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A waiter appears with glasses of water and a basket of bread. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.”

Wyatt nods. “Perfect.”

My mouth waters just looking at the menu. Wow. I have no freaking idea what to order, “What do you recommend?”

Wyatt leans in, his voice low. “Go for the ribeye. It’s huge, with the perfect marbling, and a buttery texture.”

“Sounds perfect,” I close my menu and lay it on the table.

When the waiter returns, Wyatt orders for both of us, which should piss me off, but doesn’t. He looks to me for confirmation, and I give a smile. “Rare,” I say. “Make it moo.”

This earns a genuine, dazzling smile, and my heart does something stupid.

Once we’re alone, Wyatt says, “So how did you spend your night off last night?”

I take a deep breath and blurt out the truth. “Daydreaming about our date.”

He stares into my eyes and I swear the air around us fills with electricity. “Me, too.”

Needing to change the subject before we self-combust on our shared lust, I ask him. “My sister is dying to know if Steel Pulse is as insane as everyone says?”

He sits back and takes a sip of his wine. “Worse. I once had to drag the lead singer out of a hotel laundry chute because he thought it would be ‘hilarious’ to pop out naked during a press event.” He shakes his head. “I spent ten years getting paid to be invisible and terrifying at the same time.”

“Sounds…pretty awful,” I say, before I can stop myself.

He meets my gaze, and there’s something raw there, something he doesn’t show other people. “It was.”

There’s a pause, but not an awkward one. More like we both need to let the gravity of that settle.

I breathe a sigh of relief when he changes the subject. “Tell me one secret you’ve never told anyone else.”

I stall, caught off guard and trying to find something to lighten the sexual tension swirling around us. “Wow. Uh… okay. When I was nine, I accidentally set my neighbor’s deck on fire trying to grill Pop-Tarts. I blamed it on my little sister for three years.”

He laughs, loud and real, and I decide right then that I’d grill Pop-Tarts with him any day.

“Your turn,” I say.

He doesn’t hesitate. “I once body-slammed a fan into a decorative fountain at Caesar’s Palace because he called my mom a whore.” He shrugs. “Still not sorry.”

I burst out laughing. “Good. He deserved it.”

The food arrives, and the steak is truly huge. Wyatt watches me take the first bite, his eyes hungry in a way that has nothing to do with meat. I moan a little, which is half-performance, half-orgasmic, and his jaw tightens. He looks like he’s ready to devour me whole which isn’t a bad thing.

Conversation flows as we share stories while devouring the perfect ribeyes. At one point, our hands brush across the table, reaching for the same piece of bread, and neither of us moves away. His thumb traces slow circles on the back of my hand, and I have to concentrate to remember how to breathe.

I don’t even notice how late it’s gotten until the waiter comes by to say they’re closing up soon.

Wyatt glances at me, and for a second, I think he’s going to suggest we go home separately. Instead, he says, “I’m not ready for the night to end. Are you?”

My pulse stutters. “Not even close. I want my other eleven roses.”

He throws down his Amex and leaves a tip that would make my mom faint. “They’re waiting for you at my house. Want to come back to my place and we can watch a movie and find your roses?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” I’d agree to just about anything right now.

Outside, the air is cool, and he puts his arm around me as we walk to the car. He opens the door for me, and as I slide in, I catch him watching me with that hungry, possessive look again.

I’m in so much trouble here but I don’t care. Wyatt Byrne already owns me heart and soul. Now, I just have to hope he feels the same way.