Page 39 of The Amazing Date

“Where were we?” I ask after we order. “Oh, right, you thought my dismissal of my team members slacking off in the name of the creative process was… interesting.”

He nods, and his gaze lands on the blank canvas nearest to us. “For every person it’s different, but most creatives I know require open space, open time to let their mind wander. Inspiration can come in…” He stands without finishing and walks toward the easel. I begin to rise, but he raises a finger for me to stay.

He glances down at the thick paintbrushes, the type meant for a novice, for an untrained painter, and I can sense his hesitancy. I’m sure this is what Gabby tried to warn me about. She should know better. I’m a planner.

I raise a finger in his direction and reach for my backpack. A smile grows on his face before I can remove the surprise. He recognizes his small travel case of supplies: his charcoal pencils and tools. “I saw you sketching the other night. I figured while us amateurs throw paint at the wall, you can show the world how it’s really done.”

He takes the kit from my hand, the tip of his pinkie brushing against mine. A spark races up my arm.” Thank you,” he whispers and flips open the case. He picks out one of the pencils, staring at it like a long-lost friend. I expect him to return to his seat, but he doesn’t.

He picks up the easel and brings it to our table. “What are you doing?” I ask. He pinches his lips together tightly and stares at me while rolling up his sleeves. “You are not about to do what I think… Our dinner is coming out any minute.”

“You can’t fight inspiration, beautiful.” His flirtatious comment annihilates my resistance. He lays a few of his tools on the base of the easel. I feel his gaze rake over my skin, the intense stare hovering over my face, my neck, my chest, my legs. He slowly devours every inch of me, heating me in the process. I feel cherished, wanted, desired, and it causes me to lose perspective.

Gabby didn’t say it, but I sensed she feared Roberto painting next to amateurs would mess with his confidence. Watching untrained, unskilled, drunk patrons painting by numbers might remind him of his job and all he’s lost.

But she’s not here. She doesn’t see the way he looks at me. She doesn’t see the overwhelming desire to sketch, a passion she feared may have been permanently extinguished. I’ve never been happier to prove my best friend wrong.

His hands become a blur of movement. He switches back and forth between three black pencils, his desirous gaze transforming into an intense gaze like the one I witnessed back at the fortune cookie factory. He’s memorizing an image that will forever reside in his head.

“Push back your chair just a bit. I want to take in those amazing legs. I’ve been mesmerized by them for over six hundred miles already, and if I don’t get this down right this second, I’m liable to do something that will get us kicked out this restaurant.”

I gulp, not sure how to respond. The legs on my chair screech against the floor as I uncross my legs to scoot back and recross them, adjusting my short, pleated skirt. Roberto freezes, the pencil frozen, hovering over his design. His gaze is locked on my legs, causing my mouth to dry up. His eyes darken with desire as if I’m the meal he’d like to feast upon.

My heart pounds in my chest, his silent gaze causing me to blush. “Roy?” I speak without thinking.

His eyes flick from my legs to my eyes. A wide-eyed look of surprise flashes for a second before softening.

I realize why. I’ve used his childhood name, the one used only by the women in his family. The one I’ve never used before.

He bites his lower lip, a telltale sign he’s fighting for control, his hand still hovering over the easel, the pencil frozen two inches away. “I swear if you whisper my name like that again, I will…” It’s the plea of a man hanging on the edge of the cliff, fingers about to give out.

His tone is laced in warning. I know if I repeat his family nickname, my plans for the evening will be destroyed. I will be pulling his fingers off the edge of the cliff, and when he falls, he’d be taking me with him.

It’s not an impulse this time. I know the consequences of my actions, and I do it anyway.

“Roy,” I whisper and wait for my world to explode.

Chapter 24

Roberto

Fuck restaurant protocol. Her seductive whisper breaks what little control remains. Ever since I woke with her standing at the foot of my bed in the hotel room dressed like a naughty schoolgirl, all I could think about is spreading her out on the bed, me between her legs, her desirous pants filling my ears.

I drop the pencils on the base of the stand, ignoring the sound of two of them rolling to the floor. I’m on her before she can react, one hand behind her head, the other cupping her face, my lips on hers.

She tastes of the sweetest combination of yesterdays and victory. I tower over her as she cranes her neck to have her lips meet mine. If she’s uncomfortable, she doesn’t make it known. Our tongues meet, and our kiss loses all pretense of being gentle or respectful.

We are a public spectacle in the middle of a crowded restaurant, and I don’t give a damn.

It’s been four years since I’ve last kissed Rylee, and it is better than I remember. This unexpected moment makes it all the sweeter. We finally break to take a breath, our noses touching, her lips curled up in the sweetest of smiles. “Who knew all it would take is me to say your family name.”

“Say it again, woman, and I swear…”

The twinkle in her eye gives away her intention. “Roy.”

She’s playing with dynamite and knows it. Our lips clash, and I lift her up from her chair. My left hand wraps around her exposed lower back, her heated skin pushing me to the tipping point. I have half a mind to bend her over the table right next to the candle. My mind races to all the things I’d like to do with hot wax and her.

The loud throat-clearing sound of the waitress forces us to freeze. “Uhhh, excuse me, your appetizers are here.”

---