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My chauffeur steps out to open the door for Portia. She looks absolutely gorgeous in a mauve mini dress and sleek blazer. Tasteful but sexy as always.

I can’t keep from admiring her shapely legs and thighs as she slides into the backseat next to me. For a wild second I consider skipping the boxing match altogether to spend the rest of the night kissing every inch of her body.

Then I remember I’m supposed to be a civilized man and push down the urge.

“Evening,dolcezza,” I say. “Do I need to tell you how gorgeous you are?”

She flushes, her complexion glowing. “You always find a way. You look amazing yourself. No one seems to wear a suit like you do.”

“Careful. Don’t flirt with me too hard. I might get the wrong idea.”

The ice is broken as she finally gives in with a soft laugh.

Tonight we’re riding one of my limousines into downtown Newport.

For the boxing championship, most VIPs make flashy and excessive entrances. They arrive in long stretch limousines or the latest million dollar sports car with their entourage in tow. There will be paparazzi and cameras everywhere.

As one of the most prominent men attending tonight, a big entrance was necessary.

There’s no one else I’d want on my arm than Portia. Though she may not realize she’ll be on my arm.

She’s clinging to the idea that she’s attending the match in an official capacity.

We arrive at Prime for dinner. The steakhouse makes for the perfect dinner date setting. We’re seated at our table by a server who pours us a complimentary glass of wine from tonight’s selection.

Portia ogles the menu like the foodie that she is.

I scratch at the scruff on my jawline and try to hide my grin. “Order yourself a big, juicy steak, Portia. How about this twenty-eight ounce dry-aged porterhouse? That seems fitting.”

“Are you trying to put me in a food coma? I have a job to do.”

We make our selections not long after. Portia goes with the ribeye spinalis with mushroom confit while I end up doing the porterhouse.

“You know, they say how a person orders their steak says a lot about them.”

Her brows quirk out of curiosity as she sips from her wine. “Oh really? What does medium rare say about me?”

“That you have good taste,” I answer. “But that was already apparent by you agreeing to have dinner with me tonight.”

“Aworkdinner.”

“Right, just like we had a work lunch the other day. And a work after hours at home visit.”

“Would you have preferred I not call you?”

“Trust me,dolcezza, I’m glad you did. I would’ve come no matter the time.”

The candlelight from our table dances in her dark-eyed gaze. “I know you would’ve. Maybe that’s why I called you.”

“Has your ex given you any more problems?”

“I haven’t heard a peep. I’m still not even sure what pushed Lincoln to come by after so long…”

“If he decides to show up again, you know what to do.”

Not that I’m not already handling him in my own way.

“How are you still single?” she asks, cupping her wine glass with her fingers for another taste. “Good looking. Wealthy. Interesting and protective. You really should be off the market. You should have a wife and kids at home. Not be having dinner with me.”