Page 126 of Bitter Rival

I’m not going to think about it though. Tonight, I’m just going to have fun.

“Hungry?” Beckett asks as he ushers me through the tapas restaurant with his hand on my lower back. For a non-date this certainly feels like a date. But once again, I’m not going to read too much into it.

I wasn’t hungry before but the food smells so good I’m salivating. “Starving.”

“So I assume you’ll be moaning your way through another dinner.”

“I aim to please.”

His gaze roams over the little black dress I chose for tonight’s “celebration.” It’s short and strapless and seemed like the perfect outfit for the occasion. “And you do. You please me very much,” he says, his voice low and husky, his mouth close to the shell of my ear. “You look so fucking beautiful.”

Heat spreads through my abdomen and my cheeks feel flushed.

God. When this man turns on the charm, it’s so disarming that I can barely think straight let alone form a coherent sentence.

When we reach our table on the outdoor patio, he pulls out my chair like a true gentleman, and after I recover from the shock of his compliment and perfect manners, I glance around at the other tables.

It’s mostly couples because this is a date night kind of place—candle-lit tables on a stone patio dotted with olive and citrus trees, and romantic Spanish guitar music pouring from the speakers.

After we place our orders, I look across the table at Beckett.

He looks so different to me now than the first time I saw him at the airport. His skin is suntanned. Eyes so blue against his skin. Dark hair perfectly tousled.

It’s not that he’s changed so much looks-wise.

But now I find him so attractive that every other man pales in comparison.

The last time I sat across from him at a restaurant was when we shared a booth at that burger joint. He wanted information about Astrid. I wanted to know if his job made him happy. If he was happy.

“I have a proposition for you,” Beckett says.

“I knew it! So this is just like Pretty Woman.” I run the toe of my shoe up his pants leg and give him a coquettish smile. “You’re paying me for sexual favors, aren’t you?”

He wraps his hand around my ankle and pulls my foot into his lap. “Why would I have to do that when you give them so freely?” He removes my strappy heel and it hits the floor with a thud.

My head falls back as he massages my foot with his large, warm hands, his thumbs pressing into all the pressure points. God. This feels so good that I moan like I’m having an orgasm. Close enough.

“Stay with me until you leave for Madrid.”

My eyes fly open. “What?”

“Stay,” he commands.

I take a sip of sangria to cover my surprise. Of course, I want to stay longer. I’d stay forever if I could. But I don’t want to get my hopes up until I know exactly what he’s asking.

“You want me to stay longer?”

He releases my foot and I sit back as the server arrives with small plates of tapas and sets them on the table then retreats.

“I thought we were celebrating that we’ve come through this alive and in one piece. Do you really want to tempt fate by prolonging this?”

“That’s a chance I’m willing to take. I’m game if you are.” He gives me a lazy grin and stabs his fork into a ham and cheese croquette. “So what do you say, princess?”

“I’m still not sure what you’re asking,” I hedge, biting into a Padron pepper.

“What’s the point in flying back to New York, when you can leave directly from here? Makes more sense to fly from San Francisco.”

“Not really. New York is closer,” I point out.

---