“Suspicious?” I chuckle, unable to stop my eyes from devouring her in that oh-so-fuckable dress. “I’m just trying to be a gentleman, Nancy Drew. No need to play the detective all the time.”
“Hmm,” she giggles, moving closer. “I’m warning you. Any tricks and there’ll behellto pay.”
She sits down and I move her chair in, and then return to my side of the table.
“See?” I say. “One-hundred percent gentleman.”
I pick up my wineglass and raise it.
“Ooh, a toast now, too?” she teases, taking hers in hand.
She’s painted her nails a deep shade of red, the same color her chest goes when a flush spreads across it, courtesy of my sinful tongue.
“Even if it feels pretty damn weird to talk about myself in the third-person,” I grin, “I wanna propose a toast toGrace and Harry. We’ve been through a lot to get here, Grace, but I always knew we would. Your blog is exploding in the best way and we’ve finally stopped playing games …”
“Hey!” She giggles, leaning over and giving me the mother of all winks. I swear to Christ, it sends urgent signals right down my body to my manhood. “I never agreed tonogames ever.”
“All right,” I say, chuckling. “Here’s tosomegames, then.”
She leans forward and clinks her glass against mine.
As we take sips, the waiter carries over our main courses. The man is stiff-backed and looks proper in the extreme. “Sir,” he says, laying my plate down. “Madam.”
“Cheers,” I say with a smile.
“Yes, sir,” the man says, returning the smile despite his supposed-to-be-stern demeanor. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.”
When I turn back to the table, I see that Grace is grinning at me over her lamb and vegetables.
“What?” I say, picking up my knife and fork so I can cut into my beautifully bloody steak.
“It’s just that I think you can tell a lot about a person by how they treat a waiter,” she says.
“I was just friendly,” I mutter, shrugging. I pause, glancing across the table at her. “Grace, do you know, this is the first time we ever had a proper dinner together?”
She parts her lips, a gorgeous smile lighting up her face. She shakes her head ruefully, pouting at me playfully just like the time she told me I’d never bought her flowers.
“Wow,” she says. “Is this the part where I storm out of here because I realize you’ve just been using me for sex, huh? I can’t believe you, playboy. That’s crazy.”
I reach across the table, taking her hand.
The steak smells meaty and is tempting as hell, so I guess it says a lot that Grace is more tempting.
I rub my thumb along her knuckle, watching as her skin pricks with goose pimples.
“Do you want my jacket?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not cold in here, silly,” she giggles. “It’s just … you.”
I swallow when the thought occurs to me, my lips almost forming the words before I can give it proper consideration.
I feel a rebellion surge through me, roaring at me to stop.
I could ruin this.
Things have always moved fast between me and Grace, it’s true.
But this would mean risking a good – no, a great, an incredible, an otherworldly – relationship.
