Page 3 of Beg For Me (Morally Gray #3)

He says sheepishly, “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. It’s just that you’re not wearing a ring, and I want to ask you out.”

I go from surprised to shocked. A little confused too. He’s with another woman, yet he’s hitting on me? Is this what everyone’s doing nowadays, the polyamory thing?

When I don’t respond quickly enough, his cheeks turn ruddy. He glances away, shifts his weight from foot to foot, and clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice is gruff.

“I guess I should’ve known you wouldn’t be interested. Well, it was nice seeing you. Take care.”

He turns away, clearly embarrassed and in a rush to leave. I reach out and touch his arm.

“Not so fast.”

He stops and turns his head to look at me warily. His cheeks are still stained that ridiculously appealing shade of red. Never in a million years would I have thought such a handsome, self-confident guy capable of shame, but he seems as if he’s wishing for the power of invisibility.

“Just so we’re clear, you’d like to take me on a date?”

“I would.”

I glance toward the windows. “What would your girlfriend think about that idea?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Does she know that?”

“Yeah. Katie’s just a friend. Wait, are you saying yes?”

He turns to face me, his energy intense and his gaze unblinking. I’m not used to being the subject of such unwavering concentration. I have to admit, it’s pleasant.

Still. The man is at least a decade younger than I am. And I’m not entirely convinced about his relationship with the blonde. And this could be a ploy to try to pry inside information from me about TriCast.

After all, we’re in direct competition with one another. This shy routine could all be an act designed to lower my defenses. He did make a pitch to our board. Maybe he’s trying a more indirect route this time.

But my hand is still resting on his arm, and he’s still staring at me with that flattering concentration, and my oh my, the things I could teach this beautiful boy.

“How old are you, Carter?”

“Twenty-nine. How old are you?”

“Forty-four.”

I wait for him to react, but he only licks his lips. We stare at each other as the temperature rises, my heart skips a beat, and my armpits and panties grow damp.

I sternly remind myself of my plans for a bog witch future, hexing the local villagers who wander too near and avoiding men at all costs.

Especially young gods with beautiful blonde “friends” and cutthroat reasons to sleep with me.

“How about tonight? Are you free for dinner?”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

His grin is beautiful and breathtaking. “That’s not a no. You’re considering it.”

Despite my misgivings, I smile. There’s just something so charming about him, especially when he’s not feeling so sure of himself.

“I’m considering considering it, but I have my doubts.”

He steps closer, his blue eyes shining dangerously bright. I still haven’t dropped my hand from his arm. It’s interesting to note that I have no intention of doing so anytime soon.

“Tell me your doubts. I can help you get over them.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Our smiles are coy. Our held gazes crackle. I can’t believe I’m flirting with him, but here we are.

“Well, for starters, you could be trying to glean company secrets from me.”

“ Glean? I don’t even know what that word means, but I swear, I’m not gleaning anything.”

“Hmm. A likely story.”

“It’s totally true. You know it, too, or you’d already have stopped touching me.”

I drop my arm to my side. My entire face flushes. I tell myself it’s just another perimenopause symptom, but don’t believe it.

“Carter, I’m a mom.”

“Cool.”

“And I’m fifteen years older than you.”

“Yeah, I caught that.”

“And we’re competitors.”

“No, we’re not. Our companies are. Let’s go to that Italian place in Venice you like. I’ll pick you up at seven. Here, put your phone number into my contacts. I’ll text you when I’m on my way, and you can give me your address.”

He whips his cell from his waistband and hands it to me before I’ve even had time to blink. I stare at his phone, trying very hard not to smile.

I glance up to find him so focused on me, it’s almost as if he’s wishing he had X-ray vision so he could see directly into my brain.

“I won’t talk business with you.”

“Perfect.”

“At all. I mean it.”

“I don’t give one single fuck about work, yours or mine.

I want to sit across a table from you and spend a few hours wondering how I got so lucky while watching you eat and staring at your perfect face and praying you’ll let me kiss you goodnight.

That’s it. That’s all I want.” His pause is brief but potent. “For tonight, anyway.”

I open my mouth to speak, find that no words are forthcoming, then do the only reasonable thing left to do and enter my contact information into his phone.

I hand it back to him with a warning.

“One dinner. It’s not a date. We’ll split the check. And if you’re late, don’t bother ringing the bell because I won’t open the door.”

I walk out of the shop without another word, not realizing until I’m at home that I completely forgot about my coffee.