His lips curved with pleasure and a hint of amusement. “Thank you.”
Our intimate moment was shattered when a pretty blonde server showed us to our table. Joseph didn’t so much as glance in her direction. It was as though he was transfixed by me, his full attention keen to the point that it should’ve been uncomfortable.
I reveled in it, basking in the warm glow of his overt admiration. Not only was it an ego boost, but no one in my life—romantically involved or otherwise—had ever considered me with such rapt interest, as though they were trying to peer straight into my soul. It made me feel powerful and achingly vulnerable at the same time, and I was quickly becoming addicted to the sensation.
When we got to our table, Joseph pulled out my chair for me. His gentlemanly behavior was at odds with his bad-boy sense of style, and the combination was enticing. I was definitely becoming infatuated far too quickly. But if I was honest with myself, I’d been a goner the moment our eyes first met across the bar all those weeks ago.
Joseph ordered a glass of champagne for each of us, and the waitress didn’t even glance at me to assess my age. She only had eyes for Joseph, so she quickly nodded and rushed off to fulfill his order. It should’ve made me jealous, but the fact that he was still fully focused on me mollified any resentment I might have felt.
“You didn’t have to get me champagne,” I said, still worried about the extravagance of the evening.
He fixed me with a suddenly stern stare. “You keep telling me what I don’t have to do. I know I don’t have to. I want to do these things for you.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought about it that way. I’d been feeling guilty every time he did something nice for me. I wasn’t accustomed to being treated with such care and attention. “Thank you. I guess I’m just not used to it, is all.”
His head canted to the side. “You’re not used to people being nice to you?”
I shifted in my seat. This was a deeper question than I’d anticipated. I really liked Joseph, but I wasn’t ready to trust so easily. No matter how badly I wanted to.
“I’m just not used to so much attention, I guess.”
His dark brows lifted. “You can’t tell me that men don’t fall at your feet all the time.”
I practically squirmed in my chair, uncomfortable with such intense scrutiny. “I guess I just don’t spend that much time with boys.”
He considered me for a moment, then nodded. “Well, I’m not a boy. I want to treat you how you deserve to be treated. You need to let me.”
The last held the ring of command, but it didn’t bother me. If anything, his unyielding tone made it easier for me to agree. I could let go of my social anxiety and allow him to take care of me in the way he wanted.
“All right.” The agreement left my lips without a thought of protest.
His dazzling grin hit me square in the chest, and I almost forgot how to breathe. “Good girl.”
That seemed like an odd thing to say, but the words made something heat low in my belly.
“I’m not a girl,” I managed to say, although there wasn’t any fire behind the assertion.
His gaze blazed again, the candlelight catching in his pale blue eyes. “No, you’re not. Does it bother you that I said it?”
I considered for a moment, then decided to tell the truth. “No.”
His cocky smile returned. “Excellent.”
I didn’t understand why he seemed so pleased with my response, but his levity was catching, and I found myself grinning like a fool.
Our champagne arrived, and Joseph ordered our meal without even glancing at the menu.
When the waitress left, he focused on me. “I hope you don’t mind that I ordered for both of us. This is my favorite cuisine, and I want you to try a few things.”
“I don’t mind,” I assured him, and I really didn’t. The feminist in me should probably be annoyed, but I liked that he wanted to share something he enjoyed with me. I craved to know more about him. “Have you been to Delrio’s before, then?”
“A few times. My family owns a similar restaurant back home, and the food here is almost as good.”
I leaned forward, latching on to the first real thing I’d learned about him. “Your family owns a restaurant? Where?”
His expression shuttered, closing him off from me. “New York.”
“Oh. So that’s home for you?” I fiddled with my napkin in my lap, my anxiety returning with his sudden distance.
“Not anymore.” He blew out a heavy breath, and his smile returned. “I like living in Cambridge.”
“What’s your favorite thing about living here?” I asked quickly, relieved that his tension had passed.