I make her nervous.

  Good.

  If she can't feel the sexual tension humming between our bodies, I’ll smash the glass and eat every shard.

  Stepping closer towards her, I lean in, resting my arms on the table until I’m bent to her height and we’re looking at each other eye to eye.

  Briefly, I wonder what they’ll look like staring up at me, glazed over from the orgasm I just gave her.

  “You can pretend you didn’t know, and act offended, Wendy, but it was hard to ignore you with your glances coming my way every few seconds.”

  “You know my name?” Her mouth gapes open, making me smile.

  “I heard the introductions. I heard every word between you and Jon.”

  She pulls her full bottom lip into her mouth and bites it.

  “Don’t bite your lip.” I watch her closely to see if she obeys. She releases her lip from her teeth, her tongue flicking out to lick the top one.

  “Yes, pretty girl, I listened to your conversation. You were a few feet away from me and you weren’t exactly speaking quietly. I won’t apologize for listening because I liked what I heard—for the most part.”

  “What didn’t you like?” Her breath rushes out, her cheeks flame. She didn’t mean to ask the question. She probably tried talking herself out of it. Likely, wanted to appear aloof. Oh, little girl, your game play only works on boys, not men.

  “I didn’t like how you spoke about yourself or the fact that you participate in activities that demean you. If you were mine, your confidence would shine through and you’d never put yourself in a position where anyone would disrespect you in such a way because you would never, ever doubt your worth. You’d know that you were worth far more than the way those assholes were treating you and your behavior would reflect that value.”

  “O—oh.”

  “Because, as it turns out, I love curves. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m the man who is going to make you fall in love with your curves.”

  “What do you mean? I already love my curves.”

  “If you were mine, you’d know better than to lie to me.”

  He sees it cross her features. The realization that she is in trouble.

  Big trouble.

  She likes what she is hearing. She shifts from side to side in her seat. My hand snakes out and rests on her shoulder, steadying her. My other hand closes over her fingers that are tapping on the table.

  I know what kind of romance books she referred to when she told Jon about the alpha men she read about.

  “You want a man who will protect you, both physically and your heart. In order to do so, you’d have to give both your body and your heart to him. I protect what is mine, Wendy. Sometimes, even from themselves. You don’t love your curves.”

  I know her name isn’t Wendy. I’m not ready to disclose that to her yet.

  “Yes, I do! I’m not one of those insecure fat girls whose entire value is subjected to her weight who feels she needs a man to love her to know her worth. I love myself exactly how I am, fat rolls included.” The pout on her face is adorable. I want to lean in and kiss her.

  “Do you? Do you really? Because what I see standing in front of me is a strong, confident woman full of bravado for the rest of the world, but inside is an insecure little girl. You might have accepted your body for how it is, but you don’t love it. If you did, you wouldn’t allow people to mistreat you because of it. You would see the queen that you are and never stand in silence while a man appraised her and then dismissed her with an eye roll.”

  “I never thought about it that way.” I remove my hand from hers and step to the side to let the waitress pass, my hand slides off her shoulder and rests casually on the edge of the table by her.

  “Maybe you read your romance books with the alpha males in it because you need to borrow the strength from a man like the heroes in your romance novels. One who will come along and stand up for their woman.”

  She pulls her lip into her mouth again, a quick frown of disapproval from me frees it.

  “My woman will know that she doesn’t need me to stand up for her. I’ll make her feel beautiful, wanted, and known. She’ll never question her worth, and she’ll be able to stand up for herself. She won’t need to. Her confidence will radiate out from her and those weak ass men who utilize tools like weaponized invisibility, won’t even consider using it on her. Her confidence becomes her bullshit shield.”

  “You know, you say a lot of the right things. It’s generally a red flag for a woman for a man to come along and say all the right things. Words and actions don’t often align in situations like this.”

  Narrowing my gaze, I drop my tone, the baritone clearly showing my irritation at her accusation. “Tell me, how many men have come along and said these things to you?”

