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Are we about more than tonight, more than sex, Ryker? I want to ask.
We must be right, otherwise why the heck would he want to know this personal stuff?
“Thank you for telling me that,” he says after a pause. “I can’t imagine how tough it must’ve been for you.”
“It was a difficult time,” I agree. “But Sadie, Paul, Josephine, they all helped me through it. Luckily I wasn’t the one to find him. That’s another blessing.”
At another red light, he leans across and places his lips softly against my cheek.
“I admire the hell out of that,” he whispers, his face close to mine.
“What?”
“The way you look for the good, even in the worst situations, the way you try and see the light instead of the dark.”
“We have to, don’t we?” I whisper. “What other choice is there?”
“No, we don’t have to. Plenty of people don’t. It’s you, Rosie. You’re special. You’re amazing. I…”
“What?” I urge when he pulls away to nudge the car forward.
“I’m proud of you,” he says after a pause, but I can’t help but think he was going to say something else.
For a downright insane moment – and this truly is just stupid – I thought he was going to say I love you.
But of course not. We’re strangers, even if I do feel magically close to him.
“I haven’t spoken about that in years,” I murmur. “But with you…”
“Rosie,” he snarls, urging me on.
“With you, I feel like I could talk about anything.”
It’s too much, too fast, too much intimacy. Any reasonable man would run for the hills if a woman said something like this to him.
But instead, he nods confidently. “That’s because you can.”
Chapter Seventeen
Ryker
I lead my woman through the glistening lobby, the chandeliers bright and the carpet the color of gold.
The hostess wears the famous Elysium gold tabard, smiling warmly as she steps from behind her desk.
But I only have eyes for Rosie, her curves highlighted gorgeously in the sparkling silver dress, her calves shaped in the short heels, making me want to fall to the floor and bite down softly on them like a feral beast.
I still feel primed and on edge from the conversation in the car.
I almost blurted out I love you for a moment.
I know it doesn’t – or at least shouldn’t – make any damn sense. How can I love somebody I met a couple of weeks ago?
But it was just the way she looked right then, with her bangs across her forehead, a few wayward strands of hair begging me to smooth into place, her eyes optimistic and bright despite her evident pain.
The feeling inside of me rose on madness-fueled wings. Luckily I stopped myself at the last second.
What the hell would she say if I did something crazy like that?
Well, she wouldn’t say anything. Except have me pull the car over before she ran down the street.
As the hostess leads us across the restaurant, I caution myself to remember that tonight is a first date. My woman doesn’t know how badly I need her and want to plant my seed inside her, how hungrily I want to slip a ring onto her finger and claim her for life.
My woman doesn’t even know she’s my woman, not the totality of it.
“The waiter will be over presently,” the hostess says, leaving us at our table.
We’re in the corner of the large cavernous room, with a domed golden ceiling and three chandeliers hanging across the vastness. All around us, men in suits and women in dresses sit around tables, some of them flickering with candle flame, others holding red roses in vases.
“This place is amazing,” Rosie murmurs, as I walk around the table and pull out her chair.
“Thank you,” she says, as I tuck her into place.
Moving to my side, I sit down and stare over at her, studying the flush that spreads across her cheeks. I’m so relieved she isn’t wearing any makeup, leaving me free to study her natural perfection, her mood playing out in the color of her cheeks.
The waiter comes and gives us the menus, asking us what we’d like to drink.
“How about some non-alcoholic champagne?” I ask.
Rosie smiles. “That sounds nice.”
The waiter leaves and Rosie leans forward, causing those breasts to shift for me, the silver sparkling material of her dress rustling around. I bite down and try to tell myself I’m not on the verge of losing control. I’m not about to explode in this civilized setting and go full animal on her.
“You could have a drink if you want,” she says.
“I’ve never been much of a drinker,” I reply. “It’s fine, honestly.”
She nods and sits back, gazing around the room with her lips parted and her eyes bright. My lips twist upwards in a small smile, reflecting the joy I feel in my chest.
She likes it. She’s having a good time. That’s all that matters.
