CHAPTER 21
BLAKE
It’s six-fifty when Danielle walks—no—glidesdown the stairs.
She’s wearing a short black dress with mesh arms and neckline—somehow making the visible flesh of her décolletage seemingly forbidden.
The black material clings to her body, and the fuck-me heels she’s wearing send blood rushing straight to my dick.
That’s before I even look at her face.
Smokey black makeup makes her emerald eyes pop, and her glossy nude lips beg for my dick in between them.
Her hair is begging to be wrapped in my fist; the platinum waves a stark contrast to the black dress.
“Stop staring, James.” Danielle strides over to me, lacing her arm through mine.
“Can we stay in?” I whisper, reaching up to cup her face in my hand.
Danielle laughs, and something in my stomach twists, commanding me to drop my lips to hers.
Danielle stiffens, but her eyes meet mine, allowing me to nod gently. A smile plays at her lips, and she tilts her head to the side as she studies me.
“No, Blake, we can’t. I’m starving.”
“Fine,” I say with a groan, dropping my lips to her hand. The plain wedding band she’s wearing catches my eye, and I wonder if it would be enough to divertmyattention from her if I saw her tonight.
But then, I wouldn’t give a fuck if she was married or not.
“Where are we going?” Danielle asks, tugging her hand from mine.
I’m trying not to stare at her, but I’m failing massively.
“Huh?”
Danielle frowns, waving a hand in front of my face. “Are you okay?”
No, I’m not. I’m obsessed with you.
“The Chateau,” I mumble, mentally slapping myself.
I lead the way to the car, feeling her eyes on me.
Good.
How am I supposed to concentrate?
“Ooh, nice.”
We ride to the restaurant in silence, but we keep stealing glances at one another throughout.
Why did I ever leave her?
How was it possible though, that I’d met my dream girl at the age of twenty?
It wasn’t.
“What are you thinking about?” Danielle interrupts my thoughts, and I turn to find her gazing at me, her hands resting in her lap.
