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Bruno, in the middle of shaking the toy to death, doesn’t even look up, but I get the sense he approves.

Outside, the evening air is balmy, the sky already ink-blue and speckled with stars. Tanner’s matte black SUV is parked at the curb. He opens my door, old-school, and waits for me to climb in before circling to the driver’s seat.

I sink into the plush leather and inhale. His scent lingers, something dark and woodsy, and I wonder how the hell I’m supposed to make it through dinner without launching myself across the table at him.

Once he’s behind the wheel, Tanner glances over and grins, drumming the dash with easy, restless energy. His fingers are long and strong, nails neatly trimmed, but there’s a cut on his knuckle that’s healing over.

The drive through Silver Spoon Falls at night is, I’ll admit, a little bit magical. The cobblestone streets are strung with fairy lights, and every porch lamp glows amber, so the whole town looks dipped in honey.

We pull up in front of the Broadway Steakhouse, and the building glows under a thousand white lights. Tanner’s SUV purrs as he slows to the curb. The valet dude rushes up, and Tanner’s out of the car in one smooth move.

He doesn’t wait for the valet to even open my door. He’s there first, hand already reaching for mine, warm and big and so steady. His palm closes around mine, making my breath catch in my lungs.

My heart pounds away in my chest as his hand grips my waist, guiding me up the front steps, like he can’t stand the idea of even an inch of space between us. He pushes open the door for me, and every cell in my body just melts.

The Broadway Steakhouse is the kind of restaurant that’s fancy without being fussy—exposed beams, barn wood walls, and tables set with actual linen, but no one cares if you show up in boots. The entryway smells like charred steak and rosemary and toasted yeast, and my stomach immediately wants to have ten of whatever they’re cooking.

The hostess lights up the second she sees Tanner.

“Good evening, Mr. Carrington,” she purrs, then does a double-take when she sees me on his arm. Her eyes linger on my emerald blouse for a second, then she smiles genuinely. “We have your table ready.”

She leads us through the main room, past a wall-mounted bison skull and a fireplace so big you could roast a whole cow in it. We take a hard left down a dim hallway lined with black-and-white photos of rodeo legends, and I realize she’s walking us toward the most private booth in the place.

The booth is a velvet half-moon. Feels like stepping into a private court, velvet walls hemming us in, the candle throwing shadows against the dark. Tanner slides in next to me, close enough that the heat from his thigh burns through my pants. My heart pounds as sweat breaks out on my forehead.

Then the waitress appears, all cheerful energy and brunette ponytail bouncing, denim apron slung low. “Would you like wine to get started?” she asks.

“Yes, please,” Tanner says. His voice is all easy charm, but his hand is still splayed over my knee. The warmth of his touch sends electricity flowing straight down my spine.

My brain is fuzzy from the nearness of him.

He glances at me. “Red or white?”

My mushy mind makes responding hard. “Red. Definitely.”

“We’ll take a bottle of your house Cabernet,” Tanner tells the waitress, flashing her a grin that would convince a nun to commit a felony.

She beams at him. “I’ll be right back to get your orders.” The second she’s gone, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

Holy cow. We haven’t even gotten to the salad course, and I’m two seconds from melting into a puddle of goo sitting here next to Tanner.

His thumb circles my knee, slow and lazy, heating me up from the inside. He leans in. “I can’t stop thinking about kissing you,” he murmurs, and his warm breath brushes against my sensitive ear.

I actually make a noise. Actually, it’s more like a whimper. It slips out before I can stop it. Just a desperate, needy little sound.

His thumb circles my knee, slow and hypnotic, and his lips are right at my ear. “God, you’re adorable.” I turn my head. He’s less than an inch away. Those hazel eyes are molten, pupils blown wide, and they’re on me like a tractor beam. “I’m not sure I’m going to make it through dinner without doing it.”

I swallow, which is impressive, because my entire throat feels like it’s closed over. He doesn’t give me even a second to recover. That big, warm hand slides a fraction higher on my thigh. If this man goes any further north, I’m going to combust right here in this fancy steakhouse. “Wow,” is all I manage to mutter since my mind is basically a puddle of goo.

His mouth is at my ear, breath hot and shivery. “You have no idea what you do to me.” Oh, God. Oh, God. That voice is pure sex and promises that aren’t appropriate for public.

I try to say something cool. Anything. My brain comes up with, “Same,” except it comes out as a squeak. Yeah. Flawless.

His mouth curves, slow and wicked, and I nearly combust right there in the booth. His hand is still squeezing my thigh. I have no brain cells left.

The waitress is suddenly there, like she’s materialized out of vapor, not even blinking at the way Tanner’s practically caging me in. She sets the bottle of wine on the table and pours a glass for each of us. “Are y’all ready to order?”

I drag my gaze away from his mouth. “Uh. The filet. Medium rare. And definitely the mac and cheese.” I grab my glass and down it in one swallow, hoping to cool the fire burning through me a little bit.