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Chapter Five

A urora

With each step toward Ruma, the restaurant at the end of a long corridor inside Picante, my heels click.

Smartly dressed men and women trickle toward me, and I imagine them discussing stock and their summer homes in the South of France—two things I know nothing about.

The air of regality and sophistication ruffles my nerves a bit.

Who are you kidding? Your ruffled nerves have nothing to do with anyone but Tate.

I take a deep breath and blow it out in an even stream, trying to stop overthinking.

“This is an adventure,” I mutter, holding my clutch tightly. “Have fun with it. If he shows up, good. If not, go to the bar and grab a drink. You can pull up a book on your phone if it gets awkward, but it’s time to put yourself out there a little bit.”

A man with salt-and-pepper hair turns on his heel to watch me walk by him.

I stand a little taller. Guess this dress was a good choice, after all.

Two dress options in my suitcase were packed at the last minute, “just in case.” I never dreamed I’d pull one out to try to “accidentally” run into a man in the hotel restaurant, or else I might’ve thought it through a little more.

But the one I chose tonight fits me well and checks all the boxes I hope are checked if I happen to see Tate again.

The U-neckline and corseted top of this little black dress makes my boobs look great. The length hits just above the knee, and the slit ending mid-thigh gives it a subtle sexiness that works perfectly. My favorite stilettos and simple gold jewelry make me feel comfortable and pretty.

That’s a win.

“He probably won’t even show up,” I whisper. “Be open to the universe and accept whatever it gives me.”

My steps slow as I approach the entrance of Ruma. A small group of stunning college-aged girls stands beside the arched doorway. They huddle together, holding drinks and cell phones, whispering as they not-so-subtly stare … at me ?

Before I can turn around, a large palm skims the small of my back, and the contact, combined with Tate’s proximity and the warm spiciness of his cologne, lights my body on fire.

My legs wobble as his touch spreads through me like wildfire.

He’s here.

“Every man out here is staring at you,” he says softly behind me, his lips inches from the shell of my ear. “And to think I’m the lucky bastard who gets the privilege of sharing the evening with you.”

Holy shit. Universe, I accept.

I turn slowly to face him, and his eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Stalking is illegal in Ohio,” I say, lifting a brow and trying not to smile.

“It’s not stalking if you told me where you’re going to be.”

“How do you know I’m not here with someone else?”

He leans down, smirking. “Let’s be honest. Even if you were here with someone else, which you aren’t, he has a problem on his hands.”

“Really? What might that be?”

“Your entire body just reacted when I touched you.” He winks, stepping back. “That would be a big problem for him.”

I chuckle, my cheeks heating because he’s not lying. My body did just react to his touch. Goose bumps still ripple across my skin. I don’t know what changed between here and the airplane, but the proverbial gloves are off. And all I can think about right now is taking everything else off with them.

“My God, Kelly.” He takes another step back, his gaze caressing my body from my face to my stilettos. Every movement feathers the fire burning in my core. “You are an absolute dream .”

The girls still openly gawking at him might as well be ghosts because I don’t think Tate sees them. He’s looking at me .

All I can do is look at him .

Stubble dusts his jawline. A white shirt hugs his body perfectly. Tailored pants highlight his thick, muscled legs, and a deep blue jacket makes his oceanic eyes pop. They’re unguarded and undistracted. He’s 100 percent present—and downright edible.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asks. “And how smokin’ hot ?”

“Do you realize that there is a pod of girls standing ten feet to your right who are practically drooling over you?”

He lifts a brow. “Really? Then let me wrap my arm around you so you don’t slip as we go inside.”

I chuckle at his line. He’s good. But I can’t give in this easily.

“Don’t you think it’s a little presumptuous to assume I’ll have dinner with you?” I ask, grinning up at him.

“No.”

“And why is that?”

His fingers flex against my hip. “Because I always get what I want.”

God . “And what is it you want, exactly?”

“You.” An easy, cheeky grin kisses his lips as he stares down at me. “This is for you.”

A long-stemmed red rose appears out of nowhere.

“You got me a rose?” I ask, surprised and confused. How did he have time to find a rose?

