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If he knew a way to convince her that nothing bad would happen if they went on a date and got to know each other, he’d do it.

But in order to convince her of that, he had to understand what her fears were, the only way to learn what her fears were was for her to trust him, and the only way for her to trust him was for the two of them to spend time together.

Which she wouldn’t agree to do.

So, he was stuck with no way forward, and it looked like the only option he had left was to just walk away.

“Eli,” his date whined. That sound really grated on his nerves.

“Yeah?” he said halfheartedly. He’d been dubious about this date even before he met Florence yesterday—was it really only yesterday?

When he’d moved back to New York, he’d touched base with a couple of different old friends, and one of them had a sister who’d had a crush on him from back when they were all in college together.

He couldn’t remember the sister, but he’d reluctantly agreed to one dinner.

Not even really a date, just dinner, then they both went their own way.

After this nightmare of a date, they would definitely be going their own way.

Patricia Christian was impossibly thin, tall, only an inch or two shorter than his own six foot three.

Despite her rail-thin body her breasts were huge, no doubt fake, not that he had a problem with that—every woman had the right to do whatever they wanted with their own body—he just didn't find them appealing.

Probably because all he could picture was Florence’s small, round, perfect breasts and everything he wanted to do to them.

He wanted to roll her nipples between his fingers and watch them go hard, he wanted to suck them and watch her squirm, listen to her moans, and then he wanted to do a whole lot more to every other part of her body.

“Eli,” Patricia whined again, her too red lips pouting childishly.

“What?”

“You're not listening to me. What are you thinking about so hard that you're not listening to a word I'm saying?”

He wasn't going to tell his date that he was thinking about another woman, even if he wasn't interested in Patricia.

And there wasn't a single thing about her that appealed to him.

She was pretty, although she was wearing too much makeup, which again only reminded him how beautiful Florence was and how she didn't need makeup to accentuate it—and she was smart, he knew she had a high IQ because she’d told him several times.

She seemed nice, and she was obviously excited about this date, but she was too obvious about her idea of the outcome.

She was here for sex, which she probably hoped would seal the deal, and sooner or later, she’d be Mrs. Eli Lennox.

Only he didn't play that game.

He’d grown up with the example of how marriage should be, two people who loved and respected each other both working toward the same goal.

They supported each other, they were there for each other, they held each other when they needed to be held and gave each other a shove when they needed a shove.

There was no way he would settle for any other kind of partnership when he got married.

When it all boiled down to it, he didn't see Patricia giving him that kind of marriage so it was over before it even began.

Forcing himself to focus, he asked, “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was saying,” she said with exaggerated patience, “that dinner was superb, I think we should order dessert.”

He’d done his time, sat here for the last hour, he’d done his duty, it was time to cut and run. “Actually, I think I'm going to head off. Still dealing with jetlag,” he lied.

“Haven't you been back for months? Why are you still suffering jetlag?” Patricia demanded, clearly annoyed.

Eli just shrugged. Guess it was his lazy lion side coming out.

He was done with this date, and if she didn't want to believe his lame lie and bow out gracefully then he’d just go with blunt.

“Look, Patricia, I agreed to this date because your brother said that you’d wanted to meet me.

It was never going to be more than one dinner. I'm sorry if you thought otherwise.”

“Fine,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Do you have a ride home or should I call you a cab?” He might not be into the date or feel bad for his bluntness, but he wouldn’t leave a woman alone without a safe way home.

“I’ll call a cab myself.” She glared at him, and it was clear she was frustrated that things hadn't worked out the way she’d wanted.

“Okay, I’ll text your brother to let him know we went our separate ways at the restaurant.”

Leaving Patricia at the table, he paid the bill and texted his driver to say he was ready to be picked up.

His car was rounding the corner by the time he stepped out into the chilly night, and as he slid into the back seat, he realized something.

If this date had shown him anything, it was that his interest in women in general had waned, but his interest in one particular woman had grown.

Florence intrigued him in a way that no other woman did. The desire to strip her bare—metaphorically—and learn every single one of her secrets was all he could think about. It was like she had cast a spell over him, possessed him, and now he was powerless to resist.

Now he had to decide.

Let her walk away or fight for her.

Put like that, it was a simple choice.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he called Florence.

“Eli,” she groaned when she answered. “How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not going on a date with you?”

Despite the rejection, he was grinning because she’d obviously saved his number in her contacts if she’d known it was him. “I went out on a date tonight,” he announced.

The pause was long enough that he had to check that the call was still connected.

“Okay. Why are you telling me that?”

“Because on the date I realized something.”

“Yeah? What?”

“That the only woman I want to go on a date with is you.”

“Why?”

“Because you intrigue me, you’ve piqued my interest. There’s something you should know, Florence.”

“What?”

“Once I set my mind to something I get it. And right now, my mind is set on you, so you can consider yourself the focus of my wooing.”

“Wooing?” She chuckled. “What are you? A ninety-year-old man?”

“My dad always used to say that to my mom.” He smiled at the memory. “He’d always say just because we’re married doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be wooed.”

“Used to?”

“They both passed away in the last eighteen months.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“Look, Eli, it’s not that I'm not flattered that you seem to be interested in me, I just don’t get why. I mean, we met last night, you saved my life, and that’s it. Why are you going to all this trouble?”

The fact that she seemed genuinely perplexed about why he would be interested in her gave him his first clue to her reluctance to go on a date with him.

His confident, beautiful, smart cop was insecure inside.

“Because you seem like a complex woman, one who I want to get to know better. We’re attracted to each other, maybe it doesn’t go any further than that, but maybe it does.

Maybe attraction and interest could grow into something else, something more. ”

“So, you aren’t just trying to get me into bed?”

“Oh, I want you so much that I'm hard just thinking about it, but no, I don’t just want to get you into bed. I want more. I want to get to know you . Life is about taking chances, risks, and I get that something is making you scared to do that. I can't help you with that because I don’t know what it is you're scared of. But I'm not going anywhere, so get used to that idea. And flowers. Get used to flowers because you’ll be getting more tomorrow. Sweet dreams, Florence, I know what I’ll be dreaming of tonight. You, beneath me, screaming my name as you come.”