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“As do I.”

The chef headed back behind the counters, getting back to work, and Namir set down the fork I hadn’t realized he was still holding. His voice grew playful, and he murmured, “If you’re staring at his ass, so help me, Love…”

I rolled my eyes at him, knowing that he was teasing.

Mostly teasing, at least.

His humor was a front for something more, a way to hide his emotions, I was starting to think.

“Why would you think I was staring at his ass? It’s not as if I make it a habit to seek you out when you’re naked, like you do to me,” I shot back, hoping to get a rise out of him. As much as I loved his gentleness, I wanted to know what he was really feeling even more.

Jesh coughed on the other side of the table, and we both looked at him. “Swallowed wrong,” he managed, gesturing to his throat. He looked like he was fighting a grin, though.

“Perhaps I’m wearing clothes too often,” Namir drawled back, reaching down to the waistband of his pants and adjusting it a bit.

A sharp growl escaped me, and my hand clamped down on his, my head jerking as I looked around the room to make sure no one was watching him.

Everyone.

Everyone was watching him.

Him.

Me.

Us.

Wow, I was not cut out for this.

He chuckled, flashing me an amused grin as he patted my hand over his with his empty one. “Don’t worry, Love. I’m all yours.”

Leaning closer to me, he brushed his lips over my cheek once, and then again. It was a kiss—a soft, sweet kiss, and I had no fucking clue how I was supposed to respond to it.

So I just shot to my feet, planning an escape.

Namir caught my hand before I could leave, and his fingers slid between mine.

Stars, was that grip supposed to feel so good?

“What are you doing?” His expression was still amused.

“Going to wait for the dresses. You said they’re being delivered.” My voice came out harsher than I intended.

“I’ll wait with you,” he said easily, standing up and grabbing our plates in the hand that wasn’t holding mine.

“I can handle waiting for a few dresses on my own,Love,” I drawled his nickname for me, trying to use his accent as I said it as well.

Was my sarcasm working to cover my awkwardness?

Shit, I hoped so.

His eyes glinted with humor. “Did it occur to you that maybeIcan’t?”

It took a moment for me to process his words, and by the time I had, we were striding toward the door out of the dining room, our fingers still locked together.

Had he really just said that he couldn’t handle me waiting for dresses alone?

Was the fated connection affecting him more than it was affecting me?