“Since this is a get-to-know-you dinner. . .,” he counters slowly, allowing his explanation to fall between us. It hangs heavy with innuendo, and I find myself wanting to play along. I want to flirt with him. I must give him that. He’s good.
I shrug, glancing at him swiftly. “Only if I can call you Rome,” I quip playfully. His easy nature has calmed my nerves, and I relax back into the seat.
“Darling, you can call me anything you like,” he smirks. “As long as you enjoy your evening, I’ll ensure you have that building in your possession within the week.”
“What do you get out of it? I mean, besides the money,” I question. His mouth curls into a sinful grin as he pulls into a parking lot. Once he kills the engine, he turns to me fully.
“I get you.” It’s a simple statement. Three words. But they do something to me. They make my stomach flutter with excitement, and my nipples harden with desire. The need to feel his lips on my skin heats my blood, and my panties are dampening by the minute.
“That’s only if I give in. And I’m not easily swayed, Rome Donovan.” My retort earns me a chuckle. His eyes dance with mischief.
“I can be very persuasive.” He shrugs nonchalantly.
He exits the car easily, rounding the hood, opening my door, and offers his hand. As soon as I slip mine in his, a current of electricity shoots through me, causing me to gasp. Our eyes meet in a moment of knowing. This is obvious. There is something between us that seems to magnetize me to him.
Everything about him is perfect. I know that nobody can be, but with Rome, I may just believe the unbelievable. His suave walk, the way he moves, how his fingertips trail down my spine, all those minor things seem to gather, making him irresistible.
“And you enjoy watching women fall to their knees for you?” I ask as we head into the restaurant. “Making them do whatever you’d like with a few words from your silver-tongue.”
“Not at all,” he responds easily, confidently, and cockily. “I’m just good at what I do. If they give in, it’s because they want to.” He nods at the maître d’ as we step inside, and immediately, the man is moving through the busy restaurant, leading us to a quiet booth in the back corner.
“The waiter will be with you in a moment.” It’s not long we have to sit in silence before a pretty blonde waitress sidles up to the table to take our order. Her blush when Rome looks at her is evident. He’s a heartbreaker. When we’re alone again, his gaze falls to me.
“Why do you want this building so much?” he asks, genuinely curious.
“It’s a new start. Something I need.” His gaze narrows as if he can pull the truth from me, but I know he can’t. There’s no way I’m divulging any more information than is needed. When he nods, he sits back and watches the people passing by, the staff going about their business.
“You know, Elisabet, life affords us many second chances. I’ve had mine. It’s what you do with it that counts. I trust once you’ve got the property, you’ll ensure that it is looked after.” He says all this without looking at me.
“Of course,” I acknowledge him. The blonde brings our wine and dinner at that moment, and our conversation is lost for a time. Once our glasses are filled, Rome lifts his, gesturing for me to follow suit.
Our eyes meet and hold before he says, “To us.” Two words that seem to echo in my mind, scattering themselves around in my chest, and I nod. We clink our glasses, but I don’t respond to his toast. I can’t. There can’t be an us. As much as Rome Donovan makes me want that, as much as I enjoy his company, the word us is off the table.
Chapter 9
Rome
I watch Elisabet tuck into the salmon salad she’s ordered. She doesn’t concern herself with anyone else in the room, even me. Her soft moan that resonates in her throat has me aching to release the tension in my slacks. Her eyes flutter closed for a moment before opening and landing on me.
“What?” she asks shyly. There’s something so alluring about how at times she’s feisty, but right now, there’s an innocence to her, and I wonder if she’s ever had a real man show her how beautiful she is.
“Nothing. I like seeing you enjoy the meal,” I respond, digging into the rump steak that’s cooked perfectly. Medium rare.
“It’s delicious. Thank you.” With a smile, she continues devouring her meal, leaving me to scoff down mine. The evening continues with light conversation. I don’t ask her any personal questions. This isn’t meant to be a date, but when the bill arrives, I realize I want nothing more than for it to be precisely that.