Page 65 of Midnight Enemy

“I’m guessing you have the best of everything?”

“No point in having money if you don’t.”

I smile. “I guess.”

We both finish off our champagne. “Would you like coffee?” he asks.

“No thank you. I’m full.”

“Happy birthday.”

“Thank you. I’ve had a lovely time.”

He sighs. “It’s a shame it’s over. I’m guessing you wouldn’t like to go for a drink at a bar?”

“Um, not really. I think I’ve had enough alcohol.”

“Fair enough. You want me to call an Uber back to the ferry?”

I meet his eyes. My heart—which has been going faster than normal all night—picks up speed.

I moisten my lips with the tip of my tongue. “Aren’t you going to ask me?”

His blue eyes are intense, flickering with flame from the candle on the table between us. But he hesitates, and I suddenly realize what an idiot I’ve been.

“You’re worried I only want to go with you because of George and Richard,” I whisper. “That I’m trying to seduce you.” Oh, I’m such an idiot…

But his brow creases. “No. I hadn’t even thought of that.” He gives me an impatient look. “Scarlett, I’ll pay the seventeen and a half million for the Waiora. Of course I will. I was always going to.”

My eyebrows shoot up and my jaw drops. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“When did you decide that?”

“The moment you told me what they wanted.”

I stare at him, confused. “So why did you ask me to dinner?”

He just laughs. Then he tips his head to the side. “Anyway, it’s not why I hesitated to ask you back to my place. I hurt you last time, and I don’t want to do it again.”

“I’m no expert, but as I understand it, once it’s done, it’s done…”

“I’m no expert either. I think you’re right. But being someone’s first is kind of a responsibility, and down the line I don’t want you to regret that it was me.”

“I wouldn’t,” I whisper.

We study each other for a moment.

“So…” he says eventually, “if you know I’m going to buy the pool at the full amount… and you don’t have to seduce me… would you still like to come back to my place?”

I suck my bottom lip. Then I nod.

His eyes light up, and his lips curve into a smile. “Come on,” he murmurs.

He rises and holds out a hand, and I get up, pick up Bearcub, and slide my hand into Orson’s. His warm fingers close around mine, and he leads me into the restaurant, where he pays for dinner and orders an Uber. Then he takes me outside, and we wait for it to arrive.

“Thank you for dinner,” I say. “I should have offered to pay half.”

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