Page 17 of Beyond Question

“You have a tendency to do that,” I admit quietly.

Travis leans forward. “To do what, surprise you?”

I nod and am quickly rewarded with another one of his beaming smiles. “I have something to admit to as well,” he whispers. “Another surprise.”

I tilt my head.

“This was far better than that other place.”

With a bark of laughter, I lean forward and widen my eyes dramatically. “Shocking.”

He inclines his head, then clinks his glass against mine. “I’m glad you gave in to me.”

Swiveling my bar stool toward him, I pat his knee. “Settle down, Mr. Wilder. I gave in todinner, not you.”

“Okay.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his cocktail, turning to bracket my knees between his. “Whatever helps you sleep tonight.”

Sleep, right. It must be late. When I check my phone, it’s nearly midnight. My eyes widen and I look up at him.

“Something wrong?”

“It’s almost midnight.”

His brow furrows. “Don’t tell me you’re quitting on me now, little cinder girl. The night is still young.”

I almost laugh out loud because the night may be young, but I certainly am not. And with a full belly, my body thinks a bit of sleep might be the best thing ever. But the way he’s looking at me, there’s not an ounce of fatigue in his eyes—and I think I might have misjudged our age difference. I’d assumed therewere only a few years between us, but now I’m not so sure. How is he not tired?

With a deep breath, I admit quietly, “This is far past my bedtime.”

He chuckles, then leans forward, placing his hand on my thigh. If he wants to distract me from my thoughts of leaving, it’s a fantastic ploy. All I can think about is that connection, the heat of his palm. His fingers flex and I pull in a deep breath because every cell in my body seems to rush toward his hand.

“Paige.”

I lift my gaze, more heat flooding my cheeks as embarrassment fills me. How long was I just gawking at his hand on my leg?

“Do you want to go home?”

I lick my lips.Do I?

“Don’t overthink it,” he murmurs. Then his gaze drops to my mouth and there’s a dangerous rush of warmth in my belly, and I know that the smart thing to say isyes. Yes, I want to go home.

Need to.

Should.

The smart thing would be to stand up, thank him for a wonderful—if unexpected—evening, and hightail it out of here.

Distance, that’s what I need.

But I’ve been smart for thirty years.

I’ve held back for thirty years.

I’ve focused on survival. For thirty years.

Isn’t it time for a break? Even just one, harmless night out with a nice man?

Aren’t I tired of simplysurviving?