Why did she get the feeling they were at cross-purposes? "I can't . . . I can't think of a reason."
A half-smile twisted his lips. "As my friend, will you let me buy you dinner tonight?"
The butterflies that had been humming low in her stomach took flight and began beating against her breastbone, because she knew that dinner was definitely not the only thing on his agenda. Say no. Say no. Say. No. She waited a prolonged second before answering, "Okay."
A look of satisfaction crossed his face. "Then, fine. I see no reason we can't be friends."
****
Her doorbell went off at seven o'clock on the dot that evening. Her nerves had been shot the rest of the day, knowing he was coming to get her, and now, as she opened the door, she took a sustaining breath as she found him leaning negligently against her doorframe.
"Hi." The word was a croak from her throat.
His gaze dropped to her black stilettos and a subtle tension seemed to take hold of his body. "Hello."
"I'm ready to go."
He twisted his head to look inside her apartment, but he made no move to try to go inside. He glanced back at her and cocked his head in a motion for her to follow him. "Let's go."
Angie closed the door and locked it with fingers that shook, and as they walked down the exterior stairs, she held tightly to the rail, the heels on her shoes and the trembling of her limbs making the descent more difficult than usual.
He didn't try to rush her as he led her over to his Mercedes; he opened the door for her and stood back as she sat down. The door closed with a quiet snap, and as he was walking around the car, Angie tried to settle her nerves by taking a few deep breaths.
It didn't work; the only thing it accomplished was to make her hyperventilate.
When he opened his door, sat down and started the engine, her heart rate was still too elevated for comfort. She looked around at the interior of the elegant vehicle, at the detailed luxury, and she knew, without a doubt, that they lived on separate planets.
He looked at her but remained silent, the engine idling.
After a moment, she couldn't stand his hooded stare any longer. "What?"
He let out a sigh, and leaned over and pulled the strap over her shoulder, and buckled it into place. Her heart began pounding a loud cadence, and when he placed a simple kiss on her forehead, she about lost it--her nerves were all over the place. She was elated; she was terrified.
He didn't make idle chatter as they drove to the restaurant, and before long, they were sitting in a corner booth with a bottle of wine between them.
"You didn't wear the lipstick," he accused lightly.
She took a sip of her wine before answering, "You said it was too much."
"It would have been too much if I was forced to stand in a room full of other men and watch them staring at you as if you were fair game."
The smoldering fire in his eyes, combined with his silken words, made a hot ache begin to grow in her belly. "Oh."
"Oh, what?" He reached across the table and picked up her hand in both of his and began to play with her fingers.
Her heart beat unmercifully. "Okay . . . I know you want me to wear the lipstick."
He studied her, making no attempt to hide the fact. "I want you to wear the lipstick when it's just you and me, like it is tonight."
The blood surged from her fingertips where he caressed her. "We'll see," was the only answer she could manage.
He raised one wicked eyebrow. "We'll see?"
She shrugged a shoulder. "Casual, right?" she challenged, in a bid to remind him of their agreement, which surely didn't include him telling her what to do.
He released her hand and leaned back in his seat, picking up his wineglass.
When he only stared at her from across the table, she asked, "Right, Damian?"
After studying her for what was almost too long for comfort, he responded, "We'll see."
The way he copied her words but turned them around made her tremble, and in that moment, she admitted that she felt an unequivocal and total attraction for this man. Trying to get a grip, she wrenched herself away from his undeniable magnetism by flipping open the menu and glancing down.
****
There was little doubt in Damian's mind that when he died, he was going down. Straight down. He already knew he was doomed, and the scam he was performing on Angie was going to cement the deal. He'd almost fucked up beyond what was repairable when he'd issued that idiotic warning to her. What the hell had he been thinking? He knew the answer to that question; he'd been trying to scare her off because he knew damn good and well that he wouldn't have the willpower to stay away from her all on his own. So, he'd tried to take the power out of his hands and damn if it hadn't almost worked.