Page 38 of The Amazing Date

What’s the point?

At the end of the week, we will go back to our two separate worlds, me on the East Coast and him three thousand miles away.

This is why I ignore Gabby’s advice. This is why I’ve come up with what I hope is an enjoyable evening filled with distractions to keep the focus off us. An evening out, away from the small hotel room that has my hormones raging and which places my better judgment in question. I already know Roberto is not a one-and-done type of guy, one I can bed and forget. He’s under my skin, he’s in my bones, he’s been part of me since Puerto Rico. If I let my guard down and let him back in, I’ll never recover.

Ten minutes later, we exit the cab outside a restaurant Gabby told me to stay away from. I’m carrying my backpack, explaining to Roberto I didn’t pack a handbag. In truth, I’ve slipped a surprise into the pack.

“Where are we?”

I slip my hand in his without thinking, the unconscious move natural after only three days. I don’t respond but quirk my neck toward the poster-size easel in front of the restaurant. Welcome to All for Leyna’s Dinner and Dessert Paint Party.

“What’s this?” His voice flitters with intrigue, giving me hope.

“You’ve had to put up with me yelling and screaming for two days. I figured I’d reward you with two of your favorite things: food and art.”

He squeezes my hand. “Favorite three things.” He lifts our connected hands and kisses the back of mine. His look chips away my objections, burns through the barriers I am stacking high to keep him away.

I decide to play along, hoping the paint party provides the distraction I need. “Awww, you keep that up and…” My voice trails off, allowing his mind to complete the picture.

“And I’ll have to give you one of your favorite things at the end of the night.”

“Really, and what may that be?” I ask.

He holds the door open for me, leaning forward, his lips inches from my ear. “Let’s just say housekeeping will only have one bed to make up in the morning.”

I have no words. I lower my chin to my chest to avoid his red-hot gaze, the look of desire so intense I feel sweat building everywhere. The hostess rescues me and leads us to our table in the private dining room in the back of the restaurant.

I thought if I diverted his attention to his true passion, art, he’d burn all his energies there. I’m wrong. All it’s doing is fanning a flame that has been smoldering between us. Mixing in art is like tossing a log on the flame.

All for Leyna is a beautiful five-star dining hall founded sometime back by a famous chef. There are rumors the chef had a breakdown and has gone underground to recover. Regardless, the reviews remain top-notch, and our timing is perfect. I booked the last ticket to the party.

Two rows of eight easels sit in the middle of the private dining room. They all face the far wall, which has three different poster-size photos. One is the world-famous Space Needle, next to it is a bouquet, and the last one is a mountain landscape. The hostess directs us to the last open table. The other seven tables are already populated with couples and friends; most are finishing up their appetizer course.

“Here you are. Your waitress will be with you shortly. Enjoy the dinner. Painting will start with the dessert course.”

“Thank you,” I say and shift to find Roberto’s gaze locked on me. “What?”

“How did you find this place?”

“With a little help from my friend,” I jest.

He flips open the menu, his brow raised in question. “My sister?”

I fear I’ve misstepped, but I can’t turn back now. “She sends her love.” I don’t have any siblings, and the love they have for one another always makes me wish I did. “She did say your boss, a Mr. Arenado, dropped by your apartment building looking for you. For some reason, she got the sense he expected to find you home working.”

His laugh eases my concern. “Yeah, that’s because I am, as far as he knows.”

I smack his forearm. “Don’t tell me you didn’t tell your job you were going to be out of town for a week?”

His laugh turns into a full-on chuckle as he shakes his head. “I didn’t believe we’d be gone for a week. And technically I’m working. I’m in the brainstorming phase of my next project, and that I can do anywhere.”

“I call bullshit. That sounds like the same nonsense Zion tries to feed me.”

He places his elbows on the table and leans forward. “And who is Zion? That your boyfriend?”

My snort causes him to lean back. “He’s one of the creative directors I work with at the agency. He tries to pull that nonsense of taking a three-hour lunch break, saying it feeds his creative process. I know what it’s feeding.”

“Interesting,” Roberto says before the waitress introduces herself and runs through the specials.

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