And by god is Rhodes good at the art of distraction.
“Yeah, I am. It helps that Renee’s damn good at this ax-throwing thing. Otherwise, it would’ve been a thrashing by now.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You seem to be getting better.”
I snort at his massive overstatement. “If by getting better you mean hitting the target once in that last round.”
“Definitely better,” he says, his lips curving up into a wicked grin.
“At least I don’t mind being beaten when I like the view of my opponent.”
Rhodes chuckles. “I’ll make sure to tell Marco you think so.”
Rolling my eyes, I giggle and nudge him with my elbow. “Take a compliment, Rhodes.”
“I’ll take anything from you, sweet cheeks.”
“How about dinner this week then? I still owe you that thank-you meal, and I’d love to cook for you.”
His gaze goes soft. “And a restaurant full of other diners?”
I lean in and drop my voice to a whisper. “You see, the perks of being the boss is that I can delegate and use the kitchen I have for filming in for private guests.”
Rhodes’s brow arches. “You entertain a lot of private guests?”
“Not so far. Only Harvey and my parents, and now, hopefully, you . . .”
“I’d be honored then,” he replies, reaching over and placing his hand in mine. “My shifts probably don’t fit in well with you this week though. I’m working tomorrow, then Tuesday and Wednesday I’m off. Thursday—work, and Friday and Saturday I’m free.”
I purse my lips. “Why wouldn’t they work for me? I have staff. My kitchen runs like a well-oiled machine. I’ll let my restaurant manager, Suzy, know that I’ll be there but not be there. I’ve been looking forward to feeding you since we first met.”
His brows jump up. “You have?”
“Oh yeah. I use my food to express myself.”
Rhodes leans in, his leg pressing firmly against the length of mine now. “I think you’re expressing yourself just fine so far. It helps that you uploaded a new video today with ‘How to Win Your Date Over One Meal at a Time.’”
I wink at him, my smile widening. “Glad you liked it. Let’s say dinner next Monday, that would be your day off, right?”
The smile he gifts me is so big it’s blinding. “I’d love to.”
“Now. . .” My lips twitch. “We haven’t discussed what the prize is when I beat you at this game.”
Rhodes’s eyes roam my face, pausing on my lips before lifting to mine. He shoots me a slow-growing smirk. “Winner’s choice,” he murmurs, and the rough rasp of his tone has my thighs clenching together out of instinct alone.
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
“I’ve got my eyes on the prize, sweet cheeks,” he says, not looking away from me—even when Marco and Renee slide a couple’s platter of bar snacks on the table in front of us.
Rhodes proves his point by stepping up for his final throw, and with his eyes locked on mine, he heaves the ax over his shoulder, scoring a bullseye and making my heart race and soar simultaneously.
After a great evening, we bid farewell to Marco and Renee. And with Rhodes’s hand in mine—something I find he likes to do a lot—we make our way into the parking lot.
When we reach his car, he unlocks the doors and lets me go. Then without a word, he’s facing me and slowly pressing my back against the car.
I slide my arms around his waist and rest my palms on his shoulder blades. “You finally going to claim your prize?” I whisper, sounding like a wanton woman ready to mount her man. It’s not like I’d say no, but nothing between us feels the slightest bit casual. And at this stage in both of our lives, I’d hazard a guess that after waiting this long, Rhodes isn’t about to screw around just to get laid. Lord knows it’s not worth adding sex onto my already full plate unless it comes with all the benefits of a committed relationship as well.
He braces his forearm on the door above my head, bringing every inch of his hard body flush against mine. He’s toned, but he’s also got shape. Fit, but without angles that’ll poke an eye out.
“If I had my way, I would’ve been kissing you all night. Every time you licked your lips or smirked at me, I wanted to sink my teeth in and steal a taste.”
As if punctuating his point—or simply taking his time to play with his winnings—he runs his palm up my side, grazing the side of my bust, leaving goosebumps in his wake. His hand slides to my neck before cradling my jaw, the pad of his thumb tracing the edge of my mouth.
A whimper escapes my lips, and his eyes flash molten and hot, ready to burn me alive.
Holy God. Bucket needed in the parking lot. A woman is about to spontaneously combust here.
We stay there staring, our breaths shallow and fast, our hearts racing in sync with the other, our bodies touching chest to thigh and every delicious inch throbbing incessantly between us. It’s like time stands still. The world is revolving around us, yet we’re still here stuck in an augmented reality, waiting for that final push to take what we want.
“Please,” I whisper, and his resistance snaps. He gives me his weight, his hands clutching my head, holding me in place, tilt my chin up. Locking our eyes together, he ever so slowly lowers his mouth toward mine—the wait to feel his lips on mine so exquisitely painful. I can’t take it anymore, and I grip the back of his head at the same time I surge forward, and we crash together in a tangle of mouths and
