He also happened to have delectable, pouty pink lips. They were basically daring her not to kiss them again.
Her sweet spot twitched.
When had he turned into this man?
“Zo?”
He was still watching Zora’s every move as he lowered her to the ground.
She was on her feet, but it still wasn’t clear whether or not her legs were working. The way they sort of wobbled, she felt unsteady and bendy like a flower in the wind. If she broke contact and stopped clinging to him she might somehow wilt away.
Then, he went and did it.
He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down. Not hard, but enough for his gloriously white teeth to scathe the delicate skin. Zora almost fainted right then. Her insides clenched ,and finally she exhaled.
Holy shit! This man is on another level.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Zora finally looked away, and the gravity of what she’d just done sunk in. As whatever spell he put her under wore off, she was now mortified for the third or fourth time that day.
Before she couldn’t stop looking at him, but now, the thought of meeting his twinkly eyes felt forbidden. If she dared, there would be wicked consequences.
Thankfully, the date she was dreading would take her away.
Rules. Rules are good, she reminded herself.
“Um…I’ll go check with Ceci to see if there’s anything else she can think to add to the order, then I’m going to go get ready. Just let me…” She trailed off because her voice sounded shaky and guilty as all hell.
Zora did a stuttered run-walk over to the kitchen doors leading to the front of the house. In her haste to actually watch where she was going—because she was physically incapable at the moment of lifting her chin up off her chest—she missed the swinging door flying toward her. George, who was carrying a tray of about a dozen tables worth of bussed dishes and silverware, crashed into her.
For a whimsical split second, cups and plates and sparkling forks flew into the air. It was a silent symphony of blurred shapes. Zora was almost mesmerized.
Then, the ear-piercing crash as they hit the floor brought the entire restaurant to a standstill.
Several startled eyes, most notably, Mike’s, looked on as she turned.
Rather than buckle under the weight of his spring-green eyes, she fell to her knees and rushed to gather up the shards of glass, throwing scattered knives and spoons into the dish tub with a loud clank.
“I guess I’ll add dishes to the order,” Mike said. The sight of his retreating form jarred something irrevocably loose insider her.
I want Mike.
When he was out of sight, almost immediately Zora’s lungs started working again. The scent of buttery, sweet pastries and teriyaki chicken bites filtered through her nose. She inhaled and got back to her feet as the world started turning again.
Everyone seemed to just go back to what they were doing before she’d utterly embarrassed herself.
Zora had no clue what had just happened between her and Mike, but the spark was explosive. The way he looked at her didn’t just nudge something inside of her. It felt more like a sucker punch.
Chapter Sixteen
Mike
Zora felt it too.
There wasn’t a doubt in Mike’s mind. It wasn’t just the way she looked at him. It was in the way she’d held him tight—like she didn’t want to let go—the tiny, shallow breaths, and the slight pink flush of her cheeks.
Mike noticed, and he felt the tidal wave rushing back.
“What do you think?” Zora asked as she came out of the restroom twirling.
Her short, black, flowy dress billowed from the hem and settled at her toned thigh. She paired it with strappy black heels, light makeup, and gold jewelry. She was stunning, and Mike was jealous.
This wasn’t just physical.
Look at me, Zo.
Every inch of him needed to see her eyes and feel the same connection he’d felt with her in his arms.
She craned her neck toward the front window. “I think that SUV that just pulled up is him. He said he’d call when he was out front.” She checked her phone, letting loose a sneeze before she pressed it to her ear. “I thought it was you. Give me a sec, I’m going to grab my umbrella, then I’ll be right there.”
Mike didn’t realize he was holding his breath. He sighed and deflated just a little. The idea of her walking out to another man felt final somehow, and he was desperate.
Say something.
“Uh…”
When she finally looked at him, he knew she was holding back. Did she want him to try harder?
“Okay, well, he’s here, so…I’m going to go. You’ve got everything here under control?”
She teetered on her heel, rubbing her arms.
You’re stalling.
He nodded, feeling hopeful and antsy and wired as he watched her sling her purse over her arm. Unconsciously he stepped closer. “What if it’s not allergies? You’ve been sneezing and coughing…might be a cold,” he blurted out, desperate to say anything that might keep her from leaving even for a second longer.
“I’m fine.”
“Okay, well, uh. Where’s he taking you?” He stuttered trying not to sound desperate, but he was at the end of his rapidly fraying rope. Nothing he could do or say would convey the toxic emotions stewing inside him. Stopping her took away her right to choose the right man for herself. Letting her go said Mike was indifferent, which was basically the complete opposite of what he was feeling.
At her raised brow, he explained. “Just…in case you need me. Can’t be too safe.” He was grasping at straws.
Come on. Don’t go.
The soft sigh she released appeared to be frustration. “Portland City Grill.” She started toward the door, but then she hesitated for the slightest moment.
“Yeah?” he asked.
He was holding his breath again, silently bargaining with her all the things he would do if she just stayed. He would try this thing between them again, even if his heart flashed its scars at him—a blinking beacon of the last time she ripped it open. If she stayed, he’d prove to her he was worth the risk of putting all her chips in.
Over her shoulder, she smiled at him and shrugged with a better luck next time pitied expression—his consolation for the whirlwind he’d put himself through today. Damned if he wasn’t going do something about it.
Mike watched Zora shuffle over to the shiny gunmetal gray SUV, her umbrella shielding her from the downpour. Instead of this guy getting out and coming around to open the door for her, he made her wait while he unlocked it from his seat.
“Asshole.”
He didn’t deserve her.
He didn’t deserve that dress.
The headlights blinded him as they pulled away from the curb, and Mike was left stewing in frustration until the name Portland City Grill hit him like a sledgehammer.
This guy, Mr. Unoriginal, probably Googled five-star romantic restaurants in Portland. The place would be at the top of the list with its skyline views and upscale white tablecloth fine dining. It was thirty floors up, required reservations, and easily garnered three- or four-dollar-sign pricelists. It was a favorite for the moneyed elite, including trust-fund lawyers who refused to cook. Jason. Mike pulled out his phone.