Page 107 of Falling for the Enemy

“Deelie, hush.”

He crossed the room slowly, not stopping until he kissed her. “Mm, maybe we eat in instead, and I keep you all for myself. You look too good to share with others.”

“No way. You promised me dinner, and I plan to eat.” She checked her clutch to make sure she had enough cash and some extra lip gloss for the night. “Where are you taking me?”

He couldn’t keep his hands off of her. And she was pretty sure he was sporting a semi. “I’d like to take you to bed.”

“Soren.”

His fingers trailed down her arms, encircling her wrists. “There’s a place just outside of Hideaway Bay called the Gilded Heron. I just have to stop home and check on King. He was with the dog sitter all day, but she left a couple hours ago.”

“You hired a dog-sitter?”

“Of course. He’s only three.”

His concern was sweet.

As they left the house, he took her key out of her hand to lock the door for her. They walked to his car, and he helped her inside. He even buckled her seatbelt.

She laughed nervously, unused to others doing such things for her.

“What’s funny?”

“You. I can do that myself, you know.”

He shrugged. “I like taking care of you.”

Those were very dangerous words.

They drove to his house, and she waited in the car while he ran in to check on the dog. When he returned, he looked refreshed. He’d changed his suit jacket and restyled his hair.

“Did you shave?”

“I touched up.”

She told herself his effort was the result of being a control freak, but her heart wasn’t so sure, and as it suffered another little pinch, she found herself hiding a smile.

The Gilded Heron was an old, converted captain’s house on the water. From the outside, it was a rustic fortress. Inside, it was a romantic hideaway.

Warm, low light separated shadows into secret corners, and white linen draped the tables, each one widely spaced so conversations could remain private. Candlelight flickered from brass sconces, and fires crackled softly in various hearths throughout the old home. Antique paintings reflected in a dark wall of windows facing the harbor.

“Mr. Hawthorne, welcome back.” Soren was greeted like royalty and presented with not only the best table, the best view, but also his own private menu, handwritten by the chef just for him.

Jocelyn had never seen anything like it. “How did they know you were coming?”

“I called when you were in the shower.”

“What if I’d worn jeans?”

“Then you’d be sitting here in jeans.”

She loved how unbothered he was by the possibility. And why should he be? He was Soren Hawthorne. Not the Soren Hawthorne she grew up with, but the Soren Hawthorne the outside world dealt with, the one who ran a billion-dollar company and influenced the stock market every day before most people even had their coffee.

Once the maître d’ seated them, a waiter filled their glasses and suggested a wine based on the chef’s recommendation. The service was unhurried, and every reveal from the wine tasting to the hors d’oeuvres was a choreographed production.

“I guess I finally get to experience what all the other girls had.”

He eyed her cautiously. “Which is?”