Page 26 of Seductive Scoundrel

“I’m just going for the hundred-dollar ice cream,” I repeat to the goddess-like image staring back at me before making my way to the lobby.

Dean said he’d send a car for me and I’m glad. Walking any distance in these heels would not be a good thing – not that I’d even consider not wearing them. They’re easily the most beautiful shoes I’ve ever seen.

I might never take them off.

I make my way downstairs and out of the building, immediately spotting the same man who drove me before.

“Mia,” Robert says as I stride up to the Bentley, enjoying the way heads turn. “If you don’t mind me saying so, you look lovely.” His brown eyes crinkle in the corners and, for some weird reason, I want to reach over and hug him. Maybe because he looks a little like my dad. Same age. Same build. Same dark eyes.

The thought makes me a bit homesick.

“Thank you, Robert,” I reply as he opens the back door. “Where are you taking me?” I know the answer – or at least I should know the answer, but Dean has been full of surprises this week.

“To Masa. I heard that the Tartufo ice cream ball is to die for. You should try it.”

Heat immediately rushes to my face and between my legs, unleashing an ache deep inside me that only Dean can fix.

“Excellent suggestion. Thank you,” I reply, my voice noticeably deeper than a second ago.

I really, really want some ice cream tonight. Or more specifically, Mr. Big Dick’s delicious ice cream balls.

There’s no way I’m going to make it through appetizers at this rate.

We drive to the restaurant as I work to pull myself together. The last thing I need is to show up looking like a cat in heat. Dean is probably used to woman throwing themselves at him – so I’m determined not to.

I’m a real woman, not some twig from a magazine cover. I’m going into that fancy-ass restaurant in my fancy-ass clothes that I didn’t even buy to eat a fancy-ass meal – that I could never, ever afford – with all the other fancy-ass people and act like it’s no big deal.

“I’m here to meet Mr. Big Di – I mean Mr. Dean McCormick, please,” I say to the maître d, trying to exude confidence and not gawk as he leads me through the restaurant.

There’s only one word to describe it – sleek. From the long, wooden eating bar to glossy hardwood floors, the place screams elegant and expensive.

It’s where the highest-ranking TBA executives go to celebrate milestones, and that’s exactly why I chose it. I’m one of the people doing all the work they take credit for, and yet I never get invited. None of the minions do.

But tonight is going to be so much better than a work dinner.

We pass through the restaurant as I covertly – well, hopefully covertly – take in the people. Everyone is dressed like me, which means there’s more money in here than I can possibly calculate. And I’m damn good at calculating.

It makes my head spin just thinking about it.

It’s also a good reminder that I don’t belong here. So I’m going to make the most of it tonight. If I never see Dean again, at least this meal will be something to remember.

“Your table, miss,” the maître d says as we enter a room in the back of the restaurant.

Sitting at an intimate table set for two is a god. The pictures Mr. Big Dick sentdo notcome close to doing him justice. Everything from the cut of his square jaw to the way his muscles challenge the confines of his charcoal grey suit scream perfection.

And make my knees weak.

I’m not sure how I manage the few remaining steps to our table but, somehow, I’m a foot away from Dean who’s now standing.

He’s got to be well over six feet tall.

“Mia,” he says, making my name sound like a sex word. Making my knees weaker than they already are, and my abdomen contract as if I’ve just been punched.

When I take his outstretched hand, he leans in and brushes our cheeks together as his lips find my ear. It takes everything – literally everything – inside me not to shiver from the sheer pleasure of skin-to-skin contact with the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.

He inhales, then makes a low rumbling sound deep in his throat. “You’re absolutely stunning. And you smell divine. I can’t wait to enjoy you – all night long.”

Our eyes lock as he shifts back, still holding onto my hand. I want to say something witty, or at least intelligible – but my brain has shut down and my ovaries are now running the show. They’re screaming to tell Mr. Big Dick that we should skip straight to dessert because I desperately want ice cream.

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