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For two.
We’re close enough now for me to recognize the meal. Pasta. My absolute favorite.
Appeasing my appetite… a game move?
A fancy meal in a beautiful dress. Is this his way of making me take his deal? Agree to his terms? Everyone knows the true way to a woman’s heart is through her belly.
Not even my nervous, flip-flopping belly is going to stop me from partaking in this delicious-smelling food. After months of salads and fresh wraps with he-who-shall-not-be-named, followed by weeks of absolutely no appetite after our breakup, I’m suddenly starving.
Game move or not, I’m diving in.
My stomach rumbles as we reach the bottom of the elaborate, curving staircase. Luckily, it can’t be heard over the melodious sound of a man playing a grand piano in the corner of the room. Apollo guides me to my seat.
The scent of food, the promise of fine wine…I’m almost beginning to relax.
I sense him before I see him. His presence is just that powerful. I slowly turn my head, drawn to him, my eyes wanting to drink in the intoxication that is this man.
Glass-green eyes that stare directly into my soul. The physique of an MMA fighter with the stature of a Greek god. His deep voice rumbles, the sound vibrating through my chest as he greets me.
“You’ve come.”
Is he surprised I accepted his invitation?
Why have I come?
It never occurred to me to turn him down.
My body wants to tremble under his heated stare.
I steel my nerves and hold his gaze. “Of course.” I offer a hint of a smile. “Thank you for the invitation.”
He moves around me, and I take the moment to observe his appearance. He’s even more gorgeous than usual—has he taken extra time with his appearance for little ol’ me? His already neat and tidy dark beard looks freshly trimmed. He wears tan pants and a casual short-sleeved brown shirt that perfectly complements the deep olive tone of his skin. His round, bulging muscles tug at the thin material of his linen shirt as he pulls out a chair for me.
“You look lovely,” he murmurs, his tone threaded with heat as he gazes at my silk-covered curves.
His glance is admiring yet tinged with what seems like annoyance; I have crashed his party after all. I slip into the plush, high-backed seat, allowing him to push it forward for me. “Thank you.” I catch a hint of his cologne. He smells as divine as he looks, musky, warm notes of clean manliness.
Thankfully, my mother had sprung for etiquette classes—one good thing that came from her overbearing personality. I know exactly what to do as a staff member approaches me, lifting my napkin from the table. I’ve never been anywhere fancy enough in real life to receive this type of over-the-top treatment, but now I know to lean back, allowing them to spread the linen over my lap for me.
I’m starting to feel a bit robotic, saying “thank you” on repeat all day with the amazing service I’ve been receiving. I flip through my memory file, thinking of other appropriate phrases. I acknowledge the server with a gentle, “So kind of you.”
Steeling my nerves, I force myself to face Mr. Bachman’s enchanting, yet intimidating face. God, how the man carries power in the perfectly cut lines of his strong jaw. Just watching him clench it gives me involuntary flutters where I don’t want them. The desire is stronger than anything I ever felt for Patrick, and I’m only just sitting beside this man at the dinner table.
Wondering what he’s planning on doing with me.
two
Lindy
He refuses the wine, a hand poised over the top of his glass. A perfectly formed, strong hand with short, clean nails, I note. He’s extremely well-groomed, which I appreciate. Even this casual outfit he wears is perfectly tailored to fit his muscular physique. As picture-perfect as he is right now, you get the feeling if you plucked him up from this dinner, tore his shirt off, and tossed him in a cage fight… he’d win.
Probably walk out without a scratch on him.
Which I am also very much impressed by.
I, of course, accept the wine.
“I’ll have some.” I address the hopeful-looking young male server hovering at my side. “Please.”
