The clasp slides into place. He does not move away right away. His fingers rest at the nape of my neck, barely touching, and my whole body leans toward the contact before I can stop it.
His voice lowers. “Better.”
I turn around slowly. “Is everything a lesson with you?”
“With you?” His eyes drop to my mouth. “Lately, yes.”
Dinner is at a small restaurant tucked against the ridge, with tall windows, polished wood, and enough soft lighting to make every table look like a secret. Jordan’s hand settles at my lower back as we walk in, and this time I remember his first lesson.
I lean into him.
His fingers flex once.
A tiny victory bursts in my chest.
The hostess leads us to a booth near the windows. I start to slide in across from him, but Jordan’s hand closes gently around mine.
“Beside me.”
My pulse gives up immediately. “Is that a request?”
“Yes.”
I slide into the booth, and he sits close enough that his thigh brushes mine. The restaurant is busy around us, but the boothis private, and Jordan’s presence makes the rest of the room feel far away.
The server appears with a smile that brightens when she sees him.
I cannot blame her.
I still dislike it.
Jordan orders steak for himself, then looks at me. “She’ll have the grilled trout with lemon butter on the side. No cilantro anywhere on the plate. She’s allergic. I’ll have a steak with roasted potatoes.”
My head turns so fast I nearly hurt myself. “How do you know about my allergy?”
His gaze stays on mine. “Employee medical form.”
“That is reasonable.”
“And you love trout but always check it before you take a bite.”
My stomach flutters. “That is less reasonable.”
“I notice you.”
There goes breathing again.
The server leaves, and Jordan’s hand settles over mine beneath the table. His thumb slides over my knuckles once, slow enough to make my toes curl in the very nice shoes he sent.
His hand shifts from mine to my knee.
My whole body locks.
His eyes narrow. “There.”
“I am in public.”
“You’ll be in public this weekend.”