  She shakes her head at me. “These things? These exact things? None. But you heard me recite to another man everything I was looking for and then offer it up on a silver platter.”

  “Sweetheart, do you believe for one second that I’m giving you a line?”

  “No.” The answer is quick, without hesitation. I smile. “No, I believe you believe the words coming out of your mouth. What I’m unsure of is if you could perform to the level of what you are claiming.”

  “You’re waiting for the right man to come along and guide you—didn’t you say something about a hand on the small of the back, and help you recognize how deliciously beautiful you really are. You want to be rescued and perhaps even tamed, by an alpha male who can growl sexual suggestions in your ear but also tucks you in tightly at night and scares away the monster in the closet, preferably after your pussy is completely satiated. Am I close, Wendy? Are those some of the actions you are seeking?”

  The tremor in her body tells me exactly what I need to know. I pegged her correctly. She’s not pushed away from the bar and ran away. Her drink isn’t splashed into my face. No. She’s trembling with pure, animalistic desire at my words.

  “I don’t know who you are lying to when you say you love your curves, me or you, but my girl, she’d know there are consequences involved in lying.”

  “Consequences?”

  “Yes, sweetheart. Consequences.” There is a lot on the line with how I word the next couple of sentences. She’d recoil in disgust or drench her panties.

  “What type of consequences?”

  “What kind of consequences do the men in your books dole out?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” she says, looking down at her phone.

  “Oh? You don’t?”

  “What kind of books do you think I’m reading? Fifty Shades of Grey?”

  “I’m sure you’ve read that series and watched the movies. I would bet you have plenty of power exchange and BDSM books on your Kindle. Do you like your romance books dark? Are you reading Daddy Doms or perhaps even Daddy Dom Little Girl age play novels?”

  She flips her phone over, turning the backside upwards, as if embarrassed by my questions. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “No? The hitch in your voice tells me otherwise. You won’t meet my gaze, Wendy. Why is that? There’s nothing to be ashamed of. If I know about these books, there’s a reason for it.”

  “I’m not ashamed of my reading list! I just don’t read what you think I do.”

  “Oh really? Open your Kindle and show me then, I dare you.”

  A woman’s reading list was akin to as personal as the content inside of her purse. Private. I know it. I am pushing her buttons. She is lying to me, I don’t tolerate lying at any stage of the relationship.

  “You won’t because you are lying to me, and I don’t tolerate lying. Lying results in punishment, a trip over my knee perhaps.” Or forcing my cock down your throat and gagging you with it until your mascara runs down your face and you beg for forgiveness. It’s way too soon to tell her that. Yeah, she’d be running far, far away.

  “There’s one problem with the list you recited earlier, though,” I tell her.

  “W-w-what's that?”

  “You said you were looking for a man who would growl sexy suggestions into your ear.”

  “Yeah, about that…”

  I cut her off by grabbing the edge of the bar stool and yanking it backwards into my body. Her back is flesh against my stomach, I lean into her, the growl vibrating off her ear lobe when I say, “Little girl, I don’t make suggestions, I make promises,” pausing just long enough to breathe warm arm against her neck, I continue, “and I never break a promise.”

  Releasing her, I wait for her to catch her breath. The bartender brings her wings to the table and looks at me.

  “Are you okay?” She asks her.

  “I am.” She gives her a reassuring smile.

  “Let me know if you need anything else,” she tells her before walking away, glaring a warning at me.

  “Now, you’ve heard all my words. I’m going to ask you again. Do I need to wait for the ad to come out or will you go out on a date with me?”

  “I don’t go out on dates.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just don’t.”

  “That’s not a good enough answer, little girl,” the baritone is back in my tone.

  “I guess I don’t want to catch feelings for someone, and they end up not being reciprocated.”

  She’s been hurt. I want to find the man who hurt her and tear his limbs off. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Sure.” She laughs sarcastically.

  “I promise, I’m not going to break your heart. I don’t break my promises or hearts, Wendy. Not intentional and not by my actions.” She studies me for a moment. I wish I could read her thoughts. Finally, she slowly nods.

