I’m about to turn around, but he nudges me with his foot. “Don’t look at the window.” His voice is low. “Don’t turn your head. Look at me.”
I look at him.
He sets his wine down and reaches across the table. Taking my left hand in both of his, he turns it slightly so the ring catches the candle. Then he lifts my knuckles to his mouth.
His lips press against my skin.
It’s a small kiss which looks like a private gesture. The camera, somewhere outside the window, catches it.
Heat floods my face.
He doesn’t let go.
“Don’t enjoy this so much,” I murmur, low enough that the booth two over cannot hear.
“I wouldn’t dare.” But he’s smiling as he says it, and his fingers are playing with mine. “I did warn you, though. I gave you sufficient warnings not to do this. I tried to do the right thing.”
My brows furrow. “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”
He lifts my hand and kisses the ring, his eyes on mine. The heat in his eyes, the raw hunger makes my lips tremble. “You’re—You’re not supposed to look at me like that.”
I mumble out the words, and he smiles, the sharp smile of a predator. “It’s really hard not to when I know you’ll be sleeping in my bed later tonight.”
My face feels so hot that I wonder it’s not exploding. “We’re not—It’s not like that. You can’t—”
“It’s so rare for you to be speechless.” He smiles now, and my heart is in my mouth. What exactly did I sign myself up for?
He kisses my knuckles again and then leans forward, his upper body lifting half off the chair. His hand is reaching for my neck, sliding around to grasp my nape. He pulls me forward, and I have no choice but to go with the flow.
“Smile for the cameras, my darling,” he whispers against my lips before seizing them in a kiss so fierce and so tender that my toes curl almost immediately.
I hear the click of a camera shutter.
Chapter Seventeen
Grayson
Miranda is asleep on my chest.
That’s what registers first when I surface, before my eyes open, before my brain has finished sorting out where I am. Her cheek is pressed against my chest. Dark hair has fanned across my collarbone, and one of her legs has hooked over mine sometime in the night. Her breathing is soft and even. My shirt, the one she’s wearing, has ridden up over her thigh.
My eyes open.
I shouldn’t get used to waking up like this, but my wolf is stretching inside me, smug about the knowledge that we are covered in our mate’s scent. I look down at Miranda’s sleeping face. Her features are smooth in sleep, relaxed. She looks so much younger.
Lifting my hand, I caress her cheek, mesmerized by the gentle curve of it. Her lips are plump and red, and I can’t stop coveting them. I’ve tasted them more times than I thought I ever could over these past three days. Secret restaurant dinner dates, walks in the park at night. The news is leaking from the tabloids into front pages of newspapers.
Grayson Wolfe and his nurse.
It’s a cute title, and I have a copy of it cut out and stored in my wallet. The picture on it is of us, walking hand in hand in the park, her eyes lifted to mine, a smile on her face. My own smile flickers and fades as I study the woman in my arms.
Are you really that good of an actress that you can fool even me, Miranda?
Knowing her personality, I just knew she would have a hard time being physically close to me like this, but it comes to her so easily. It kind of bothers me even as I soak in her touches, her affection.
The sharpness to her has faded slightly. I wonder if it’s because being debt-free has allowed her to stop living in survival mode.
I touch her cheek lightly again. When she’s around me, I forget I can’t actually be with her. I forget that I have to send her away. I don’t want to think about it. I want to enjoy this time with her. I want to pretend this is real.
