“So you like it?” he says.
I glare at him playfully. “Do I like it? I love it.”
And I love you, I almost scream, but somehow I stop the words before they escape.
Surely he’d call me crazy if I blurted that. It would be too much too soon. He’d freak.
He steps from the car and strides around, making me giggle again, but the feeling of the happy laughter causes more tears of joy to rise in my eyes. The emotion is sudden and overwhelming and I’m not sure I can get it under control.
I’m not sure I want to get it under control.
He opens the door and offers me his hand, his smirk so close to being a smile, a real, radiant smile.
I take his hand, feeling the warmth of him and the security in his powerful grip. He helps me from the car and we walk down the rose petal path, his hand on the small of my back, pushing through the fabric of my dress and my jacket to my skin, burning, beckoning, making me wish I’d taken him up on his offer at the roadside.
My body screams at me to drag him into the cabin.
It’s right there, my womb cries. We can eat after.
We walk onto the platform and over to the table, lit with electronic fire-red candles, illuming our silver cutlery and platters that shimmer in the light.
He pulls my chair out for me and I feel like a princess as I sit down and he shuffles the chair forward, closer to the table, as though he wants to lock me in so I can’t go anywhere.
As if I’d ever want to go anywhere.
I shrug off my jacket and place it on the back of the chair as he walks around to his side. He stands behind his chair, gripping it solidly, his jaw tight as his eyes move over me.
“I should’ve made you take your jacket off before you sat down,” he says, sliding into his chair with a grace that is surprising for a man of his massive size.
He leans over and takes my hand, staring hard at me, causing goosebumps to rise and a hot sensation to move over me. My womb sings and sends shivering warmth through me, a whelming of belonging gripping me as he smooths his thumb over my knuckles.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
“No,” I tell him. “Why?”
“Your arms.”
He nods at my goosebump pebbled skin.
“That has nothing to do with the temperature,” I murmur, aware that I sound like a silly nervous girl, my voice trembling with need.
“What do you want to eat?” he asks.
I giggle and nod at the platters. “Whatever’s under there, I guess.”
He leans back with a shrug. “If you want to eat that, go ahead. I don’t think it’d taste very good, though.”
“Well, now I have to look.”
I lift the platter lid and look down at the menu, written in neat script. There’s a range of dishes, ranging from simple burgers and fries to risotto and salads.
I look around, letting out another laugh. We’re so alone out here, my laughter carrying far, seeming to multiply in the trees. It should be freaky, but a feeling of profound safety washes over me whenever I look at Trent, whenever I think about what he’d do if anyone tried to hurt us.
“I don’t see a restaurant.”
“Whatever we order will be delivered by drone.”
“What?”
“That’s right. So we get the best of both worlds. An intimate date, something befitting a woman as beautiful and captivating and sexy and talented as you. And the privacy to enjoy it.”
“Jeez, that’s a lot of compliments. You’re going to give me a big head.”
He chuckles and a cheeky look passes across his face. I giggle and lash my hand out, somehow not feeling embarrassed by the forward gesture.
“Don’t you dare say it,” I tell him.
“Say what?”
“I know what you were going to say.”
He folds his arms, causing his suit jacket to hug tightly to his arms. It’s strange. Even earlier today when he was in a T-shirt and I could see the cut of his arms, the outline of his throbbing muscles, they didn’t look so huge. It’s like his jacket somehow makes him look more muscular, like this façade of civilization highlights the beastliness of my man.
“Is that so?” he says, a bantering note in his voice. “Why don’t you enlighten me then?”
“Fine.” I stare at him as bravely as I can, even as a vicious voice tells me I’m making a fool of myself. “You were going to say I’m giving you a big head.”
The glint in his eyes tells me I’m right, but he shrugs and looks away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Nah uh.”
I lean across the table and grab his face, guiding him back to me. I can feel the way his jaw tenses at my touch like it’s taking everything he has not to leap at me.
“Look at me and say it.”
“You know I can’t.” He laughs. “But I do like the way you’re leaning forward. It gives me one hell of a view.”
I blush and let him go, my breasts feeling sensitive in the dress, the fabric rough against my sensitive skin.
It’s like his gaze is sending freaking pleasure beams through me, and even if I know that’s silly, I can’t fight the feeling.
“Do you really find me sexy?” I murmur.
Anger passes across his face, the same rage that gripped him on the car ride over when I called myself the F-word.
“I know, I know,” I rush to say. “You don’t want me to think of myself like that. But you have to understand, Trent. I’ve spent my whole life being ignored. Or, worse, teased about the way I look. I’ve never fit into the mold of what a pretty girl is supposed to be. And then the man I’ve crushed on for as long as
