He knew why she was trying to put a stop to it. There shouldn’t be an us beyond the story. And yet that kiss … the chemistry …
“So what are you saying? You think we should stop all this after two dates? Because we agreed to five …”
“Someone else could take over,” she blurted out. “My friend Julie is a pro at this kind of stuff. In fact, up until a few months ago, this sort of dating how-to was her full-time gig.”
“I know Julie,” he said shortly. “And I have absolutely no interest in dating her.”
Her eyes went wide, and he realized what his emphasis had implied.
“For the magazine,” he amended quickly. God, this was fucking messy. “Look, Grace, it’s just three more dates. We can keep them casual.”
Her eyes locked on his, and he saw her gaze go slightly soft. It was then that he registered what was different about her. Her hair was down around her shoulders. He’d only ever seen it pulled back in a no-nonsense style. This version of her was more gentle. More vulnerable.
He wanted to get to know this version.
“Have dinner with me,” he said. “Let’s see this through.”
Their eyes held, neither one daring to question aloud what he meant by this.
“I don’t know, Jake.…”
“Just one dinner, and if I don’t behave myself, I’ll concede the competition. I’ll lie, and declare that I was so smitten by you that I couldn’t think straight.”
Except it might not be a lie.
“So if you do behave yourself and you write the article,” she said, “then what will you say? If date one was about first impressions and date two was about reading each other’s physical attraction, what’s date three going to be?”
He stood and went around to her side of the desk. “Come on. You write for Stiletto’s Relationships section. You must know how important the third date is.”
Doubt flitted across her classic features. “You do remember that I’ve spent the past eight years in a relationship with one guy? The last third date I went on involved a study group in the Cornell library.”
His eyes skimmed her face, feeling absurdly pleased that he wasn’t one in a long string of guys, even though right now he sort of hated the bastard who’d been lucky enough to have her for so long, only to hurt her.
Jake reached out a hand to touch a strand of silky hair.
He wanted to kiss her. Damn it to hell. He wanted to bury his fingers in her hair. Hell, he wanted to lift her on to the desk and bury himself in her.
“I’ve already told you I’m not interested in dating anyone right now,” she said quietly. “And I know this thing between you and me is only for the story, but I’m having a hard time keeping everything sorted—”
“Have dinner with me, Grace.” His voice was husky and he didn’t care. “I want to take you to dinner. Story be damned.”
There was a loud throat clearing from the door, and Jake jumped at the interruption.
He looked up and glared. “How long have you been standing there?”
Cole Sharpe gave him a knowing grin before entering the office and helping himself to Jake’s coffee drink. “Long enough, my friend. Long enough.”
And that was how every single one of Oxford’s and Stiletto’s Twitter followers learned that Jake Malone had begged—begged—Grace Brighton to go to dinner with him. Straight from one of Oxford’s own employees.
Chapter Thirteen
Grace wouldn’t admit it out loud even if someone paid her, but she had no idea what made Jake Malone tick. Like, none.
The man had taken Cole’s public pronouncement that Jake was hot and heavy for Grace with a fair amount of dignity, and Grace thought for sure she had the upper
hand … for all of about two days.
Right up until the moment Jake climbed into the backseat of her cab following Alex Cassidy’s birthday celebration at a trendy West Village gastropub.