“I don’t know. Am I going to find out anything else about you that I don’t know?”
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
“See? That right there is what puts me on edge,” I say, pulling my legs under me on the couch. “Everything you say leaves lots of room for you to come back later and sideswipe me.”
“How’s that?” He looks genuinely confused.
“I asked if there is anything else I don’t know about you, and your answer is there’s a lot. Lots, like what? A wife, a kid… are you running for president or planning to take over the world?”
“No wife, no kids. If I did have a wife, I wouldn’t cheat on her. I don’t want to be president, and I have no desire to take over the world. You know the big stuff about me. I own IMG, this building, and I’m obsessed with a woman I tricked into going on a date with me.”
I stare at him, unsure what to say or how to respond. Part of me wants to give in and agree to see him, but I need time to figure out if he can be trusted. I still feel betrayed by him. He didn’t just lie; he kept things from me and did it with ease. And if he did it once, he could do it again, and if that happened, it would be my fault. Like the old saying goes—fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.
“I’ll give you time, Dakota, but you’re not going to figure out if you can trust me unless you actually give me a chance to prove to you that you can.”
“Can you read my mind?” I ask, honestly a little freaked he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“No, but I’m beginning to understand the thing holding you back isn’t that you don’t want to spend time with me; it’s that you don’t trust me.” He reaches out, touching my cheek. “Am I right?”
“Yeah.”
His expression softens. “How about we take things slow?”
“What exactly do you mean by that?” Knowing him, his version of slow and mine are probably completely different.
“We spend time together, but nothing more until you’re ready for that.”
“Are we talking about sex?” Well that will be a challenge, maybe not for him but for me. I’m not sure I have enough willpower to spend time with him and not want what I know he’s capable of making me feel.
“As much as it’s going to kill me to keep my hands off you, yeah, I mean sex.” His eyes darken, and I squirm as they travel over my face. “But…”
“Here we go.” I roll my eyes while smiling.
“But,” he repeats, capturing my chin between his thumb and index finger then growls, “if you tempt me and start playing with fire, all bets are off.”
My toes curl and my belly melts. “I’d never do that.”
“Liar.”
I am lying. Part of me wants to see how far I can push him before he cracks and just how hot it will be when he does.
“I also want you to join me for lunch with my parents this weekend.”
Wait… what? “What?” My voice sounds shrill, even to my own ears. “How did we go from talking about me pushing you to a point where you can’t control yourself to you telling me that you want me to meet your parents?”
Oh my God, here we go—right back on the crazy train.
“No way.”
“No way?” He frowns, and I shake my head franticly.
“I can’t meet your parents. I…. No way.”
“Why not?”
“Um, I don’t know. Maybe…” I hold up my hand and one finger. “Because you’re my boss.” I hold up another finger. “Because your parents.” I hold up the rest of my fingers then let my hand drop to my lap. “Lots of reasons.” His lips start to twitch, and I scowl at him when he starts to laugh. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because you’re adorable when you’re nervous, and this is the first time I’ve seen you really nervous about anything.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“Then what do you call it?”
“A normal reaction to someone you had a one-night stand with asking you to meet their parents.”
“We didn’t have a one-night stand.”
“What?” I ask, caught off guard by the amount of anger in his tone and the way his fist clenches.
“We didn’t have a fucking one-night stand.”
“We did.”
“We did fucking not.”
“Why are you so pissed about this?”
“A one-night stand is someone you never see again, Dakota, the complete fucking opposite of what this is.”
“Okay,” I give in, because I can see how angry the topic is making him. “I’m just saying I don’t think it’s wise at this point in time for me to meet your parents.”
“And I’m saying it is.” He rips his hand through his hair.
“Can I think about it?” I bite my lower lip and fight the urge to laugh. I know this isn’t funny, but at the same time his frustration is kind of adorable. He’s so used to always getting his way that when he doesn’t, he doesn’t know how to react or act.
“Why does it look like you want to laugh?”
“Umm… because I do.” I pat his hand still resting on the back of the couch. “You’re so used to getting your way with everything that you don’t know how to respond when you don’t, and it’s kind of funny.”
“Don’t piss me off, Dakota.” He captures my wrist then pulls me toward him so we’re face-to-face. “All that does is make me want to fuck you.”
Damn, I want that. My eyes drop to his mouth. Maybe I should suggest we alter his rule just a tiny bit to involve orgasms.
“We could—”
“No,” he cuts me off before I can say more and touches his lips to my forehead before pushing me back. “Even if this slow bullshit kills me, I’m going to give it to you.”
Now why does that make me feel all warm and gooey inside?
“Tomorrow, dinner at my place. I’ll cook for you and we’ll talk.” He stands like he’s going to leave, and I want to ask him not to go but somehow manage not to.
“What floor do you live on?” I ask, not even pretending I’m not going to have dinner with him. Again, I might be an idiot, but I do like this man, even if he does make me insane and frustrates me to no end.
“What floor do you think I live on?”
“Yeah, that was a stupid question.” I roll my eyes.
He smiles then leans over me to touch his hand to my cheek. “And that watch I gave you works both ways, so you can use it to get up to my place and let yourself in.”
“That’s a lot of trust. How do you know I’m not going to come up and steal all your silver?”
“I don’t own any silver, and anything you see that you want, you can have, except the art my mom painted. She’d lose her mind if she came over and didn’t see it where she hung it.”
“That’s sweet,” I say while his thumb rubs across my cheek.
“She can’t paint to save her life, but she’s convinced it’s good. I guess we all do what’s necessary to keep the people in our lives happy.”