Page 23 of Find Me on the Ice

Mischief dances in her eyes, and she knows exactly what she is doing. So, let’s see where this goes.

“If you wanted to get me in a private room, you only needed to ask,” I say, slightly lifting my hips up and widening my legs.

“I have no doubt that is true. I’m sure any woman on earth could invite you into a private room, and you would run like a lapdog,” she snarks with fire in her eyes.

I shrug. “Not every woman. But I do have a weakness for a certain pink-haired girl that caught my interest a few nights ago. Her? Yes, I would follow her into a private room.” I sit up, holding her gaze. “Every time.”

She gulps and rolls her eyes.

Fuck, I wonder if she likes to be spanked.

“Well, even if that were me, maybe I don’t want anything to do with a certain blue-eyed boy that I hypothetically met at a club a few nights ago, or I would have texted him.”

“Hmm, I doubt that.” I chuckle, trying to push as many buttons as I can. I like to watch her get flustered and all riled up.

“You don’t know me, and you can’t know that,” she quips.

I lean forward. “I know you liked pressing your ass as tight as it could get against my cock with only that thin dress and my jeans separating us. I know you liked when I stuck my thumb in your mouth. And I fucking loved how it felt when your tongue flicked it over and over.” I lick my lips and stop myself from going over to her. “You’re right. I don’t know for sure that you want anything to do with me. But I know, that night, you did. And, God, what I would have given to have you come home with me. The things I would have done to you—with your consent, of course, Little Dove.”

Her thighs are squeezed together so tightly, and her chest is rising so fast that I think she might be the one to make a move.

But as much as I want to take her across that oak desk right now, I’m occasionally a man of patience. This being one of those times. When I take Little Dove, I want to be in such a state of desire that she is all I can think about, all I crave. And that simply takes time.

“I want to take you out for dinner. Tonight,” I tell her, waiting with bated breath for her answer.

She chuckles and puts her forehead against the palm of her hand. “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Rising off of the love seat, I walk over to her, gently caress the back of her hand that’s resting on her forehead, and pull it away.

She hesitantly looks up to me. I can’t stop myself from reaching out and touching the smooth skin of her cheek. I cup it, sliding my fingers under her ear and stroking her flushed cheek with my thumb.

“Please,” I whisper to her.

I almost have to slap myself for begging her. I have never begged a woman for her time.

She stares at me for what feels like forever, as if a war is waging in her mind. Then, ever so slightly, she nods her head, and a small smile forms on her full lips. “Yes.”

“Can I pick you up at your place?” I ask her, still stroking her cheek.

Her eyes quickly widen. “No, but I will meet you there. Speaking of which, where will we go?”

Well, I won’t ask for more details on that scared reaction to my question right now, but I definitely will later.

I have only been here a handful of times with Laura and Alec. But I do remember loving the cheese-stuffed ravioli at Elevation. I also remember the crazy-high prices, but I don’t really give a shit about that. I want to hear her moan while she eats the most delicious pasta she’s ever had.

“How about Elevation?”

Sliding my hand away from her cheek, I drop it to my side. I can’t help but notice the tiniest frown form on her lips.

“That is way too expensive. Also, you need a reservation, like, months in advance. How about Culver’s?”

“No.” I laugh. “How about Elevation? I can get us a table; don’t worry.”

A perk of being a Nighthawk is that tables magically seem to appear when you want to eat at a sold-out restaurant. Also, I remember them having great security, no paparazzi allowed inside. I don’t want to scare her off right away.

“And if I say no, will that change your opinion on where to go?” she asks.

“No, not at all. They have the best pasta, and I want to watch you drool over it.”

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