Page 73 of Dangerous Devotion

“Hey, you’re not wrong.”

“Or another pub.”

“You were the one who suggested we go to Ireland to visit one of the real Irish pubs.”

Her eyes warmed, trust melting into something else that he wanted to spend all night studying.

The server interrupted with suggestions for their meal tonight. By the time he finished describing the delicious specials, Henner’s stomach was clawing with hunger and his mouth watered for more than his lover seated across from him.

They selected everything the server mentioned, and he promised to send the sommelier around to their table to select a wine that would pair well with their dishes.

Henner’s gaze traveled over May’s beautiful face. Inside his chest, his heart was performing tricks he never knew it was capable of. He didn’t get moments like this—didn’t allow himself to have them.

With May…it was all too easy to slip into romance.

He reached for her hand, clasping her soft fingers and smoothing his thumb in a slow glide back and forth over her knuckles.

Their conversation flowed with an ease that carried them through the first course of bruschetta and olives, which May stole off his plate and popped in her mouth before he could stop her.

Through her laughter, she told him a story about a trip to Italy in her college years, where she and a friend had argued with an old native of the city about which pasta dish was superior.

They sipped their delicious wine, and he watched her eyes light up whenever she talked about things she loved. He shared a few stories too, though he had to be selective about what he told her.

The sommelier strolled by with a few more bottles of wine. On the way past their table, he paused. “Everything agreeable?”

“Yes, wonderful.” May beamed a smile on Henner that caused his heart rate to pick up. How quickly could they get through their main course before—

“Oh my god!” Her voice pitched into an urgent murmur.

His brow shot up. “What is it?”

“Over there. Simpson!”

Despite the pleasant tingle of wine, his stomach went cold.

He started to turn his head that direction.

“Don’t look!”

Freezing in place, he brought his wine up to his lips but didn’t sip. “You’re sure it’s Simpson?”

“Yes.”She ducked her head, pretending to adjust the napkin in her lap. As if she could hide. She was the most noticeable—and beautiful—woman in the room.

“Is he alone?”

“No.” She fiddled with something under the table and a moment later slid her phone across the tablecloth to Henner.

He picked it up and studied the photo. Simpson wasn’t in uniform.

“Do you recognize the people he’s with?”

“No.”

The sommelier moved to Simpson’s table next and made a big production of presenting what appeared to be a very expensive bottle.

“Hand me my phone. I need to do something.”

He slid it across the table to her again, and she drew it close, tapping away on the screen.

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