Page 20 of My Favorite Kidnapper

“I am not having dinner with you.”

“Give me three good reasons why not, and I’ll take you home,” he said calmly, pulling away from the curb.

“First off, I don’t know you.”

“Dinner can help rectify that.”

“Secondly, perhaps I already have plans.”

He laughed. “You don’t.”

“And last, I am hardly dressed for dinner. I am sure the establishments you frequent could pay my rent for a month, so I cannot walk into one of those restaurants looking like this.”

He pulled into a driveway, indicating the building. “Three strikes, you’re out.”

I looked at the sign, shocked. It was my favorite little family diner. Good food, inexpensive, and casual.

How had he chosen this restaurant? What were the odds? I was confused. Curious. Secretly pleased.

He parked the car and turned to look at me.

“I would take you anywhere and be proud to be seen with you. I think you’re lovely, and frankly, my opinion is the only one that matters. But I know you like it here, so this is where we will eat.”

“But—”

He held up his hand, silencing me. “Have dinner with me, Little Bee. I have a business proposition for you. I think you’ll be interested.”

I hesitated, and he leaned closer.

“Please.”

“Okay,” I agreed grudgingly. “But only because I’m hungry and I like it here.”

He grinned. “Whatever you need to tell yourself. Stay there.”

He slid from the car and came to my side, opening the door. He held out his hand, and I let him help me from my seat. I hated the urge to lean into him, to inhale his scent. He didn’t seem to share my opinion, burying his face into my neck and breathing deeply.

“So fucking sweet,” he muttered.

“It’s the sugar.”

“It’s you,” he replied. “Now, come. I don’t want you cold again.”

I hated that those words pleased me so much.

But I let him lead me into the restaurant.

Chapter Six

BRIANNA

He was out of place again. Too rich, too good-looking, too…everything to be inside this diner. But within five minutes, he’d charmed Gladys and Molly, and we sat in the back booth. The one usually reserved for family. He somehow managed to look as if he belonged there, even though I knew he clearly didn’t. There were other diners, and the restaurant smelled delicious as always.

He asked for a cup of coffee and water. I got my usual cherry vanilla Coke. I loved it, and they were one of the few that had it in their fountain machine.

He took a sip of coffee and lifted his eyebrows. “This is delicious.”

“They grind their own beans and make it fresh all day.”