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“I think I am. You do too.”
“Overconfident too.” With a chuckle, he sets his wine down without finishing it, then leans across the table toward me. “You look like you’ve had enough.” His gaze dips down toward the little plate of dessert. “Ready to go?”
“Mmm . . .”
I run my finger around the rim of my empty wineglass, pretending to consider it.
Honestly, I’m reluctant. I really am.
If this night has been one emotional gut punch after the next, it’s also been really nice. Just a little magic and intimacy that will end when he drops me off at my door with one last kiss for the woman I’m playing for the tabloids, though I’ll take it like it’s for me.
But I can’t hold on forever.
Still, I cling just a little bit longer, watching him. “Are you good to drive? We’ve polished off most of this bottle.”
“You’ve polished it off,” he points out with amusement. “I’ve been holding back, since I’m driving. A glass of water and I’ll be fine.” He arches a brow. “Will you?”
I laugh. “It’s sparkling wine! Not straight whiskey. I’m just a little fuzzy. Not drunk.”
“Good to know.” August stands then, and with a dramatic flourish that’s just playful enough to tell me he might be a tad more buzzed than he’ll admit. But then he offers me his hand and says, “Shall we?”
I don’t hesitate to slip my fingers into his.
His hand folds mine in pure heat, and he lifts me up with this effortless strength that makes my heart soar.
For an instant, it feels like he’ll swirl me into his arms to dance, my body swaying closer to his, our eyes locking. But he lets go gracefully and slips my coat off the back of my chair, holding it open for me.
When I slip my arms into it, his chest briefly presses against my back.
I go hot and tingly.
Oof.
I need a second before I can face him again.
He stays a second longer than he needs to.
Then, holding my breath, I plaster on my smile, tuck my purse under my arm, slip my hand into his arm, and let him escort me to the elevator for one last stunning glimpse of the Seattle nightscape.
I hold on to that last view.
My last bit of magic before we’re back to the mundane.
When the elevator doors open and I glance up at August, he’s watching me.
The look on his face hints that he’s as enthralled by me as I am by Seattle stretching to the horizon in a sea of lights like colored jewels.
No way.
I can’t let myself believe that.
I’m tipsy and imagining things. That conversation climbed up in my bed.
So I glance away quickly, focusing on the icy nip of night air rushing over me, clearing my head as we step outside.
He leads me to the car, helps me inside, and slips into the driver’s seat.
But when he starts the engine and pulls out into traffic, when we reach the next intersection, he doesn’t turn toward Queen Anne.
