“I’m good, thank you,” she managed to say with her head held high. Her cheeks, though, were on fire. “I’d just finished when you came up to me.”
She slid her hand into the crook of his arm, and he hugged it close to his hard side. Just that slight contact made her legs shake. The man was made of pure, lean muscle. When did he have time to work out? He spent all day and most of the nights in his office. “I find it charming, you know. The way you talk to yourself.”
Oh, she doubted that. Especially since he’d said those words without a hint of a smile. But she’d humor him anyway. “Thanks.”
They walked inside Macaluso’s, and as soon as he set foot on the threshold, it was as if the restaurant knew it. Waiters bowed and scooted out of the way, greeting him by name, and he led them to a small, private room in the back left corner of the dining room without any help. It was ensconced within dark red curtains, and there were at least ten candles flickering on random tables…
That were all empty of place settings except one.
He led her to that table, pulled her chair out for her, and waited. “Maggie?”
“Uh—” She blinked. “Is this whole room for us?”
“Yes.” His brow wrinkled, and he looked confused, as if he didn’t realize that most men didn’t do that. How…How…ridiculous. “I don’t want anyone overhearing our conversation. I wouldn’t put it past my mother to have spies following us, to see if we’re the real thing or not.”
“Oh. Right.” That, at least, sort of made sense. She sat down, and he pushed her chair in close. “Thanks. After the day I’ve had, I can’t wait to get an appletini. Or five.”
Anything to make her forget all about this.
And that sexy kiss last night.
He sat across from her and picked up a dark, expensive looking bottle of wine she’d somehow missed sitting in an ice bath. “No need to wait for a drink. I pre-ordered our wine to go with our meal. This is their best bottle of white.”
I hate white. She smiled anyway because booze was booze, and at this point, she’d take it. She’d drink muddy water if it dulled the panic rising inside her with each word he said. Now that they were out, alone, the enormity of what she’d agreed to hit her. This was her boss, and she was on a date with him because she was pretending to be his lover. How had this happened? “Uh…thanks. Sure.”
“Oh.” He brandished a bouquet of red roses from under the table like some sort of hot, designer-suit-wearing magician. “Also, some flowers for you.”
He said that with no emotion whatsoever, as if he could do this in his sleep. She had the impression he was, right now. “Thanks.” She lifted the tablecloth and glanced underneath. “What else do you have under there? A waiter? A string quartet with a violin?”
His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. Heaven forbid he show some small sign of amusement. “No, they’ll come in later.”
“Seriously?”
A slight tip of his head. “No.”
“Thank God,” she breathed.
This whole “date” thing was so cliché. And more than likely? It worked every freaking time. This was obviously his play when he took women out, and he had all the right moves to make a normal girl swoon and fall into his arms. Unfortunately for him, she wasn’t a normal girl, and she knew a well-honed player move when she saw one.
It wouldn’t work on her.
She’d learned her lesson the hard way. Not that it mattered, of course. He didn’t have to woo her. She was already his fiancée.
Laughing lightly at that, she took the flowers and set them on the empty table next to them without smelling them. She was well aware what roses smelled like, and they made her sneeze. She preferred snowbells. “Pretty flowers. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
She smiled, not saying anything else.
His forehead scrunched, and he scratched his head.
He seemed confused, and she almost felt sorry for him. He obviously couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t swooning at his feet. But the risk outweighed the reward, and she couldn’t afford to be an idiot over her boss’s dreamy eyes. Her job was too important. Her parents counted on her to help them, and her rent had to be paid, and poor Lucifer needed that vet appointment.
So he could turn those sexy eyes elsewhere.
He poured a full glass of wine, and held it out to her. Their fingers brushed on the hand off, and the skin on skin contact sent her pulse soaring and her mind racing back to that kiss for the millionth time. Seemingly unaware of her reaction to him, he settled in to pour his own glass. Before he’d even finished, she’d taken a big gulp. It tasted awful.
It might be their best bottle of white, but it still tasted like butt.
She must have made a face, because he sighed and set the bottle down. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice tinged with slight annoyance.
“Nothing.” She folded her hands in her lap and smiled, trying to ignore all the unsettled feelings swirling in the pit of her stomach. “Why do you ask?”