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“I’ll pick you up.” He unlocked his phone, opened his contacts, and glanced at her. “Address?”
“S-Sure.” She followed him into his living room. She glanced around a little bit, but considering she’d admitted to being basically blind without her glasses, he could only assume she wasn’t actually seeing anything—just avoiding him because she was nervous, which was endearing. “Five-twenty Forty-Sixth Street, right in the middle of Atlanta.”
“Great.” He typed in the address quickly. “And your phone number?”
She spouted it off to him, her voice trembling.
“Thank you.” His finger hovered over the place to put her name, and it occurred to him that she’d never actually given it to him. He glanced up, his heart hitching in his throat when he saw her biting down on her plump lower lip. It was innocent and yet sexy at the same time. “And…uh…your name, ma’am?”
She laughed uneasily. “Oh, yeah, I guess that would help. Kassidy. Kassidy Thomas.”
“Great. I’m Wyatt Hamilton.” He held his hand out to her. “Nice to meet you.”
“I gathered,” she said sarcastically. “I promise not to sing, by the way.”
He laughed. “I told you, I enjoyed it.”
“Sure.” She gestured at her body. “Also, be warned, I don’t usually dress like this.”
“How disappointing. It works for you.”
“It does something, all right.” She let go of his hand. “I’ll see you at…?”
“Seven-thirty.”
She nodded. “Okay.” She took a step toward the door, then paused, her shoulders stiff. “Seriously, though, how much was that vase?”
“I can’t really say. It’s been in my family for years.”
Choking on a laugh, she said, “Please don’t tell me that Alexander Hamilton once owned it, or something insane like that.”
“Well…” he said, wincing.
“Shit, you’re kidding, right?”
“It’s fine,” he said again. “It’s just a vase.”
She covered her face with her hands. “No, it’s not. Like, what if Eliza gave that to him for his birthday, and it was his favorite, and he always put flowers from their garden in it to cheer her up after Phillip died because it was quiet uptown, and now I broke it because I’m stupid and took off my glasses—?”
Clearly, someone was a fan of Hamilton.
“Kassidy,” he said softly, capturing her hands and pulling them down gently.
She froze with wide eyes. “Yeah?”
“I don’t give a damn about the vase.” Her skin under his was electrifying, and he stepped closer, instinctively
craving more. There was this invisible pull between them, this undeniable lure, and all he wanted was to sweep her into his arms and see if she tasted as good as he was pretty sure she would. “I assure you, having you at my dinner with me is a hell of a lot more valuable to me than some stupid piece of glass that Alexander owned. Okay?”
She swallowed hard, her blue eyes still locked on his. Her lips were parted, and every breath that escaped tickled the skin of his throat. There was a heat to her eyes, a spark of attraction that told him she wasn’t immune to that weird pull between them—if anything, maybe she was being pulled, too, which did nothing to help him cool the hell off. “O-okay.”
“I’ll see you at seven thirty?” he asked, his voice lowering for some reason.
She nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”
“I look forward to our date…” he said, lowering his voice even more. “Kassidy.”
She pulled free and ran, leaving behind nothing but balloons, a faint whiff of flowers and perfume…and a shattered, priceless Hamilton vase. Speaking of which…
