turning the evening from weird to surreal.
My head spinning, I open the menu blindly. “No way,” I whisper.
Jamie Hawk Fleming. Heir to the Fleming Empire.
Is this for real? Is he playing a prank? Am I dreaming? Oh my God, nobody pinch me, okay? If it’s a dream, I want it to last.
***
“So… you like artichokes?”
“What?” I’ve been staring at this hands. They’re resting on the table. Big, strong, with blunt fingernails.
“Artichokes.” He tilts his head to the side and one side of his mouth tips up. “That what you ordered, right?
Spaghetti
alla chitarra con carciofi e bottarga .” At my clearly confused look, his smile goes up a notch. “
Pasta with artichokes and fish roe.”
Oh God.
Of course he’d know Italian. I wonder how many languages he speaks. How many sports he excels at.
So I just nod frantically. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“That what you wanted?”
Crap, no.
But I paste a smile on my face. “Oh yes.”
I can’t even remember ordering, let alone what I picked out.
He chuckles, and rolls his eyes a little, and it’s… sexy. How on earth is that possible? He scratches at his stubbled chin and I want to beg for the job.
Please, let me help you scratch that golden stubble… Let me stroke down that long, corded neck to the powerful shoulders that look out of place encased in that tailored suit, the narrow waist and those long legs…
“I was just making sure.” God, that chuckle, that grin is setting my panties on fire. Isn’t that wrong, five minutes after my boyfriend broke up with me?
Then Hawk shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the back of his chair, and holy crap, Hawk in a tailored shirt is so much better.
Not as good as he has to be without any clothes on, but it’s an improvement. And God, I’m staring.
At the Fleming Empire heir, who did me a kindness and brought me to his table so that I didn’t walk out of here with my face on fire and my pride in shambles.
“I, um. I wanted to thank you.” I fiddle with the coaster of my water glass. “For this. You didn’t have to step in and rescue me, but I do appreciate it.”
His gaze slides over me, hot, stopping at my mouth. “I’ll admit, I’m selfish. I really wanted to have dinner with you. I was fucking glad when I realized he was out of the picture.”
And now I am half outraged and half pleased.
Because he didn’t do it to save me, or so he claims.
But he wanted to have dinner with me, and I can’t help the rush of heat at the thought he was really observing me from afar, wishing I sat down with him.
“Well, I’m here now.”
“You sure are.” He holds my gaze as the waiter approaches us with an ice bucket. He places it beside us, takes out a chilled bottle of wine and presents it to Hawk who nods. “Right here.”
His voice is warm, and strangely it makes me shiver.
He is offered a drop of wine to taste it and he just waves at the waiter who hurries to pour us two full glasses, replaces the bottle in the ice bucket, and walks away.
I barely notice him go.
“To tonight?” Hawk suggests, lifting his glass, and I raise mine, on autopilot. “To meeting you.”
“To tonight,” I whisper and swallow down my wine like water.
And whoa, it tastes good.
“Thirsty?” He raises a brow and reaches for the bottle. “I’m kinda thirsty myself.”
My face flames. He pours more wine for both of us, and I order myself not to take another sip, even if I’m so frigging nervous my fingers are tap-dancing on the table.
What am I doing? What are we doing? Is he flirting with me? Seriously flirting, or just passing his time? Maybe he does that with any girl who crosses paths with him.
Maybe his date stood him up?
“You eat here alone?” I blurt out, before I decide I shouldn’t ask. “I mean, you came here alone?
My head spinning, I open the menu blindly. “No way,” I whisper.
Jamie Hawk Fleming. Heir to the Fleming Empire.
Is this for real? Is he playing a prank? Am I dreaming? Oh my God, nobody pinch me, okay? If it’s a dream, I want it to last.
***
“So… you like artichokes?”
“What?” I’ve been staring at this hands. They’re resting on the table. Big, strong, with blunt fingernails.
“Artichokes.” He tilts his head to the side and one side of his mouth tips up. “That what you ordered, right?
Spaghetti
alla chitarra con carciofi e bottarga .” At my clearly confused look, his smile goes up a notch. “
Pasta with artichokes and fish roe.”
Oh God.
Of course he’d know Italian. I wonder how many languages he speaks. How many sports he excels at.
So I just nod frantically. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“That what you wanted?”
Crap, no.
But I paste a smile on my face. “Oh yes.”
I can’t even remember ordering, let alone what I picked out.
He chuckles, and rolls his eyes a little, and it’s… sexy. How on earth is that possible? He scratches at his stubbled chin and I want to beg for the job.
Please, let me help you scratch that golden stubble… Let me stroke down that long, corded neck to the powerful shoulders that look out of place encased in that tailored suit, the narrow waist and those long legs…
“I was just making sure.” God, that chuckle, that grin is setting my panties on fire. Isn’t that wrong, five minutes after my boyfriend broke up with me?
Then Hawk shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the back of his chair, and holy crap, Hawk in a tailored shirt is so much better.
Not as good as he has to be without any clothes on, but it’s an improvement. And God, I’m staring.
At the Fleming Empire heir, who did me a kindness and brought me to his table so that I didn’t walk out of here with my face on fire and my pride in shambles.
“I, um. I wanted to thank you.” I fiddle with the coaster of my water glass. “For this. You didn’t have to step in and rescue me, but I do appreciate it.”
His gaze slides over me, hot, stopping at my mouth. “I’ll admit, I’m selfish. I really wanted to have dinner with you. I was fucking glad when I realized he was out of the picture.”
And now I am half outraged and half pleased.
Because he didn’t do it to save me, or so he claims.
But he wanted to have dinner with me, and I can’t help the rush of heat at the thought he was really observing me from afar, wishing I sat down with him.
“Well, I’m here now.”
“You sure are.” He holds my gaze as the waiter approaches us with an ice bucket. He places it beside us, takes out a chilled bottle of wine and presents it to Hawk who nods. “Right here.”
His voice is warm, and strangely it makes me shiver.
He is offered a drop of wine to taste it and he just waves at the waiter who hurries to pour us two full glasses, replaces the bottle in the ice bucket, and walks away.
I barely notice him go.
“To tonight?” Hawk suggests, lifting his glass, and I raise mine, on autopilot. “To meeting you.”
“To tonight,” I whisper and swallow down my wine like water.
And whoa, it tastes good.
“Thirsty?” He raises a brow and reaches for the bottle. “I’m kinda thirsty myself.”
My face flames. He pours more wine for both of us, and I order myself not to take another sip, even if I’m so frigging nervous my fingers are tap-dancing on the table.
What am I doing? What are we doing? Is he flirting with me? Seriously flirting, or just passing his time? Maybe he does that with any girl who crosses paths with him.
Maybe his date stood him up?
“You eat here alone?” I blurt out, before I decide I shouldn’t ask. “I mean, you came here alone?
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