“Twenty-seven. And you?”
“Thirty-two. Do you have family or friends in Denver?”
I twirl the base of my glass. “No family or friends.”
“You moved here with nothing but a job?”
Not by choice, I think, but I say, “Just ambition.”
“I’m impressed.”
“I don’t have a job,” I remind him, wishing I deserved the admiration I see in his eyes.
“Anyone who dares to do what you have will come out on top. That takes balls very few men or women possess.”
I grab an opening to turn the conversation back to him. “And you do?”
“Yes. I do.” His reply is quick, but he is quick to turn the conversation back to me. “Aren’t you just a little tempted to go back home?”
Home. I almost laugh at that word. “This is where I live now.”
“Surely leaving has crossed your mind,” he presses.
“No, actually. It didn’t and it won’t.” I cut my gaze reaching for my wine, stunned when he catches my wrist before I succeed. I try not to look at him, but somehow I find myself captured in his far too astute stare. “You’re alone,” he states.
“I’m with you,” I say, cringing inwardly at the obvious, nervously spoken statement so ridiculous that I’ve invited further probing.
His hand curls around mine and he drags it to his knee, and the way he’s looking at me, like the rest of the room, no, the rest of the world, doesn’t exist, steals my breath. I haven’t allowed anyone to really look at me in a very long time.
“Emily,” he says, doing whatever he does to turn my name into a sin that seduces rather than destroys me.
“Shane,” I manage, but just barely.
“Did you say yes to dinner because you didn’t want to be alone?”
I am not sure where he is going with this, if it’s about reading me or if he needs validation that I am here for him, so I give him both. “I like being alone,” I say, and on some level, it really is true. “I said yes to dinner because you are the one who asked.” My lips curve. “Actually you barely asked. You mostly ordered.”
“I couldn’t let you say no.”
“I’m actually really glad you didn’t.”
“And yet you say you like being alone?”
“It’s simple and without complication.”
“Spoken like someone who’s lived the opposite side of the coin.”
“Haven’t we all?”
“Who burned you, Emily?”
I blanch but recover with a quick, “Who says anyone burned me?”
“I see it in your eyes.”
“Back to my eyes,” I say.
“Yes. Back to your eyes.”