Page 27 of Love You Truly

“Bullshit.” The deep rumble of his voice cuts through the ambient chatter in the restaurant, and I look around to see if he’s caught anyone’s attention. No one seems to notice him. But my body notices, and I curse it for the thrill that races through my gut at the velvety sound.

“Excuse me?” I’ll just play dumb.

“You had a reason. Tell me what it was. You already dated my brother, so I refuse to think you’d go double dipping in that pool. Although the charm of the Corbett men would get anyone all hot and bothered.”

He leans back with a knowing smirk. This is the Dashiell Corbett I expected when I texted and asked him out. He’s a player. He likes women. It doesn’t take an engraved invitation to get him to sign on for a night of fun, and he had no reason to think I’d want anything else.

“You got me. I’m still not over Jax, and I thought maybe you’d give me the dose of Corbett man I was craving.”

I meet his gaze, challenging him to dispute my explanation. Knowing he won’t.

“Again, I say bullshit. Excuse my French.”

“It ain’t French, just so you know,” I say.

“Non? Tu parles francais?”

“I do, actually. Studied it a little bit in school, then spent a year there.”

He nods and his eyes travel over my face, fixing on my eyes for a moment and ending at my lips. He picks up his wineglass and swirls the liquid inside. I find myself staring at the swoosh of deep burgundy as though I’ve never seen a glass of wine before.

Or maybe it’s his long fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass. Something has me mesmerized, and it takes a moment to shake myself free.

He takes a small sip and puts the glass back on the table. My eyes follow his graceful hand to where it rests on the white tablecloth. He taps his index finger on the heavy linen, and I can’t stop thinking about what else he could do with that finger. A jolt of awareness shoots straight to my core, and I shift on my chair.

“You studied abroad during college?” he asks, bringing my thoughts back to the present. When I meet his gaze, I find him assessing me, and I feel stripped bare, like he knows exactly what I was thinking when I looked at his hands.

I shake my head. “No.”

“You went after college?”

“Yes.” I can’t have a conversation with this man. I feel tongue-tied, and that’s never happened before. I can’t understand it because I didn’t have this problem in the grocery store or in the bar. But we weren’t alone at a fancy restaurant with a tiny glowing candle on the table and easy jazz playing in the background.

This “date” is throwing off my mojo, and I need to get it back.

His mouth twists into a smirk. “Are you really going to make me keep guessing? Spill, Marshmallow.”

I’m about to come up with some words, but he leaves me speechless again with the odd nickname. I blink a few times and manage to close my gaping mouth. “What did you just call me?”

He shrugs and his eyebrows bounce. A dimple flashes in one cheek. Over the years, I’ve seen Dash from a distance, but I haven’t spent this much time in proximity. Now that I’m here, I can admit that he is a very attractive, extremely hot man, and I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks just from looking at him. Yet there’s a more important matter at hand, so I try to focus.

“Marshmallow.”

“Is that your favorite dessert or something?”

“No, I prefer a chocolate tart, if I’m honest, but it just might be my favorite nickname for you.” I roll my eyes, but there’s no getting rid of that grin. “You don’t like nicknames?”

Now it’s my turn to shrug. “I’ve never had one before.”

“Well, that doesn’t surprise me.”

I can’t decide whether I’m offended or not. “Why do you say that?”

He leans in and speaks more quietly and deliberately, his deep baritone setting my nerve endings on fire. “After spending two minutes with that ass-wipe you were married to, I knew for damn sure he didn’t have the creative impulse to give you a decent nickname. You deserve better, Mallomar.”

I can’t stop the frown from settling in. He nods. “You don’t like it.”

“It’s not that. Just…” I debate cutting off the conversation and going back to why I spent time in France. It would be easier. He doesn’t need to get to know me any better than he already does. We’re here for one date. One and done.

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