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“You deserve nice things, Gillian. I can afford it.” He says almost mockingly.

“I don’t want your money!” I stare at him in disbelief.

“I know,” his statement is matter-of-fact. “Boggles the mind.” He shakes his head and smiles. “Come. Dinner waits.” He picks up the purse and hands it to me.

Chase is a man used to getting his way. I don’t stand a chance against him. I’m going to need a new strategy if I’m going to guard my heart and my morals. We are so not done with this conversation though. I cling to the purse and grab a light jacket.

In the limo, I’m still flustered and irritated. Now I’m wondering how much he spent on this dress. It would probably horrify me.Does he typically just burn money?There are so many better uses for it than material things. It is a lovely purse, though. The leather is buttery soft, the style perfect to go with any dress and it even has a name written on the inside lining.Madeline. I guess if you’re going to charge $1100 dollars for something, you might as well name it.

Chase twines his fingers with mine, bringing our hands palm to palm. I feel the energy buzz between us instantly. He leans over and whispers, “I can’t stop thinking about your ass in that blue thong. I’m looking forward to licking and spanking every inch of it when you’ve healed.”

He bites the tender flesh of my earlobe, sending a zing straight to my core. Did he sayspank? I’ve never been spanked before. Hit with intent to harm, but never spanked for pleasure. Not sure if I’d like it but if Chase was naked and doing the spanking I’d give it a whirl. He places a leisurely kiss against my shoulder. It’s an intimate gesture from someone who’s only known me a couple days. I’m having a hard time with how much this man has of my attention in such a short time.

We reach our destination, and I am wired for sound. With little touches and caresses, the man has me on sexual pins and needles. Men have not paid attention to me the way Chase does. Maybe because I never let them. Chase seems to watch every move, every subtle nuance, the flick of my hair, the shake of my foot. Everything. It is as if he is intimately in tune with my natural self.

Sex spills from his lips as he speaks and in the way he inches his body closer to mine. I find I want to climb into his lap and stay for a week. There is this heavy, needy ache that fills the air around us, stifling with its unfulfilled intent. If he doesn’t put me out of my misery soon and take me, I fear I’ll explode. Icarus flying to close to the sun. I look at the flesh of my arms and legs to ensure they aren’t sizzling and burning already, sitting so close to white hot fire.

We arrive at the restaurant and Chase escorts me up a narrow staircase, hand firmly planted on the bare skin of my lower back. I can hear the melodic lull of a piano playing as we enter a large space filled with white columns and hard wood floors. My heels click against the dark surface. A catacomb of open rooms makes each dining space seem small, intimate. The walls are a soft, buttery yellow, the light so low that the room glows. The walls have few adornments, only a couple of pieces of large art hanging on one wall. Tall skinny vases stand like sentinels along the wall, giant sticks poke out in every direction. A simple frosted colored glass lights each table with a small orchid lying alongside it. Golden leather high back seats nestle against a cappuccino colored table. It’s very simple and a complete contrast to the bar we went to last night. It has an Asian-inspired spirit to it.

People talk quietly at their tables; everyone is dressed impeccably. Chase caresses my lower back, his palm pressing lightly against the naked flesh to usher me forward.

“Mr. Davis, it’s lovely to see you tonight,” says a man in a structured black suit.

“Thank you, Jeffery. I would like my table. We will be staying for dinner. Please tell the chef to prepare a seafood dish for two.”

I tug on his suit coat. He leans in and I whisper into his ear. “I don’t eat seafood.”

“Really? None at all?” He looks at me quizzically.

“No.” I bite my lip and check my pedicure. Yep, still looking good. No chips in the pink paint.

“Hold that, Jeffery. This stunning lady does not eat seafood. What would you like, Baby?”Baby again?A girl could get used to that endearment.

“I’d give anything for some pasta.” I grin and lick my lips. He notices and brings his thumb up to pet it gently. His eyes go dark, his gaze intense as he studies my face.

“Don’t lick them or I will,” he warns.

I nod. Excitement swirls in my gut at his words. Would he lick me right here in the middle of a restaurant with everyone watching? If I was a betting woman, I’d say the odds were a complete and resounding yes.

“Apparently the lady would like some pasta, sans the seafood. I will have the same.” He makes a tsking sound. “What this woman does to me.” He shakes his head and leads the way with his hand splayed along my back. I can’t focus on anything because his finger is distractingly close to the fabric of my thong. He’s definitely ramping up the seduction. I’d give in with a loud “Take Me” if I thought he would go against his earlier decision to wait.

The maître d leads us to a secluded table set apart from the other patrons. It’s separated by a wall of dark plantation style shutters. Chase pulls out my chair. I don’t think in all of my twenty four years, I have had a man pull out my chair. It’s so noble and old fashioned. It’s part of what makes this mercurial man unique, so…special.

Wine appears without Chase ordering it. “I took the liberty of bringing you the newest selection, Sir.” Jeffery says confidently.

“Have at it, my friend.” I love how Chase is jovial and respectful with his staff, especially after what I thought was rudeness to the bartender the other night. He claims it was his impatience to ensure I’d have a drink with him. I choose to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Jeffery pours the wine and Chase sips it. “You’ve done it again. It’s perfect and will go well with the pasta.” The maître d fills our glasses and exits, closing the shutters, providing complete privacy.

He clinks our glasses together. “To us,” he says. I feel my cheeks heat as I tap his glass then take a sip. The wine is to die for splendid. This is the third time I’ve had a glass of wine in Chase’s presence and every last one of them were incredible.

Chase smiles as I assess the legs in the glass of red. “So Gillian, what does a typical day for you look like?” he asks and takes his own sip of wine.

I’m about to answer but am interrupted by the buzzing of my phone from the new purse. “Just a sec.” I check and realize I have six missed calls. Not good. The text display is from Maria.

To: Gillian Callahan

From: Maria De La Torre

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