Page 57 of Wanted

"Eat first." I chew slowly, then swallow. "After your plate's clean, I'm taking you home. Then you can tell me what the hell that kiss was about."

From the corner of my eye, I catch the slight tremble in her hand as she sips her water. She sets the glass back on the cocktail napkin. "Dillon's here."

"Who?"

"My ex."

My head whips around so fast, my neck cramps. I set my burger back on my plate and stand.

"Where is he?" I scan the back of the bar for a total stranger. Though I bet I could pick out the prick without looking at a photograph. They’re all the same. Lanky. Arrogant. Wearing a bitch-ass expression right up until the point someone teaches them a lesson for beating up on women.

Her fingers wrap tenderly around my bicep. "I think he's gone."

"He talked to you?" I look down into her pretty brown eyes.

"Yes." Even in that one word, the shame she carries on her shoulders is apparent.

I settle back on my stool and pick up my burger again. "Eat before it gets cold, Frankie."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to kiss me."

"Baby, I'd have done a lot more than kiss you if I knew that asshole was watching. All you had to do was ask. But, I’m not about to let him spoil your dinner."

I’d have fucked her on the bar if it taught that asshole a lesson. But I don’t tell her that.

I wait until she sinks her teeth into her burger before tasting my own. Her shoulders visibly relax as she chews.

“Good?” I ask, watching her go in for a second bite. The corner of my mouth twitches at her blissful expression.

“So good.”

“Ruben’s well known around here for his burgers.”

“Maybe we should make this a weekly tradition. I can already tell I’m going to be thinking about this meal tomorrow.”

“Deal.”

“Uh-huh,” she titters around another bite.

I finish chewing before I ask, “What?”

“You’re plenty agreeable when it’s you footing the bill. Does this mean you’re done fighting me over cooking us breakfast?”

“I can’t argue that the quiche was pretty fucking good.”

“Just the quiche?” She raises a single eyebrow.

“You’re adept at making breakfast.”

“It’s not just breakfast. I could blow your socks off with my fettuccine Alfredo.”

She could blow my socks off in another way that has nothing to do with food. Fucking hell. One kiss and I’ve been thrust back into my teenage years, unable to think about anything except kissing her again.

We finish our food. Her empty plate pleases me more than it should. As we stand to leave, her head swivels to scan our surroundings. Tension tightens her shoulders and drives them toward her ears.

I slip my hand casually around hers and tug her beside me.

“Let’s get out of here.” I dip my head, murmuring so only she can hear.

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