Page 27 of Making Over Maris

She wasn’t thinking about him any differently than she had before. As far as she was concerned, he was a big, dumb, social moron who needed coaching on every point. Well, fuck.

“First of all, you need to open my door.”

He kept himself from snarling but just barely. That was what he’d been about to do when she’d stopped him.

“Okay.” He got out of the car and walked around to open her door. Without prompting, he thrust out a hand. She smiled up at him. He didn’t notice. His attention was snared by something else. Her skirt had ridden up. He could almost see her—

“Good.” She slipped her hand in his and stood. Her fingers were delicate. Warm. He wondered what they’d feel like on his—

He brutally cut off the thought. No sex tonight, he reminded himself. No sex for a long, long time. If he was ever going to have her, really have her, he had to take things very slow. He had to soften her, seduce her. Make her want him first. The romance novels said so. The analysis he’d done of them was fairly conclusive.

As they walked into the restaurant arm in arm, she chattered, giving him advice and tidbits like, don’t be too forceful or overbearing. Don’t stare at the waitresses’ asses. Try not to fart…

He tuned her out and focused on how amazing it was to have her on his arm. Every once in a while she would brush up against him and a shiver skated through him. He glanced down at her beautiful face. He couldn’t believe she was here. With him. On a date.

A fake date but still…

Maybe if he tried, very hard, he could turn this into a real date.

The restaurant was dimly lit and romantic. The maître d’ greeted them at the door. When he recognized Jack—from his visit earlier this afternoon—his eyes widened and he gave a bow. “This way, Mr. Maris,” he murmured and led them to a table by the fireplace.

Wow.

Apparently a hundred-dollar tip did produce better service.

Jack held Sara’s chair as she sat but he practically had to elbow the maître d’ out of the way for the privilege. He did allow that man to take her napkin, flick it out and lay it across her lap, but he had to grit his teeth the entire time.

“This is nice, Jack,” Sara said, readjusting her napkin.

He pulled out his own chair and sat. “I’m glad you like it.”

“What are you going to order?” She looked over at him, her eyes warm and soft. God, he wished this were a real date.

He shrugged. “Do you want me to order for you? I mean, do guys do that?”

She blinked. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’d like someone ordering for me.”

“Tristan recommended the osso buco.”

Sara wrinkled her nose. “What is that, exactly?”

Jack laughed. “Not sure.”

She slapped her menu closed. “If Tristan recommended it, I suppose we should try it.”

“And wine?”

“What?”

“Do you want wine?”

Her lashes fluttered. “I shouldn’t. I’m working…”

“Working?” God. That word stuck in his throat.

“Sure. Tutoring you.”

“One glass?”