Page 44 of The Rogue and His Flower

“Are you ready to order?” he asks.

“Ladies first,” I offer.

Daisy briefly flicks her gaze to the menu. “I think I’ll have the Capricciosa pizza,” she says, handing the waiter her menu. “And a glass of Chianti, please.”

“Make that two Capricciosa,” I add, passing him my menu as well.

“Some wine for you, Sir?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m driving. Water is fine.”

“Coming right up,” he replies.

I wait for him to be out of earshot before I continue with our conversation. “Just for the record, I’m not stuck with you, Daisy. Despite our differences, Idolike you when you’re not spitting and hissing at me like some feral cat,” I add with a smirk.

“Feral cat?” She laughs at that.

“You have to admit you do have sharp claws. Despite that, I like you. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Who are you, and what have you done with the real Dalton Gunn?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.

“I mean it,” I insist.

“Look, I know Drix has warned you not to make me completely miserable, and I do appreciate the effort you’ve made today, but you don’t have to tell me things you think I want to hear.”

“I’m not declaring my love for you, but I’m not lying. I like you, even if you do drive me fucking crazy at times. Besides, anyone who has the balls to put my father in his place is someone I can respect.”

“Well, then I want you to know that I like you when you’re not acting like an obnoxious prick.”

“Thanks, I guess,” I reply with a chuckle, feeling some of the tension that has been building between us dissipate.

She nods and reaches for an olive, popping it into her mouth. “These are delicious.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You don’t like olives?”

“Not particularly.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” she says, popping another one into her mouth, her lips glistening with oil.

I have the sudden urge to lean across the table and kiss her, willing to taste the tangy bitterness on her lips just to feel her soften against me like she did for the briefest of moments the other night, but I curb that desire with a mouthful of icy water instead. It does nothing to cool my desires.

“Given we’re being honest with each other, I need to explain why I reacted the way I did the night we watched TV together. I think I owe you that much at least.”

“Go on, I’m listening,” I say, glad for the distraction given my dick seems to think it’s getting some action tonight.

“That night, when I asked you why it was important for you to know what makes me happy, you replied that if you knew, then it would earn you brownie points when you buy me the perfect gift for my birthday.”

“And that’s wrong? Explain,” I ask, genuinely bemused.

“Because you wanted to know purely to make yourself look good. It didn’t come from a place of genuine care,” she finishes, her eyes searching mine for understanding.

I lean back in my chair, taking a moment to process her words. She’s right, I was more focused on scoring points than truly understanding her. “I see your point,” I admit. “I never meant for it to come across that way.”

“Today, even though you bought me something, it came from a place of care. Can you see the difference?”

“I can,” I admit begrudgingly.

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