Page 56 of Tempt Me

The fact that I was even considering getting naked with him was an interesting admission. It showed me that the handsome single dad wasn’t completely out of the game, at least from a sex point of view. Oh, God, what did that make me . . . a user and abuser? A slut? The angel in my brain wanted to whack me over the head.I’m just a single woman looking for a little fun.

Fun! That’s what I wanted, and that’s what I was determined to get.

With my nanna knickers pulled up to my waist, I felt nice and secure and turned my attention to my dress choice. I decided on a maxi dress. The colorful, flowing fabric was perfect for hiding a multitude of lumps and bumps. I paired the orange and blue dress with a set of dangly orange beaded earrings that matched the dress perfectly.

I gulped down the last of my wine, sprayed on Chanel Chance perfume, applied a lick of lipstick, and with my bag over my shoulder, I headed out my door with five minutes to spare. I waved at Marjorie as I crossed the lobby, grateful that she was occupied with guests, and headed for the sliding glass doors.

The wind whipped at my skirt as I walked down the hotel’s front steps, and I clutched the abundant fabric at my sides, fearful of flashing my hideous underwear. I spied Clayton immediately. He cut a handsome figure in a white, checkered button-up shirt and navy pants with a matching caramel-colored belt and brogues. I was two seconds away from turning around and running upstairs to improve my attire when he looked up and saw me.

Clayton waved and walked my way. “You came.” He sounded surprised as he leaned in to kiss my cheek. He smelled lovely, with hints of floral and leather dominating.

I chuckled. “Of course.”

He held his palm forward and with his hand on the small of my back, directed me to his car.

“I think I’m underdressed,” I blurted as he opened the car door.

“You look amazing.”

“Oh, are you sure? I can dash upstairs and change.”

“No need, you look beautiful.”

I must have looked confused or something because he placed his hand on my forearm. “You can change if you want to. If it will make you feel better. But you don’t need to.” He opened the car door for me.

“Oh.” Little butterflies danced across my stomach. “Okay then.” I slipped into the passenger seat, and he shut the door.

He climbed into the driver’s seat and when he turned to me the dashboard light cast a pink glow across his freshly shaved skin. “I hope you like a steak.”

“Oh, I’m a vegetarian.” The words popped out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I had no idea why I’d said that.

His jaw dropped. “Really? Lolita didn’t tell me that.”

I giggled. “I’m joking. I love steak.”

He grinned and laughed. “That was funny. You got me.” He turned to the steering wheel and put the car into gear. “So that’s how the night’s going to play.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.” Maybe Memphis’s cheeky streak was rubbing off on me after all.

“No. Don’t be sorry; it was funny. So, have you been to Moo Moo’s before?”

I shook my head. “No, but I’ve heard of it.”

“Oh great. You’re in for a real treat.”

I liked the sound of that. I settled back on the seat and a lovely sense of comfort washed over me as we shared some idle chitchat on the ten-minute drive to the restaurant.

He parked the car and walked around to open my door. The restaurant was a hive of activity, attacking my senses from the moment the door opened. Flames danced atop sticks that lined the perimeter. Wonderful aromas of chargrilled beef and garlic made my mouth water. The bar at the front of the restaurant was filled with a throng of boisterous men and women.

Clayton placed his arm around my waist to guide me to the entrance, and possibly for the first time in my life, I didn’t cringe in response to that move. My stomach growled, and my nanna knickers inched unpleasantly up my ass as we were directed past table after table to our seats.

In my inexperienced opinion, Moo Moo’s was a great choice for a first date. It wasn’t too fancy that I’d feel like a pimple on a beautiful woman’s chin. It wasn’t too intimate that every pause in our conversation would be excruciating. And if the aromas were anything to go by, I was in for an exceptional meal.

We sat opposite each other, and the waiter filled up our water glasses and explained how the menu worked. Clayton wiggled his eyebrows at the mention of battered onion rings, and I smiled in utter agreement with his reaction.

The second the waiter left our side, Clayton picked the leather-bound menu up off the table. “Would you like wine?”

“Absolutely.”

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