “The risk of me becoming ill if I eat raw shellfish with you is much, much higher.”

Jack barked out a laugh, which made my frown deepen. His eyes sparkled as he took another sip, and a smile lingered on his lips for a long while. This was a problem. I’d gotten too close, and now I couldn’t ignore the effect he had on me. Being hostile in an attempt to get him to turn down the charm didn’t seem to be working, either.

“You’re funny, Ember,” he said, voice hushed and warm.

I would not shiver at the sound of my name on his tongue. I flicked my gaze over the menu once more. “You’re the only person who’s ever thought so.”

“Maybe everyone else was wrong.”

Unable to resist, I lifted my gaze to look at him again. My left eyebrow arched. “That’s very like you, to think so highly of your own opinion that you deny all evidence to the contrary.”

His smile widened. “I can’t be sure, but I think you just called me stupid.”

“You’re enjoying this,” I accused.

He spread his arms as if to say, I can’t help what I am. “Candlelit dinner with a beautiful, brilliant woman who makes me laugh. What kind of man would I be if I weren’t enjoying it?”

My brain stuttered to a stop. He’d called me beautiful. And brilliant. Scowling, I dropped my eyes back to the menu. I’d go with the chicken. Closing the leather-bound book sharply, I took a slug of my own wine. Jack had chosen a crisp white to get us started, and I resented that I loved it. He wasn’t supposed to know about wine. He wasn’t supposed to be good at this. Whatever “this” was. Or if he was good, I was supposed to be immune.

“How do your dates usually go when you come here?” I asked.

Jack arched a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Should I be laughing and flicking my hair? Batting my eyelashes?”