“You’re adorable.”

My brows pull together as he hands me the rose.

“I love that you think I’ve been able to think about anything other than you.” Tate slides his arm around my waist, his fingertips pressing through the fabric of my dress to weigh on my skin. “Let’s find our table.”

My body tingles at the contact, and I hope he can’t feel how my breath stutters. There’s no use in pretending I’m not dining with him tonight. We both know it’s true.

Tate’s fan club’s eyes are trained on us as he guides me into the restaurant.

My head spins because, while I hoped I’d run into him, I was not prepared for … this . I hoped I’d run into him, but he’s obviously here to try to run into me. To do that, he had to listen to everything I said on the plane and pick up on my dinner plans.

Is there anything more attractive than a hot man who listens?

He guides me past a throng of waiting customers and into the restaurant. Heads turn as we pass, all of them admiring Tate—the women longingly and the men admiringly. After a few seconds at the hostess stand, we're ushered deeper inside the establishment. He made a reservation.

The vibe is intimate with warm, dim lighting and deep, dark colors.

Tall faux plants and strategically placed half walls create private spaces within the building.

Candles give off a romantic flair, while gold accents and crystal chandeliers add touches of opulence.

The host reaches for a chair, presumably to pull it out for me, but Tate subtly waves him off and does the honors himself.

I try not to swoon too hard as I sit, placing my purse and the rose on an empty chair to my right.

A blond man with freckles steps up to our table. “Good evening. My name is Sean, and I’ll care for you tonight.” He pours two glasses of water. “May I start you off with a drink?”

All eyes are on me.

I’d like a glass of wine, but I’m not confident enough in my wine knowledge to choose something that isn’t embarrassing.

“I’ll have a vodka soda, please,” I say.

“I’ll have an old-fashioned,” Tate says.

“Could I interest you in an appetizer to start the evening?” Sean asks.

Tate picks up a menu from the table's edge and quickly scans it. “What would you recommend, Sean?”

“Everything is delicious, but my favorite would have to be oysters Rockefeller,” Sean says.

“Do you like oysters?” Tate asks me.

I take a menu, too. “I’ve never had them.”

Tate smiles as if this pleases him and turns to Sean. “We’ll start with an order of those, beef carpaccio, and your seasonal charcuterie board.”

“Fantastic. I’ll return shortly,” he says before disappearing into the sea of bodies, fake fig trees, and candlelight.

I glance down at the prices and nearly have a heart attack.

“ Tate ,” I say, praying he doesn’t expect me to pay for half the bill. “ Three appetizers?”

“I tried to pick three different things since I don’t know what you like.” His lips twist into a smirk. “But I hope to discover many things you enjoy by the end of the evening.”

Oh God . I lick my lips and squeeze my thighs together. “I’m not sure that being alone for too long with my stalker is a good idea.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like a little danger.”

I laugh. “I don’t, actually.”

“If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have casually dropped what restaurant you were dining at this evening.”

“That was an accident.”

He nods, grinning like he doesn’t believe me. “Sure.”

“It was,” I say earnestly. “I obviously need to be more careful about sharing personal details with strangers.”

“Do you want to know what I think, Miss Kapowski?”

“I’d love to know.”

His eyes darken as he rests his chin on steepled fingers. “I think—whether you did it intentionally or subconsciously—you told me where you would be, hoping I’d appear tonight. But because you didn’t overtly divulge this information, you wouldn’t feel disappointed if I didn’t show up.”

This delicious, insightful bastard. Dammit.

I hate that he’s right, and I hate even more that he knows it. But I’m sure he deals with all sorts of women trying to spend time with him. Look at him .

He drags his eyes away from mine and peruses the menu.

“Are you staying in this hotel, too?” I ask, dropping my gaze to the menu, too. Logistics are a much safer topic than my fears.

“My boss knows the man who owns this hotel chain. So we stay in his hotels when we travel, if possible. That’s the one thing I will say about my boss. He might be a dick, but he’s loyal as hell.”

“I doubt I’ll be traveling much for my job, but I hope my boss is loyal to nice hotel chains, too.”

