Page 56 of Burn the World Down

And the well-known club owner who played the good guy, but was really the bad guy.

Sometimes, life wasn’t black-and-white and didn’t make sense.

I straightened. No more overthinking things. Tonight, I was having a nice dinner with Nash. For now, that was all I needed to focus on.

As I headed for the closet where my meager belongings were unpacked, I realized I had nothing nice enough to wear to a restaurant like Elysium.Crap. Clothes had been the last thing on my mind.

I stepped into the closet and pulled up short.

Oh. There was a dress hanging on a hanger.

It was gorgeous. I bit my lip. It was forest green, and I knew it would bring out the green flecks in my eyes. It had long sleeves and a high neck, but a sexy little keyhole cut out on the chest that would give a glimpse of skin.

And it was short. Designed to show off the legs. It was classy with a dash of sexy.

I pressed a hand to my fluttering stomach. It would also cover my bruises, but show off my mostly unscathed legs.

Nash had picked it for me.

Warmth filled my belly. I knew it wouldn’t take much to turn this simmering desire into a raging fire. It had been such a long time since I’d dated. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d wanted sex, let alone had it.

And this wasNash.

Not the young man I’d daydreamed about. No, the rugged, tough, scary man I was getting to know now.

I pulled on my best set of bra and panties. They weren’t fancy, but they were white and trimmed with pretty lace. Next, I slipped into the dress. I swished the skirt around my thighs. It fit me perfectly. Then, I found my set of gold, low-heeled sandals tucked in my suitcase. The ties wrapped up my calves.

Feeling beautiful, I walked out to the living room.

And nearly swallowed my tongue.

Nash was facing away from me and dressed in black. Black fitted pants, black button-up shirt tucked in at his narrow waist. It emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow hips. It also underscored the muscular strength of his body.

He turned. He hadn’t shaved. All that scruff made him even more attractive.

His blue eyes locked on me. Slowly, lazily, he perused me from the top of my head, lingering on my hidden bruises, down my body to my legs.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

I flushed. It was so nice to hear that. It was even nicer to actually feel it.

“You always were pretty,” he said. “Now, you’re flat-out beautiful.”

“You scrub up well, yourself.”

He closed the distance between us, and held out a hand, palm up. I put my hand in his. Then he paused, and reached out to touch my hair.

“Like starlight. Hungry?”

Strangely enough, I was. But not just for food. I nodded.

“I have something for you,” he said.

He spun and picked up a single orchid off the kitchen island. A Georgiana.

“Oh.” I touched the beautiful petals. “It’s so soft.”

“I always thought the sprinkle of dots reminded me of your freckles.”