Page 89 of Hold Me Tight

She’s wearing a green dress that hugs her curves in a way that’s both delicate and undeniably sexy. It hits just above the knee, revealing legs I’ve had the privilege of feeling tangled with mine beneath the covers.

There’s no glitter, no flash, no stilettos.

Just her.

And holy hell, this woman is the total package.

The real mystery is how she doesn’t realize it.

“Is it too much?” she asks, smoothing her palms nervously over her hips. Her tone is light, almost playful, but I hear the flicker of uncertainty buried beneath it. Like she doesn’t realize she’s just stolen the air right out of me.

Too much?

It’s not nearly enough.

I swallow hard, my brain scrambling to remember how to do basic things like form words. “You look…” I rake a hand through my hair, as if the movement might help me find them. “You look incredible.”

She glances down, as if suddenly shy.

And fuck if that doesn’t undo me completely.

It’s not just how she looks. It’s the softness in her eyes. The quiet vulnerability she’s letting me see. She isn’t putting on a show.

Callie is just being herself.

And I don’t want to look away.

Not now.

Not ever.

We don’t say much on the elevator ride down to the parking garage. Instead of the silence being awkward, it’s charged. Heavy with the awareness that something between us is shifting. I can feel it in the way she stands just a little closer than necessary and the subtle brush of her hand against mine. The floral scent of her shampoo lingers in the air, making it impossible not to notice her.

Not to want her.

When her fingers graze mine again, I give in and wrap my hand around her smaller one. She glances up, and our gazes catch in the reflective surface of the elevator doors.

Emotion flickers in her eyes.

Uncertainty, maybe.

Or perhaps it’s curiosity.

Whatever it is, she doesn’t look away.

By the time we reach the truck, I’m fighting the urge to back her against the nearest wall and kiss her senseless. Every part of me hums with restraint.

Barely am I able to hold it in.

Instead, I take her to Gold Coast Table. I called ahead and booked a table outside on the terrace beneath the heat lamps. The atmosphere is quiet and intimate. Romantic in a way that won’t scare her off but still makes it clear this isn’t just dinner.

She smiles in delight as we’re led outside.

“This place is beautiful.” She smooths the napkin over her lap, as if trying to keep her hands busy.

“You’re beautiful,” I say before I can think better of it.

Cheesy?