Page 35 of How To Fake A Fiancé

That can’t be it.

I scoff. “You do realize I’m not a toy, right?”

“I never said you were.”

“You can’t just worm your way into my life and think I’ll be okay with it. So what do you want?”

“Like I said, I want you.”

I’m confused. There has to be more to it than that. That’s always how it is with guys. When guys say they want a woman, they usually mean physically. But when Ian says that word, it feels so much more personal, more intimate. How can it be the same phrase yet mean something completely different?

I look around the bar again, this time with a more analyzing eye. The ambience is quiet, romantic even. The lights are dimmed just enough to make an intimate setting. The fact that we’re the only two people in this building is appealing yet unsettling.

“We’re not talking, are we?”

“We are. I thought we’d have dinner while we talk.”

I set the bouquet on the bar and cross my arms. “And what do you want in return?”

He turns to me with a firm stare. “Why is everything always a proposition with you?”

I put my hands on my hips. “I know how the world works. You want more than just dinner.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Sweetheart, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve been around the wrong kind of guys. And unlike them, I’m more than capable of thinking without my dick from time to time. So before you label me as anything I’m not, hear me out first.”

Guilt creeps in. I’ve made assumptions without him getting the chance to say anything. That night we spent together, he wasn’t like any other guy I’ve met. He was sweet, honest, and thought about me with every kiss, caress, and overwhelming orgasm. But how do I know that wasn’t a fluke? How do I know that’s the kind of guy he is? I don’t know what to think or feel, much less whether to trust what’s right in front of me. Yet despite my reservations, I can’t deny I’ve been judgmental against him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t usually do anything like this.”

“I asked you here because I want to sit down, talk, and get to know you. Because I’m interested in you. All I ask is that you listen before you decide what kind of person I am. Nothing, other than that, will happen unless you want it to.”

He’s direct, firm, yet assuring. It almost feels too good to be true hearing the words he says. But if he just wants to talk, what’s the harm in that?

“I can do that.” I nod to the table. “What’s for dinner?”

He smiles. “Have a seat and find out.”

Ian walks over to the table and pulls out my chair, letting me take a seat before pushing it back under me. I feel my heart doing that fluttery thing again. If I’m not careful, he’s going to make me like being treated like a princess.

Would that be so bad?

“Wait here.” He disappears into the back again.

Noticing a basket with a variety of bread inside, I take a piece and nibble on it as I wait.

Sourdough, yum.

I’m impressed at how much effort he put into this. Maybe he’s not entirely wrong about the guys I’ve surrounded myself with. They’d never do something like this. They’re too impatient and emotionally unavailable.

A couple of moments later, Ian walks back in with the most decadent plates I’ve ever seen. From the asparagus lightly placed on top of the delicately mashed potatoes, to the juicy filet mignon, everything about this dish makes my mouth water.

“You cooked all of this?”

“A hobby of mine that took years and years of practice.”

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