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He’s a quiet guy, so I end up doing the majority of the talking. Instead of rambling about myself, I regale him with Violet stories, which make him chuckle—a sound I like a lot.
After an hour or so, during which my stomach starts to grumble since I was too nervous to eat this morning, he shifts to face me. He skims my cheek as he sweeps my hair over my shoulder.
I lean into that touch, willing him to lean in, too. And he does. His thumb rests against that soft spot under my chin.
“I would like to kiss you,” he says.
“I have coffee breath.”
“As do I.”
I consider offering him a mint, but decide I don’t care. I tip my chin up. “Okay then.”
His smile is soft and warm, in stark contrast to his hard features and icy eyes, and his lips feel like silk against mine. I have no idea how long we kiss, but it’s enough that my neck starts to get a kink. He finally pulls back, those icy eyes heavy with the same lust that’s ruining my underwear.
“Would you like to have lunch with me?”
In my head I turn lunch into extended foreplay, but either way, spending more time with him is on my yes list. “Definitely.”
“Great.” That smile of his makes another appearance, shorting out all the connections to my brain and redirecting the energy to my lady bits.
He reaches into the backseat and retrieves a messenger bag. He then produces a file folder with my name printed neatly on the front of it. Well, that’s kind of . . . odd. Although that seems to be the way this date is going: nice, but odd.
“What’s that?” I ask, the lust and excitement I was feeling a few seconds ago transforming into anxiety.
“A non-disclosure agreement,” he says breezily, as if he’s telling me the name of a flower.
I’ve signed plenty of non-disclosure agreements during my time at Stroker and Cobb Financial Management. It’s necessary when working with famous hockey players and managing their finances. But unless I’ve read this whole thing incorrectly, Darren isn’t going to ask me to manage his finances. At least I hope he’s not.
“I’m sorry, why would a non-disclosure agreement be necessary?”
His brow furrows, making the sharp lines of his face even more severe and slightly ominous. “Because I’d like to have lunch with you.”
I surreptitiously place my hand on the armrest, near the door handle. Just in case. “You need a non-disclosure agreement for lunch?”
He runs his hands down his thighs. “I’d like to take you to my house.”
“For lunch?”
“Yes.”
“Is lunch code for something?”
I get more of his furrowed brow. “Code?”
Maybe the rumors about him are true. Maybe he really is some kind of Dom and he’s looking for me to be his next submissive. I’m not sure how to feel about that. I’ve read all the Fifty Shades books, and sure, some of that stuff sounds like a fun time, but I don’t like to sign contracts for anything outside of work and banking. Even then, it makes me uncomfortable.
“Yeah, like, is lunch a code word for some kinky sex games or something?”
His furrow turns into an arch, and a slightly sinister smile tugs at the corner of his sinfully sexy mouth. The same mouth that was recently suctioned to mine.
“No. Although I’m certainly not opposed to kinky sex games if that’s what you’d prefer in lieu of lunch.”
I pick up the folder, which he’s left on the dash between us and flip it open. The agreement is several pages long.
I glance at Darren and raise my own eyebrows.
“Take your time. I can wait.” He smiles again, but it seems more like a grimace.
I scan the contents. It’s incredibly thorough, with a whole bunch of clauses. There’s even one pertaining to a credit card and a budget for clothing and lingerie. What in the actual fuck?
I close the file folder and pass it to him. “I’d like you to take me home.”
He grins widely and produces a pen. His smile is so pretty I almost forget why I want to go home. Then I remember the pre-date paperwork.
I hold up a hand. “No, you’re not understanding. I’d like you to take me to my house, not yours. I’m not signing an NDA agreement for a lunch date—especially this type of NDA.”
That smile of his drops, and he blinks rapidly, fingers tapping against the manila file folder. “But I thought we were enjoying each other’s company.”
“We were. But there’s no fucking way I’m signing this, so if you want to have lunch with me, you’ll have to do it without an NDA.”
He’s clearly experiencing some conflict over this because he stares at me long enough that my skin grows hot before he finally says, “It’s meant to protect us both.”
“It’s not a condom, Darren. It’s an NDA. The next thing I know I’ll have some kind of tracking chip and I’ll be tied to your bed.”
