Restraint (Mason Family 1)

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Did you bring my card?”

He pulls his eyes away from mine and scans the room. “Of course. But lunch first.”

I open my mouth to object. In the two seconds it takes to do that, he’s already walking across the room to the little table in the corner that I had my eye on.

The purse strap bites into my shoulder as I follow him across the room. My brain sounds an alarm that I need to ensure he knows he’s not calling the shots. I have to manually override it and remind myself this isn’t a courtroom, and I’m not having lunch with a man who I’ll be going head-to-head with at any point in the future. My inner monologue is still working that out when I reach the table and chair that Holt has pulled out for me.

He lifts a brow.

I sit.

He looks pleased, and I sigh at myself for giving in so easily.

“That went easier than I expected,” he says as he sits across from me.

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know, exactly. You’re confounding.”

It’s my turn to lift a brow as I set my purse on the seat next to me. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I don’t know yet,” he says before narrowing his eyes.

“Let me know when you figure it out.”

The waitress slides up to the table. Her smile is bright until it lands on Holt. It wobbles as she takes in the whole of him—as if he physically knocked her sideways with nothing but a glance—before she mostly recovers.

“I’m Lola,” she says, placing two menus on the table. “What can I get you to drink?”

Holt looks at me expectantly.

“Water with lemon, please,” I say.

“Make that two. We’ll need a few minutes to decide on our meal,” Holt tells Lola.

She nods. “Sounds great. I’ll be right back.” Her gaze lingers on my dining partner for a moment too long before she scurries into the kitchen.

I look at Holt to catch his reaction. He simply places a menu in front of me before taking one for himself and not bothering to react to Lola’s subtle flirtation.

“That happens to you a lot, doesn’t it?” I say, looking over the menu items.

“What?”

“Waitresses barely able to keep themselves vertical when you walk in.”

His chuckle is warm and full. “She was polite.”

“That she was,” I say, deciding on the grilled chicken sandwich. I set my menu down and look up to see Holt watching me with an amused grin on his face. “What?”

“I’ve decided that your confounding qualities are a good thing.”

“Good to know.”

“Yes. Good to know,” he says as Lola appears again.

She places our drinks in front of us and takes our order. She lingers closer to Holt than is necessary. Her laughter at his not-really-even-a-joke is a little much. Still, he never looks her way. Only at me.

My skin heats under his stare. I can’t help but remember the way it felt to have him watching me as I came undone around him.

I shiver.

“Are you cold?” he asks, fighting a smile.

As if the thoughts running through my mind didn’t make me blush enough, his ridiculous smile amps up the heat in my cheeks another few levels. It’s like he knows what I’m thinking.

“Me? I’m fine,” I say as I move my drink to my right. “What are you up to today?”

He shrugs. “What about you?”

“I’m going to head back to the hotel and pull out my briefcase and get lost in paperwork. I go home late tomorrow, and it will feel really good to be all caught up.”

“You didn’t see any of Savannah at all, did you?”

“Nope. Not a thing. Besides Picante,” I add with a grin.

He grins too. “You know I’m a big fan of work myself, but you should really get out and see some of the city. There’s so much to do here.”

I sit back in my seat and study him. What does someone like him do on the weekends? I can imagine him shirtless on a boat, drinking beer from a bottle. It’s not hard to envision him walking down a cozy street at dusk after seeing a live band and having dinner al fresco. But I can also see him sitting on a balcony overlooking a grassy field with a computer on his lap.

“What is your favorite thing to do on the weekends?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t say that he likes to pick up random women and take them to random hotel rooms.

That would suck.

“I don’t do a lot, but I’m from here,” he says. “so it’s different.”

“Sure, it is,” I tease.

“It is. I’ve done it all.”

“Well, what would you suggest someone do if they were only going to do one thing?”

He taps a finger against his bottom lip. “There are the trolley tours downtown that are fun but kind of touristy. You could kayak or take a riverboat cruise, which would be perfect if you like outdoorsy kinds of things. And you have to see the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist. Forsyth Park. Bonaventure Cemetery.”