Page 24 of Stuffed

The candles flicker between us as our waiter brings the main course. I watch Zane cut into his steak, the way his thick fingers move with each movement. Everything about this man is sexy. The way he carries himself, the charming smile he flashes discreetly, the grace with which he commands a room when he enters. He catches me staring and the corner of his mouth lifts in that devastating half smile.

"See something you like, Miss Marlow?"

"Just admiring the view." I take a deliberate bite of my pasta, letting the fork linger against my bottom lip. Two can play at this game.

Desire blooms in his eyes as he watches the movement. "Careful," he warns softly. "You're playing with fire again."

"Maybe I like getting burned." I adjust my glasses, knowing exactly what it does to him. The way his jaw clenches tells me I've hit my mark. “Fine.” I smile. “Change of subject. What made you want to start your own company?”

He pauses chewing for a second, thinking through his answer before gently patting his mouth with his napkin.

“A multitude of things come to mind, but one that has always driven me is just giving back.” My facial expression must convey my shock. “Don’t look so surprised, Miss Marlow.”

“Sorry, it’s not that I don’t think you’re a generous entrepreneur; it’s just that I didn’t know that about you.”

He nods, his expression growing serious as he tells me about a project he’s currently working on with the city that would bring not only housing but so many more resources for the less fortunate and homeless population.

“Wow, that is incredible. You know, Ivy and I have always said we would love to do something like that too someday, give back to the community that’s helped us. Maybe we could do something together, like our businesses.”

He smiles genuinely. “I like the sound of that.”

“Sorry,” I apologize after several more minutes of me peppering him with questions about the project.

“No need to apologize. I’m happy to discuss it. It’s nice, actually. Most people only want to discuss how it’s either going to benefit them or their bottom line.”

I scrunch my nose at the thought of looking at a resource center and homeless shelter in such a selfish manner.

"Tell me something," he says, interrupting my thoughts and leaning forward slightly. "Did you plan all this? The glasses, the desk, everything?"

“Technically, you requested the glasses. I merely obliged.”

“You don’t always wear them, do you?” he says, lifting his glass of wine to his lips.

"Would it matter if I did?"

"I'm curious how long you've been plotting my downfall."

I laugh, the wine making me bold. "Your downfall? That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"Is it?" His voice drops lower. "You show up after all these years, looking like every fantasy I never knew I had, talking about profit margins like they're foreplay…"

"Are they?" I tilt my head, enjoying the way his eyes follow the movement. "Working for you?"

"You know damn well they are." He takes a long drink of his wine, and I watch his throat work. His eyes narrow. “Who sent you?”

“Afraid I’m a spy? Here to do some corporate espionage and this bakery is just a front?” I can see his resolve crumbling and it ratchets up the excitement.

"You've always known exactly what you do to me."

"Have I?" I lean forward, dropping my voice. "Then tell me, Mr. Mercer. What exactly do I do to you?"

His hand finds my knee under the table, fingers sliding just high enough to make my breath catch. "You make me forget every reason why this is a bad idea."

"Maybe because it isn't." I cover his hand with mine, holding it in place. "Maybe it's the best idea we've ever had."

The tension between us builds with every passing moment. Each brush of hands, each heated glance, each carefully chosen word feels like kindling being added to an already dangerous fire.

"You know what I think?" I say, trailing my fingers along the stem of my wineglass.

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