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Except Damon wasn't Jerry Maguire.

He was taller. Broader. And, frankly, a whole lot more dangerous to my cardiovascular health.

He wore dark tailored trousers and a crisp charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. The top button was undone, revealing just enough of his throat to make me question why the human neck was suddenly the most attractive body part.

His hair was neatly styled, although one stubborn piece fell across his forehead.

I wanted to push it back. Then run my fingers through the rest. Then possibly cancel both the rehearsal and dinner. For purely logistical reasons.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed.

My stomach dropped straight into my shoes. “Damon.”

He shook his head slowly.

“No, seriously.” He set his phone on the table. “You are so fucking gorgeous, I think I just forgot my own name.”

I laughed. Because what else was I supposed to do when a man looked at me like I'd personally invented sunshine? “That's a little dramatic.”

“Sweetheart, I'm standing here trying to remember how to breathe.”

Heat climbed my neck. And kept going. “You've seen me dressed up before.”

“Not like this.” His voice had dropped. Not intentionally, I didn't think. It was just quieter. More intimate. “You look beautiful all the time,” he said. “But right now?” He exhaled. “Right now, you look like every bad decision I've ever wanted to make and every good thing I never thought I'd deserve.”

Oh boy. That was unfair. That was so unfair it should’ve been considered a crime against common decency.

I stared at him. My heart was doing something that felt medically inadvisable. I'd never been a woman who put much stock in words. I'd grown up knowing people could say anything. They could promise forever. Promise security. Promise love. Words were cheap.

Actions were the real litmus test.

And Damon? Damon was becoming a serious problem because his words and actions kept lining up. He said he'd take care of something, and he did. He noticed when I was overwhelmed and quietly made things easier. He treated people with kindness when there was absolutely nothing in it for him. He listened. He remembered. He showed up.

Not only for me, but for everyone in his community.

And now he was looking at me like I was an angel who wanted to make him sin. Which made my common sense take a vacation.

“You look…” I swallowed.

He raised an eyebrow.

I glanced down at his shirt. Then back at his face. “Good, too.”

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Four years at Harvard. Years of executive leadership. Countless presentations to international investors. And the best I could come up with was good, too.

Damon's mouth curved. “Good?”

“Very good,” I added.

His eyes widened. “Wow.”

“Don't let it go to your head,” I teased.

“Too late. I'm putting it on my résumé.”

I rolled my eyes. He grinned. Then took two steps toward me. And just like that, all my carefully constructed composure evaporated.

He stopped close enough that I could smell his cologne. Something fresh and woodsy. Something that made me want to press my face against his neck and stay there for the foreseeable future.