Taming Hollywood’s Ultimate Playboy by Amalie Berlin Page B

“This isn’t the way to the hotel. Are we going to the airport or something?”
    â€œNo, we’re going to dinner.”
    â€œYou want me to be right some more? You need that thing up and iced—it’s been hours.”
    â€œI need to eat too if I’m going to take one of those blessed pain-reducers, don’t I?”
    â€œYes, and it’s called room service.”
    â€œI don’t want room service. I want to eat at my favorite restaurant in New York, with my date.”
    She didn’t say anything. Arguing with the man had done no good in anything they’d butted heads over so far. He’d only agreed to the cane after he’d proved her case for her. “How about we get it to go?”
    â€œNo. We’re going to go in, sit at the quiet booth I’ve reserved, and if you want me to I will sling my leg up in the bench beside me to have it elevated. We can eat good food and relax with no responsibilities hanging over our heads. No one asking for interviews, or pictures. Have a little wine. Can I have wine with those pills?”
    â€œNo. I know I say that a lot, but you always want a little bit more, don’t you? I want to go to dinner. I want to eat where I want to eat. I want to have pain pills and wine.” She shook her head, but the tension she’d been feeling had already started to drain away. Probably had started the moment that he’d agreed to use the cane. It made it easier to tease him back. “How did you stay alive this long? Luck? Your looks?”
    â€œYep.” He reached over, wiggled an arm behind her around her waist, and slid her over to him. “Fate lets me get by with stuff because I’m too pretty to smite.”
    She laughed even though she knew it just egged the fool on. “So that’s why Fate sent me. I’m immune to your prettiness.”
    The car rolled to a stop and the doorman came to open their door. “You just adore me for my winning personality? Or is it my body? I feel so cheap.”
    And yet he grabbed his cane and got out of the car, stepped to the side and offered her a hand.
    â€œThis is not a date,” she said, taking the offered hand if for no other reason than civility—even if she was currently ignoring the fact that navigating car doors in this dress wasn’t really in her usual skill set. “And no wine. Or I’m going to whine.”
    â€œFine, fine. No wine. But I’m eating red meat and you can’t stop me.” He passed her hand through the crook of his elbow and led the way inside. “I come here whenever I’m in New York, they have a couple of great private booths. And if you want, I’m sure they’ll even bring out a bag of crushed ice. Which I will use, in the interests of making my date happy.”
    â€œThis is not a date.” Grace repeated herself, this time more quietly as they wandered through the restaurant to the promised private back corner booth.
    â€œOkay,” he whispered back. “In the interests of making happy the lovely creature who went to the movies with me, and who is now going to eat with me, I will ask for ice.”
    They stopped at the booth and Liam sat on the side that would allow him to kick his leg up on the seat like the heathen he’d better well be if he wanted her to eat dinner with him.
    Grace took the other side, and resisted the urge to ask for the ice. He’d said he would do it.
    Knowing better than to test her on this—or at least she liked to think that was the reason—he dragged his foot up onto the seat and winked at her.
    Menus were place before them and a bottle of the vintage Liam preferred presented to him. “No wine tonight. Water. Iced tea maybe?” He looked at Grace.
    â€œJust water for me.” She looked at the menu, but the prospect of reading words seemed too much for her. “My feminist core is shrieking, but I don’t want to order. Can I just