Page 19

The bitterness in Ethan’s words can’t be missed, and it startles me from my trance.
Correction. Jacksonwasin a committed relationship. And Iwasn’tgawking. I wasn’t.
I shake off the useless emotions and turn toward Ethan. While I was in la-la land, he positioned himself beside me in our private semicircle booth. Our knees are nearly touching. How did I not notice?
“Mr. Blackwood, are you speaking to me again?” I feign amazement, a playful, teasing tone woven into my words.
“The choice was between speaking to you or watching you stare at others while you pick at your food. And while you’re quite pleasant to look at, the silence was growing rather tedious.”
“My apologies for offending you earlier. I’m glad you’re giving me a second chance at potentially offending you again.”
We both chuckle, and I struggle to rein in my grin, hiding it with a sip of champagne.
His smirk is a sexy, enticing promise, stating he’ll pound me into next week if I let him. Add gray eyes that light up with mirth, and he’s dangerous to my libido.
“Now that we’ve gotten past the first-date awkwardness, why don’t you tell me why you’re not eating?” He nods toward my preposterously oversized wedge of lettuce and runs his fingers through his dark, wavy hair. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”
“What? No, it’s an occupational hazard. I’m fine, honestly.” If anything, it’s me who makeshimuncomfortable.
“Why did you order a salad if you didn’t want it?”
No date has ever asked why I ordered a salad or why I’m not eating. He’s observant and attentive, and I like it. A lot.
“I rarely eat while I’m out with clients. It ruins the whole hot-girl persona.”
I’m rewarded with that smirk again. “Are you always this honest?”
Now, it’s my turn to smile. “Are you always this difficult?”
He runs his thumb over his bottom lip. “Unfortunately, yes.”
We stare at one another, an odd sense of familiarity between us, until he averts his gaze and clears his throat.
He pierces a chunk of steak with his fork, but instead of lifting it to his own mouth, he brings it to mine.
I furrow my brows in confusion.
“Eat.” His tone is firm, those intense eyes fixed on mine.
Flustered, I concede, not wanting to disappoint him. The steak is juicy and delectable, and an embarrassing moan slips free.
In my defense, I rarely get a decent meal.
Heat rushes to my face, and oh my goodness, dimples. He flashes a crooked grin, and a dimple pops on his left side.
Lord help me, I want to bite it.
I lick my lips clean, and his attention drops to my mouth.
“I take it you don’t eat steak often.”
“No.” Meat? On my budget? Best to change the subject. “Honestly, I’ve never had anyone feed me.”
He makes a thoughtful sound from the back of his throat, then cuts another piece of steak and holds it to my lips. I don’t hesitate this time, and the satisfied gleam in his eyes does something to me.
I want to please him.
Outside of flirting, he tells me he’s a former hockey player from the East Coast. I tell him I’m a serial dater with dreams of working in the fashion industry. He tells me I wear a dress well, and I tell him he wears a smirk well. He tells me he’s in his thirties, which I knew from the agency, and I tell him I’m in my twenties. We match each other’s banter word for word. He laughs at my attempts at being funny, and neither of us pushes the other for more information.