Page 7 of The No Falling Rule
“I wanted to apologize for earlier. I shouldn’t have been walking so close behind you—”
“Mia,” he cuts me off gently, “there’s no need to apologize.I’mthe one who’s sorry.”
He gives my hand a soft pat, and a bolt of electricity shoots through me.
Does this man have a direct line to my libido? I’m one touch away from panting.
This isn’t normal. It has to be because of how we met.
We pass the restaurant door, and I frown. “I thought we were having dinner.”
“We are.” His lips curve slightly as we head toward the ocean. “But I thought it’d be best if we could have some privacy.”
My eyes widen when I see where we’ll be dining.
“I thought the view was unbeatable,” he says carefully, watching my reaction. “But if you’re uncomfortable, we can go to the restaurant.”
I grab his forearm, feeling the muscles tense beneath my fingers. When I look down, I see the veins protruding, like the models on romance book covers. It’s like touching a live wire in temptation.
“No, no. This is perfect. I’m just… surprised.”
He studies me for a moment. I can see his thoughts running wild. For a businessman, the man has zero poker face.
He steps ahead and pulls out a chair for me. I smile and sit, and a waiter seems to materialize from thin air, presenting a bottle of wine. Diego nods for him to open it.
I squint at the label, but the only light comes from the moon and a few flickering tiki torches.
Once the glasses are poured and the waiter disappears, Diego turns to me. “I took the liberty of planning the menu, but now I feel like a jerk because I didn’t ask if you had any allergies.”
His thoughtfulness makes me smile. “No allergies.”
He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it forever. Is he actually nervous?
He lifts his glass, the tension easing from his shoulders. “To the fortune of crossing paths—even if the circumstances were… unconventional.”
I chuckle and clink my glass against his. Closing my eyes, I let the wine fill my taste buds. It’s dry with a hint of smoke and cinnamon.
“Are you a wine enthusiast?” he asks.
A smile tugs at my lips. “I wouldn’t go that far. But I do enjoy it.”
His eyes light up just as the waiter returns with a tray full of appetizers. My stomach makes an ungodly sound, and heat rushes to my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
He grins. “Please. Don’t be. I’m starving too.”
He grabs a fried plantain and takes a bite. Somehow, it feels natural between us. It’s almost surreal to be so at ease with someone I just met.
I reach for the fried calamari, and the second I taste it, a moan escapes me.
Diego murmurs something under his breath, too low for me to catch.
“Were you able to relax this afternoon?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation in a safer direction.
He watches me carefully, like he’s deciding how much to share. And then it hits me—oh my fucking God, was he with another girl? Does he have a girlfriend?
Shit.
