Page 18 of Save Me

I don’t get stuck in my musings for too long before I receive a text from my driver informing me that they’ve arrived. Less than five minutes later, the hostess shows Kennedy inside.

I rise to my feet, drinking her in with my gaze. Instead of the sexy as fuck dress that she wore to The Black Opal last night, she’s opted for a simple black wrap dress that stops just at her knee.

However, nothing looks simple on her. The wrap accentuates the curvature of her waist and hips. The V-neck cut of the dress shows enough skin to make the look classy. Her hair is in another high bun, neatly tucked away, although a few tendrils spill down the sides, framing her beautiful face.

Her lips are a shade of red, and her cheeks are tinted with a rose pink color. Her light makeup showcases her flawless light brown skin and the freckles that dust her cheeks and nose.

I’ll take her any way she’ll fucking come to me. But my favorite state is her in her most natural state, with as little makeup as possible.

“So it is you,” she says by way of greeting.

Something tumbles in my stomach from the sound of her voice, even if it’s not meant to be warm or inviting.

“You were expecting someone else?” I clench my fist because even though I know she must have figured out who she would be meeting, the idea of her getting dressed up, putting on makeup, and leaving her home to meet another man sets me off.

“No.” She shakes her head. “I wasn’t.”

I release the breath I held onto and unclench my fist.

“Then you came to see me.” My lips spread.

“No, I came for the answers you promised in your card.”

“And I’m the only person who can give you those answers.”

She frowns. “You’re one of many.”

“If that were the case, you wouldn’t be here right now, Kennedy.”

Our gazes lock on one another.

“Why don’t we take our seats?” I wave the waiter off when he walks toward us.

I move to the opposite side of the table and slide the low-seating chair.

“I didn’t come here to have dinner,” she says, looking from the chair to me.

“Oh?” I hover over the chair.

“I came for answers. About Blackmon,” she emphasizes.

“Even hard-working reporters need to eat.”

She bites her lower lip, a sign of her mounting frustration.

“If you want answers, you’ll have a seat, Kennedy.” My voice leaves no room for argument.

Her nostrils flare but she takes a step toward the table. And then another, until she’s seated. I unashamedly let the tips of my fingers brush against her shoulders as I push her chair in.

The waiter is at our side in an instant.

“Red wine?” I ask Kennedy.

She gives me a stiff nod. I order the best red wine on the menu before shifting my gaze back to her. My fingers itch to reach out and touch her.

Even though this moment is happening before I anticipated, I’ll savor it.

“How about we start with an appetizer? I hear the aloo gobi is delicious.”

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