“Are—are there cameras in here?” I asked.
It was a reasonable question since I’d been filming him at every turn. I hadn’t been smart enough to think of bringing another one or two to place around this office. At this point, I was grateful I hadn’t—we really would have given Xander a show. But you could bet your ass in the future I’d be recording everything that went on in this office.
A twinge of guilt hit me. I was invading his privacy and lying to him.
He lied to the police, my brain said in response.
The question seemed to flick a switch in Declan. He was immediately composed, looking like he’d just woken up for the day, and was deliciously polished and ready for business.
“You’re right,” Declan said. “This isn’t the place for this.”
“For—for what?” I watched as he scooped my jacket and purse off the floor and handed them over.
“A conversation.”
He still wanted to talk? I thought the kiss was the understanding, the knowledge that there was some unspoken attraction between us. Now we’d acknowledged it and…what?
Before I could move, Declan gripped my elbow and turned me to the door. “Let me take you to dinner.”
My mouth opened in surprise. “But—”
“You didn’t eat lunch.”
How did he know that? Had Tim told him or were there cameras in here? Dammit, I’d talked with Xander a few times too. But I hadn’t revealed anything secret, had I?
Panicked thoughts raced through my head. If Declan knew something about me, knew I was a fake somehow, the last thing I needed to be doing was going somewhere with him.
But Declan didn’t release me, only guided us out of the office and to the elevator.
His grip was like iron, strong enough I couldn’t pull away without a fight but gentle enough not to bruise.
“De—Mr. Dark,” I said, my voice hard. “I should be getting home.”
“There are things that need to be said.”
The elevator doors opened, and he led us inside. When they shut again, it was silent. The slither of anxiety in my gut warred with the way my body was still reacting to him, the echo of my heartbeat right between my legs.
Once the elevator hit the lobby, Declan released my elbow. And instead, he settled his hand on the small of my back, guiding me instead of pulling me.
My shallow breaths grew deeper. In all likelihood, he simply wanted to have a conversation about what had happened in his office.
And in that case, it was in my best interest my play along. I couldn’t deny I was attracted to Declan. But I couldn’t convince myself it was wise to get involved with someone I couldn’t be honest with. And someone, if given the chance, probably wouldn’t be honest with me.
Outside the lobby doors, I was able to breathe deeply. The evening air hit my lungs, clean and fresh, beckoning me.
“Miss Thompson,” Declan said, gesturing to a black Bentley parked at the curb.
I kept silent as he opened the door for me and hopped in the back, sitting close enough he could reach out and touch me.
His long, elegant fingers rested on his knees, tapping to a slow beat I couldn’t hear.
“Do you like Italian?” Declan asked.
“It’s my favorite,” I told him honestly.
Maybe because of my mom’s spaghetti. Maybe because it was the only thing I could cook at home.
“Good.” Declan’s eyes scanned my face for another brief moment, making me certain he had something else to say.
It was driving me crazy trying to guess.
But then he looked away. In ten minutes, we pulled in front of Russo’s. When I stepped out of the car, I put on my jacket.
The bumblebee pin was still pinned tightly to the lapel, giving the world—or more specifically Xander—the view of my sudden change in plans.
I was surprised he hadn’t texted me yet. Or maybe he had and I’d been so caught up in kissing I hadn’t heard my phone.
Either way, he was going to get a surprise. Dinner and a show, I thought wryly.
Declan placed his hand on my back again and ushered me inside.
It was Friday night, with the valet service hopping and people still walking in off the street under the false impression that they might get a table.
“Mr. Dark,” the hostess said, smiling warmly enough a twinge of jealousy raced through me.
He only nodded.
She kept her eyes only on him as she led the way, asking about his day and engaging in polite conversation.
She stopped at a table near the back, something quiet and secluded, that had to be in high demand. Had he already had a reservation? Or did they just keep tables available for A-list customers who might happen to drop by unannounced?
“This will do, thank you,” Declan said. He pulled out my chair for me, fingers brushing my arms as I slid in, and waited until I was seated to move around to the other side of the table.
“Your waiter will be right with you,” the hostess said before leaving us.
Our table sat in the corner, offering views through the windows of both the mountains and the city. The sun hovered just behind those peaks, giving us an amazing show of dazzling orange and red.
Declan reached across the table, catching the ends of my hair between his fingertips. “Your hair looks red in this light.”
My breath caught. His sapphire eyes held mine, suspending me in the moment. Holding me captive and making me question everything I’d thought about Declan to this point.
A voice broke the reverie. “Good evening, Mr. Dark.”
I straightened, shaken, and automatically reached for the menu when I saw the waiter. And then it happened. A complete accident.
I lifted the menu, caught the edge of a fragile wine glass,
