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He curls his lips. "Are you always this…blinkered?"
"Are you always this…carefree?" I snap.
His grin widens. "Appearances can be deceptive."
"You don’t say."
He arches an eyebrow at the waiter who pops the cork on the champagne. The sound ricochets about the space, emphasizing again, that we are only ones here.
"You still didn’t tell me where everyone else is," I murmur.
The waiter pours the bubbles into my glass, then Hunter’s. He places the bottle into the ice-bucket perched on a stand next to the table that I only now notice. Then he fades away into the darkness.
"Given the potential speculation seeing the two of us together could cause, naturally, I had to find a solution to take you out to dinner in a public space while ensuring we had privacy."
"Ergo, you used your money and influence to buy out the place?"
"I simply asked the owner, who happens to be a friend, if he could accommodate us. And he did."
"Is it always this easy for you? To wave you hand and have all of your needs met? To incline your head and have minions jump to do your bidding? To ask and always receive?"
"Except with you."
He narrows his blue-green gaze on me from across the expanse of the table. The candlelight highlights the golden-brown specks in the depths of his eyes and haloes his dark hair, turning it almost blue. The hollows under his cheekbones seem more pronounced, the dip in his chin seems more delicious.
I try to tear my gaze from his, but it’s as if he holds me in a tractor beam. Awareness tugs on and stretches the air between us. My heart begins to race. This is ridiculous. So, he’s good-looking. I knew that already. What I hadn’t realized is that hidden behind that polished mask he presents to the world is an untamed animal. A beast lying in wait to unleash that darkness inside of him. An edginess, a sharp wickedness that I never would’ve guessed he’d be capable of, but which I sense now lapping at the restraints that he’s placed on himself.
I curl my fingers around the stem of my champagne glass. "I didn’t say I wanted champagne."
"You love champagne. It’s your drink of choice," he declares.
My eyebrows shoot up. "And you guessed this, how?"
"Nothing a little bit of research didn’t throw up."
I stiffen. "You had me investigated?"
"As you did me."
I blink, then surprise myself when laughter tumbles out from between my lips. "Touché." I raise my glass.
He seems taken aback himself, then his lips curve up in a smile that’s so open, so real that something flutters deep inside. It’s probably ripples of hunger, that’s all. I had very little for lunch and no breakfast. That’s the reason my stomach seems to be bottoming out.
He touches his glass to mine. "To us."
"There is no us." I incline my head.
"Not yet."
"Excuse me?" I widen my gaze. "I’m not sure I heard you correctly."
"Oh, you did. You just don’t want to admit it."
He takes a sip of his champagne. The tendons of his throat move as he swallows. My pulse rate speeds up.
Stupid. This is stupid—really stupid. I underestimated him. I thought I hated him. Oh, subconsciously, I’d noticed how my body reacted to his nearness, but I’d simply set that to one side. I’m not the kind who will allow my desires to lead me. Not after I’ve worked so hard my entire life to get to where I am. To break stereotypes. To make a difference to my community and to my country. This is what I’ve always wanted. This is why I studied so hard, why I got a scholarship to study law, then started my own PR firm. Why I’ve been so focused on my goals, to the exclusion of everything else. Why I accepted his challenge to spend time with him. I was confident I’d come out on top of our encounter. But now, I’m not so sure. And one thing I’m not is stupid. I know when to cut my losses and run. "Excuse me, but I have to leave."
I place my glass of champagne on the table and begin to rise to my feet, but he swoops out his hand and grabs my hand. Electricity shoots out from the point of contact. My breath catches in my chest. I glance to where his fingers are wrapped about my wrist. I glance up to find his gaze locked on my face. Some of the color seems to have drained from his features. He releases me, and I sit back down. We stare at each other. The silence stretches. Then the waiter wheels in a cart of food. He places a dish in front of me, then another in front of Hunter, before once more, retreating. We still haven’t taken our gazes off of each other. My throat closes. My pulse thuds at my temples. Moisture pools between my legs and I squeeze my thighs together.