Tate laughs. “Do you like to travel? Or are you more of a homebody?”

“I’ve traveled a lot .” Both of my husbands loved to travel, so I pretended to enjoy it, too. Such a waste of time. “I’m more of a homebody these days.”

“Ah, the cozy-girl thing you told me about, right?”

Sean appears again and places our drinks on the table.

“If you aren’t ready to order, I can come back,” he says kindly.

“Do you have any idea what you’d like, Kelly?” Tate asks.

I bite my lip to keep from reacting to my new faux name. It was a random choice, and I’m confused whenever he says it. I feel the tiniest bit guilty, too. But what the heck? It’s fun, and tonight is all about that—fun. Admitting that my name is actually Aurora would ruin that.

I scan the offerings and find a chicken dish that only costs an arm, not an arm and a leg.

“The rosemary roasted chicken looks good,” I say.

“Excellent choice,” Sean says. “It’s one of our most popular dishes. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“I’ll have a filet with peppercorn sauce,” Tate says. “Medium rare, please.”

“Wonderful. I’ll get your order in right away.”

We hand our menus over, and Sean marches away.

Tate leans right back into our conversation without missing a beat.

“Tell me more about this cozy-girl thing,” he says. “That’s what you called it, right?”

“Yeah. I’ve never had to explain it before.

” I search for the right words. “It’s a vibe, I guess.

Instead of living my life in survival mode and just getting through each day, I’m trying to craft a life that feels good.

Soft. Feminine. Like my life is wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, if that makes sense. ”

“You know, I like fuzzy blankets.”

I laugh louder than I expect. The statement comes out of nowhere, and something about how he says it is utterly adorable.

“Are you laughing at me?” He chuckles, too. “Men can like fuzzy blankets, you know.”

My cheeks ache from smiling. “Men can absolutely like fuzzy blankets.”

“And candles,” Tate says. “I love candles.”

I bet you do.

“I really like vanilla and amber,” he says. “My colognes usually have those scents.”

He grins like the cat that ate the canary.

I’m not sure what he’s doing, but it’s entertaining, nonetheless.

I sit back and take a deep breath, acknowledging how comfortable I am with him.

The openness in Tate’s eyes erases some of my nerves, and my shoulders soften as I relax.

Like he did on the plane, he whittles down my walls without trying.

Although sharing things with him is easy, I need to maintain some boundaries.

“Are you from Nashville?” he asks.

“No.”

He waits for me to expound, but I don’t.

“What about you?” I ask instead. “Are you from Nashville?”

“Yes. I grew up there. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. All my siblings, except my sister, live close to me.”

My heart pulls in my chest from the look in his eye. “Family is important to you?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s everything.”

He doesn’t blink or laugh or crack a smile. Somehow, that might be the sexiest thing about him so far.

“Do you have a lot of siblings?” I ask.

“One sister and four brothers.”

“What number are you in the lineup?”

“I’m the baby.” He laughs again. “It’s all my brothers, then my sister, and then me.”

Oh my God. He’s the baby of his family. How old is this guy?

I take a sip of my drink, hoping the alcohol works quicker than my panic.

Tate leans forward, watching me curiously as I set my glass down.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, his voice smooth and calm.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Because you had this flash bolt through your eyes just before you took a drink.”

I nibble my bottom lip, and my cheeks burn.

“I’m fine.” I smile. “This is just the first meal I’ve shared with someone in a long time. I just feel a little clumsy.”

Tate’s eyes are trained on mine. “I assure you, Ms. Kapowski. You are in very good hands tonight.”

Our gazes lock across the table, and a shiver snakes down my spine. He’s a few feet away, too far to touch me. Still, I imagine him between my legs, against my lips, his hands in my hair.

He holds himself with the cool, easy confidence of someone who knows what he has to offer. He speaks with intention. He moves with deliberation. This man understands what he wants and knows how to get it.

“This could be what you were after all along.”

My breath is shaky as I exhale.

I have a feeling that he’s right—I am in good hands tonight. Because if I read the room correctly, I’m what he wants … and it won’t take much to get it.