Page 105 of Tabitha

And if I fail tonight, I’ll try again and again until she takes pity on my sorry ass and claims me for her own.

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TABITHA

Ipause at the top of the stairs, my eyes immediately going to the spot where I last saw my father, but his body is gone. The whole room is pristine, like the fight never happened, and I breathe a sigh of relief at not having to deal with anything else tonight.

I continue down the stairs, nearly tripping over my own feet when I see the kitchen is alight with over a hundred candles scattered throughout the room. The dining room smells delicious, the table romantically set for two, and I suddenly feel shy.

When a throat clears only a foot away, I whirl, my hands coming up, as if to stop my heart from beating out of my chest. Gage is dressed in black slacks and a snowy white button-down shirt that makes his green eyes almost seem to glow. He adjusts his glasses, taking the time to scan me from top to bottom as he steps toward me.

“You look stunning.” His husky murmur runs along my spine like a caress.

Goose bumps spread across my skin, and I barely repress a shiver at his hungry expression. Not liking the flustered feeling, I grab the skirt with one hand and do a light twirl for him, pausing to peer at him over my shoulder.

There is something almost animalistic about his expression, like he’s a predator on the hunt…and I’m the prey. As I come to a stop, my skirt swirls around my feet, and I can’t stop heat from climbing my cheeks at his perusal. “Do I have you to thank for the dress?”

He gives a negligible shrug, appearing almost bashful at being caught. He clears his throat again, absently running a hand down his shirt, then offers me his arm. “The dress doesn’t do you justice, but it’s the best I could do on short notice.”

I snort at the flattery, then swallow hard when I realize he means every word of it. I clutch at his arm, my fingers tingling when I feel the corded muscles flexing under my touch. The man smells like vanilla and cookies, and I suddenly have the wild urge to lean over and lick him.

Needing a distraction before I do just that, I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head. “I didn’t think you even liked me.”

Then I want to kick myself.

Despite all my control, I still haven’t squashed the habit of speaking my most embarrassing thoughts when I’m nervous.

Gage draws out my chair, waiting for me to sit before scooting me closer to the table. Instead of leaving, he traces his fingers along my bare shoulder, lightly dragging them down my arm. I shudder as sensations bombard me, my nipples hardening, craving his touch, and I nearly whimper when he steps away.

“I didn’t want to like you, but you proved to be irresistible. I couldn’t stay away.” He uncovers a platter in the middle of the table, revealing a fish cooked to golden perfection. Lemons are artfully arranged around the centerpiece, while an array of vegetables are stacked in some impossible display along the edge of the platter, and I can only gape as he places food on my plate.

I fuss with putting my napkin on my lap, feeling outclassed, despite the many etiquette lessons I’ve been forced to endure over the years.

That was business.

This is personal.

Silence fills the room, and I glance up to find Gage watching me with concern. “What’s wrong?”

I lift my brows at him, doing my best not to squirm. I nibble on my bottom lip, but I’m not one for keeping my thoughts to myself. “I’m used to eating out of takeout boxes or straight from the fridge. I’m not the type of girl who gets taken to fancy restaurants while dripping in diamonds. I’m just…me.”

I shrug, my eyes dropping to my plate when a lump forms in the back of my throat at the thought of not being enough for him. Before my emotions can send me spiraling, he captures my chin and forces my face up to meet his concerned gaze.

“Oh, princess, being you is more than enough.” A crooked smile crosses his face. “If you were any more perfect, I wouldn’t be able to keep up with you.”

He brushes his thumb along my bottom lip, drops his hand to the table, then nudges a glass of wine toward me. “I cook because I like it. It helps me unwind. Being able to make food for you is a pleasure. Just eat. I’m not expecting anything but a few hours of pleasure in your company.”

I take a sip of the white wine, looking at him from under my lashes. “Like my machines? Building things keeps me from overthinking and overanalyzing everything.”

“Exactly.” He offers me one of his rare smiles, and my heart seems to give an extra thump as he continues to serve us food.

Encouraged, I take a bite of the fish, then moan when it practically melts in my mouth, butter and spices exploding across my senses. I blink at him in awe. “How on earth were you able to make something so delicious?”

Without hesitation, I take another bite, and it’s even better than the first one. It’s not long before I’m leaning back in my seat, my stomach just shy of being too full. I should probably be embarrassed by the way I scarfed down my meal, but I’m too deep in my food coma to care.

He fills my wine glass again, a pleased grin curling his lips. “No more takeout,” he chides, giving a slight grimace at the thought. “The next time you’re hungry, you’ll come to me, and I’ll make you something.”

Warmth gathers in my chest at his offer.

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