Basically, I was living a billionaire alpha romance novel meet-cute.
Something I’d read countless times and had always swooned over. Here was a strapping alpha-male character come to life right from the pages of my favorite contemporary romance novel, His Burning Kiss. Tyler was attentive to my needs, maybe overly so. He was confident, wealthy, firm, and decisive. He took control of the situation. I’d read this before and loved it.
Except now . . . I hated it.
Or maybe I just didn’t like Tyler.
By the time he finished speaking, I’d mostly recovered from the shock of—yet again— a romantic experience not feeling the way it should.
“Well,” I said, “there certainly is plenty of upscale local flavor here, as you said. We’ll sample some tonight at this restaurant.”
We spoke back and forth for several minutes. The arrival of the food interrupted my response to one of his questions—What kinds of social events do you find most prominent here?—and I grabbed my knife to dig into the elk chop.
Soft, but not my flavor.
“Sounds like a charming place overall,” he declared. “I’m considering buying the house.”
“For your parents?”
“Yes.”
“How kind.”
He shrugged. I helped myself to another bite of mashed potatoes so silky I could have worn them. My silence must have gone on a touch too long, because his eyebrows came together like a slinky. “Lizbeth? Did I say something wrong? You can absolutely trust me.”
I cleared my throat as Mark’s voice screamed in my mind, Serial killer. Just in case, I pulled my phone out of my purse and rested it on my lap.
“Just enjoying this delicious food,” I said.
His gaze tapered. “You’re lying.”
I almost choked. “What?”
“Are you uncomfortable?”
We held a long, hard stare for a moment before I said, “Yes. I am uncomfortable.”
He took that in without a change of expression. “I see.”
“I just . . . this is a bit much for me. It’s all so . . . perfect. On the nose. Like you walked out of a romance novel,” I finished quietly.
Shiny coconuts, but what was I going to tell JJ about this? How would I possibly detail this for the love binder?
Tyler’s gaze widened, though he didn’t seem put out. Just startled. I’d taken him by surprise again. Shouldn’t that feel more satisfying? When I read it, this sort of romance felt powerful. Instead, I just wanted to go.
“Really?” he asked.
“Well . . . yes.”
“You’re not a lover of romance?”
“It’s not that. I’m actually very fond of romance.”
The red roses filled the seat next to me with their delicate leaves and intricate veins. Alone, they would have been fine. A first date with a true romantic. But together with all of . . . this? This wasn’t romance. This was . . . something else.
He grinned anyway, but it seemed tight. He was covering something with his easy amusement. Disappointment, perhaps.
“What a surprise,” he murmured, his fork poised over his plate. “This usually wins over most women.”
“You do this often?”
“Yes.”
He replied with such confidence it took me a moment to respond. “That’s not very promising for us, then,” I said wryly.
He laughed. Nothing seemed to faze him, which disconcerted me more. How was he this smooth? How could I ever be my bookish self in front of someone so unruffled? Would he be upset if I wanted to curl up with a book instead of dress up for dinner?
“I’m picky,” he admitted. “I know a good woman when I meet her. This sort of circumstance is my life. My everyday sort of life when I’m home and not traveling for work, anyway.”
“And are you happy?”
He smiled. “Very. It suits me. It seems like it doesn’t suit you?”
I shook my head, hair swaying.
“That’s disappointing, because you’re lovely, Lizbeth. To be honest, doing anything different for a date seems . . . dishonest. It doesn’t seem fair to pretend otherwise. This may be overwhelming, but when I bring a woman into a situation like this, I want to see what happens. Romance and presentation and displays are important to me. I’m wealthy and plan to always climb that ladder. Any partner of mine will need to keep up with that.”
“So, what if I wasn’t well suited to that? Then what?”
He shrugged. “I decide at the end of the date whether we would be compatible or not. If I decide we are, I move things forward at my own pace.”
There was so much wrong there that I almost reached for the taser. His pace? He would decide?
But wasn’t that the alpha male?
“What if you decided we were compatible?” I asked, reaching for the wine to give my hand something to do.
“Then I’d arrange our next date, pick you up, and sweep you off your feet again.”
My mind spun with thoughts I couldn’t fully articulate, but at least one was perfectly clear: Why do you get to control everything?
“When would I get to decide something?”
He smiled, but this time it failed to impress me. “Whenever you like, of course. But why make decisions when it feels so good to be taken care of?”
I decided not to answer that, too unnerved by how smoothly the words came out. The pad of my thumb ran over the edge of my phone. I thought of JJ, but kept my voice light when I asked, “And am I failing?”
“Of course not.”
He said it so quickly that I doubted him. It would be easy to play the game I thought he wanted. Let him think he was in control. Or that I didn’t care about these small touches, the aggressive gifts, just to make him want it more. Or antagonize him just to throw him off. In the books, that always impressed the hell out of men. It was delicious when I read about it.
But this just felt . . . like a game.
Beneath his easy elegance, I sensed there wasn’t much I’d connect with. How did he feel about children? How would he feel about me running a coffee shop that he’d have no say in? I’d had my fill of controlling men when Dad
