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Dear God, this was the most real date we’d ever been on.
Had the others been dates?
Was this it? The real date? Was this the—
I needed to shut myself up and fast. I would be prepared and pour wine. Yes. Be proactive, Dahlia, you donut.
It was my favorite wine—of course—and it was so cold, it could have passed for ice itself. It was perfect, and I carefully poured two glasses. I was just setting the bottle back into the ice with several clinks when I felt two hands lightly grasping my hips.
“Here. Fixed the problem.”
I turned, his hands stroking across my back and stomach as I did, and broke into a huge smile. He’d ditched the pants and shirt in favor of sweatpants. The only other item of clothing he wore was his underwear, given away by a bright-red waistband peeking out over the top of his navy sweats.
“You changed,” I said dumbly.
“Now, you’re not underdressed anymore.” He laughed quietly, sliding his arms around my waist.
I slid my hands up his arms and tilted my head back as he lowered his to kiss me. Slow and gentle, it sent tingles over me, and my heart thumped so hard there was no way he didn’t notice its fast beat.
“Need to eat,” he said against my lips. “Or it’ll get cold, and I’ll have a burn on my thumb for no reason.”
I pushed him back and grabbed his left hand. “Where?”
He waved his right fingers, amusement radiating off of him.
I rolled my eyes and swapped his left hand for his right one. Sure as hell, he had a small, flesh-colored Band-Aid on his thumb.
“It’s slightly reassuring to know that you’re not entirely perfect at everything you do.” I shrugged it off. “Does it matter where I sit?”
He steered me toward one of the chairs. “You know what else is reassuring? Your concern for my thumb.”
“Oh, please. I’ve had bigger Band-Aids on shaving cuts. You’re just being a baby. Thank you,” I added when he pulled my chair out for me. “Or is it like man-flu, but a man-burn?”
“Everything is worse when you’re a man. The pain is so much worse than you can imagine.”
“Then thank God you never have to go through labor. We’d never hear the end of it.”
Damien’s grin stretched right across his face, reaching his eyes. He held up his glass of wine, and I did the same. We clinked them, and he held my gaze for a long moment as he brought his glass to his lips.
A shiver ran down my spine.
Those eyes held a promise of what would happen by the time this night was out.
Was this a precursor for something that would be more normal in my life? Would these dinners happen more often?
Sweatpants at a dining table or virtually naked with take-out. I didn’t care how or where it happened. I wanted more of these moments where there was nothing but us, guards down, smiles in place, feelings raw.
“So. How was your day?” he asked, pulling the cover from his plate and then mine.
“Long.” Sure, it was evasive, but whatever. “Yours?”
“Enlightening. I spent much of my morning talking with my father.”
“This doesn’t sound like an enjoyable topic of conversation for dinner.” I reached for my glass.
Damien watched me as I sipped it, a smile tugging at his lips. “Do you have something you’d prefer to talk about? The weather, perhaps? Or shoes?”
“I would like to know where my shoes are.”
“Upstairs. Now, the weather?”
“It’s hot. It’s always hot. It’s a moot point.” I waved my hand. “Nice attempt, but I know you want to talk about your dad, so…”
“Want is a strong word,” he said slowly. “I wouldn’t say I want to talk about him.”
“You brought him up and now you’re stalling.” I pointed my fork at him. “Get on with it.”
His eyebrows arched, and he sipped from his glass to hide a smile. “I went to the cemetery this morning. I wasn’t there long, but after my run, I decided I needed to speak with him, so I went to his house.”
“That explains why you were gone so long.”
“Sorry. It was spur of the moment, and I’d left my phone in the office here.”
“Don’t worry.” I smiled. “So, you went to his house.”
He nodded, chewing. When he’d finished, he continued. “I told him straight out that I was tired of pussy-footing around the subject. He either came to terms with what happened and stopped trying to work against me in the business, or I’d sell him the percentage that’s mine and he’d be on his own.”
I choked on the stem of broccoli I was halfway to swallowing. Thumping my chest, I forced the vegetable down before grabbing, watery-eyed, at my glass.
“That’s an extreme reaction if ever I saw one.”
It wasn’t my most mature move, but I stuck my middle finger up at him. I could barely see and my throat was on fire.
