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“So what would you like?” he asks.
“It’s your treat, is it?” I shoot back, going for bantering.
“Like I said.” The smirk widens. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
Why? I want to scream. Why do you want to be a gentleman for me?
“Hmm, we’ll see how long that lasts.”
His eyes flare and his jaw tightens.
Maybe he’s thinking of all the ungentlemanly things he’d like to do to me, like bend me over and bring that massive cock to my...
I’m sure I saw his crotch twitching when I was working out, but his sweatpants are black, and, honestly, how likely is that anyway? I must’ve been wishing what I want into reality.
The tables have the menus printed directly onto them, with a shiny film over them to stop them from getting dirty. The whole place is modern and sleek and expensive, the sort of place I never come to.
Glancing down, I feel my belly rumble, the hunger sliding through me with deep need. And yet at the same time, I don’t want to chow down on a messy meatball sub and make a fool of myself in front of him.
“The meatball sub is good,” Ryker comments.
I laugh reflexively. “How did you know I was looking at that?”
“It wasn’t the looking that gave it away, Rosie. It’s the way you’re moving your hand over the picture.”
Heck, he’s right. I’m freaking stroking it like a real weirdo.
Snatching my hand away, I shake my head. “Salad. I’ll have a salad.”
He chuckles. “No, you won’t. You’re hungry and you’ve just done one hell of a workout. I’m getting us two meatball subs. And I don’t want to hear any arguments.”
Before I have a chance to respond, he heaves his massive body up and prowls toward the counter like a predator. It’s the calm in-control way he moves, like nothing in the world could stop him.
And nothing would.
If we had a family, he’d never let anything happen to us.
I try to push those fantasies away, but I can’t deny the flutter in my stomach when he said he’d order for me. He doesn’t care that I want a meatball sub. He’s not going to make any cruel comments about my weight.
Fine, okay, that’s all true.
But that doesn’t mean he wants me like I want him.
It just means he’s being friendly.
So why all that gentleman stuff? Why all the banter?
Because he’s just being nice, I scream in my head. Stop letting your thoughts get the better of you.
He returns with two foot-long subs and two sodas on a tray, placing them down and sliding back into his seat. For a man of his mammoth size, he moves with such fluid ease.
I reach across for mine with far too much eagerness, but it’s not just the hunger. It’s the feeling of him staring at me as I take it, the feeling of him staring at me full-freaking-stop, like his gaze could shatter me in half that causes me to shiver.
“So why don’t you want anybody to see your paintings?” he asks.
I take a bite of my sub, chewing, and nod to myself as if to say, I can’t answer, I’m eating.
His eyes light up in that way of his, and he shrugs. “I’ve got all the time in the world. Go ahead.”
“Don’t you have things to do today?” I ask once I’ve swallowed the delicious mouthful, my belly grateful.
“Nothing pressing,” he says. “I’ve got gyms dotted all over the city, but no classes until this evening. The main bulk of my work is on the West Coast these days—”
“Helping celebrities to get lean ‘n’ mean?”
His mouth tightens at the slogan.
“Where did you hear that?” he asks.
My heart pounds frenetically at the deep rumbling tone in his voice, as though he’s going to leap across and grab me… but not in the way I imagined before.
There’s rage burning in his eyes. I can see it. I’m sure of it. White-hot rage.
“In an article online, I think,” I murmur. “I don’t know. It was your slogan, wasn’t it, when you first started the company?”
“Yeah.” He nods with a sigh. “It was. But I was never fond of it. It sounded cheesy as hell.”
“So why did you have it?”
“It was my partner’s idea.”
Partner.
The word slams into me with the force of a bullet crashing into my heart. Partner.
I would’ve thought there would be some mention of this partner online somewhere, but if he’s managed to keep their relationship quiet, there’s no reason there has to be.
I wonder what she’s like, how beautiful she is, how long they’ve been together—
“My business partner,” he says, cutting into my thoughts.
“Oh.” Ridiculous relief flutters up inside of me, even if it doesn’t make sense. Just because he doesn’t have a partner doesn’t mean he wants me. “Wait, I remember. Zane, right?”
His mouth flattens even more now if that's possible. “Yes, Zane. Zane fucking Zeller.”
