Page 68 of Serving the CEO

He smelled expensive and sexy, and I had the urge to bite him. At the same time, the nerves inside me grew. What was I doing? Last night, I’d been curled in my bed, wounded over the events of the day, and now I was tangled in knots over him, all because he’d bought a book of poetry and said he was sorry.

Okay, it was more than that. He had said I could plan our wedding. Except I needed to remember this didn’t mean anything…did it?

I knew, of course, that he was physically attracted to me. Our little foray into BDSM had shown as much. And things had to start somewhere, right?

“I…ah…I need to check on dinner,” I said. My voice was rough as I cut around him and headed for the kitchen.

The pasta was done, so I tossed it with olive oil, salt, pepper, red pepper flakes, some fresh chopped garlic, and tomatoes, then put the plates on the table, along with the bowl of cheese. The basket of bread I added last, along with a bottle of wine.

When I finally let myself look at him again, I saw him leaning against the counter, his eyes on me.

“It’s ready,” I said.

“Okay.” But he didn’t go to the table.

He came to me instead and cupped my chin. With a hint of a smile on his lips, he leaned down and kissed me. Heat rushed through me, and I grabbed onto him, needing the support. Before I could get too into it, he broke the kiss.

“Let’s eat,” he murmured against my lips.

In a daze, I let him lead me to the table. He pulled out the chair, and I sat, waiting for him to open the bottle of wine. My skin was already flushed and my pulse racing, all from just one kiss. At this rate, I’d explode before we even made it to the bedroom.

“It looks delicious,” Derrick said as he poured us each a glass of wine.

Right. Food.

I took a bite of the pasta and almost choked.

Dammit.

He’d just taken his first bite, too and I watched as he chewed. I had to give him credit. He pushed through the overly-salty pasta, swallowed, and grabbed his wine all without a single grimace.

“Well,” I said after I’d downed half my glass. “That answers that.”

He took another sip. “What?”

“I couldn’t remember if I added salt earlier. Clearly, I did, and definitely, too much.”

A smile twitched on his lips.

“I can order something in—”

“No.” He leaned back, eyes drifting down briefly before sliding back up. “You look lovely. Let me take you out. A place I like keeps a table on reserve for me.”

* * *

“Did you enjoy your meal?”

Nearly two hours had passed since we’d left my apartment. Two hours of white tablecloths, discreet service, and food so good, I would dream about it.

And then there was Derrick. Attentive, watchful, listening to me, and asking questions like what I said mattered. There was none of the feeling I had before where it seemed like he was only humoring me. He was really trying.

“Yes.” I sipped from the cognac he’d ordered, shivering at the rich flavor and reveling in how it heated my throat as I swallowed.

Something else made me shiver as I placed the glass on the table.

Derrick put his hand just above my knee, pushing aside the slit in my dress so he touched bare skin.

“This dress…”

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