  “One night.”

  She believes him. She should. I’d never lied, cheated on or betrayed a woman I was with. I had no plans on doing so now.

  “What?” I need her to clarify.

  “One date. That's all I can give you.”

  “I’ll take it.” Like hell, little girl. One date and you’ll be mine. One date is all I need for you to change your mind. I’m confident. She’s different. She’s special. I can feel something between us. Maybe it’s too soon but my gut tells me otherwise.

  “When do you want to go out then? Next Friday?” She asks.

  “How about now?”

  “Now?”

  “The night is still early. Have you had dinner?”

  “I have half of a chimichanga back at my place calling my name,” she answers.

  “You could eat that, or I could cook for you.”

  “You?”

  “Yes. Why don’t we go back to my place, and I’ll make you dinner and we can get to know each other a bit better?”

  She glances down at her watch. I knew it was barely eight, she couldn’t use the time as an excuse.

  “Okay? Okay.”

  “Good deal. Now, before we go, why don’t you tell me your real name.”

  “W-w-hat?”

  “Two things I know for certain. Your name is not Wendy and you are not a travel agent. I don’t like to start anything off with a lie. What’s your name?”

  “My name is Victoria Anne, but my friends all call me Vickie. Now you know my name, what is yours?”

  “Knox.”

  She chokes on the sip of Diet Coke she was taking. “If that isn’t out of one of my romance novels, I don’t know what is.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Vickie

  His place isn’t what I’m expecting. The charming historic cottage style bungalow sits right across from the beach on Coronado Island. The location makes it prime real estate.

  “How far are you from the sand?” I ask when we pull up to it.

  “A hundred feet,” he answers, opening my car door

  and offering his arm to me.

  There’s a legit white picket fence around the front yard. A fire pit framed by four large chairs was in the center of the front yard. The expansive wrap-around porch was inviting, and I can imagine myself sitting in one of the chairs with a glass of wine.

  Stop it right now. This is a one-night thing only!

  I can’t afford to think about a future with this

  man. We aren’t a good match.

  Unlocking the front door, he ushers me inside and

  turns on the lights. My low whistle echoes off the high vaulted beam ceilings.

  This place is fantastic. Craftsmanship is evident at every turn, from the polished and gleaming oak wood floors to the framed glass wall of windows offering an abundance of light and a view of the ocean crashing against the sand.

  Without seeing the rest of the house, I know the value has to sit around three million in the current market.

  “Join me in the kitchen?” The open layout makes the jaunt to the kitchen an easy one. Appropriately sized to the cottage and updated with modern appliances, a large gas stove and beautiful marble counters, she appreciated the attention to detail and the care.

  “This is your house?”

  “I sure hope so, otherwise I’m paying someone else’s mortgage every month.”

  “It’s really impressive. How long have you owned it?”

  “Almost twenty years.”

  “Twenty?” Impressive. Most men weren’t thinking about owning houses in their early twenties.

  “A couple of friends and I bought it together a long time ago. When we moved, I bought out their contributions and turned it into a rental property and kept it up to date. I relocated back to town a few years ago and when the current tenants moved out, I moved back in.”

  “Do you mind me asking how much you paid for it?” It seemed like a very personal question to ask, but my interest was piqued.

  “I don’t mind at all. I’m an open book. Just under four hundred thousand.”

  “How many bedrooms does it have?”

  “Just a second. It’s my turn to ask a couple of questions. Do you have any food allergies? Any dislikes?”

  “Nope. Not allergic to anything and I don’t, really

  have anything I can’t stand. I don’t prefer super spicy foods.”

  “Ok, good, I won’t make anything super spicy. If it wasn’t so late, we could make pizza in my pizza oven. But I don’t have any dough prepped.” As he gathers food from the fridge onto a tray, I wonder if I went too far on the questions about his house.

  “I’m sorry if I pried.”

  “It’s your passion, right? You’re a realtor?”

  “I’m that obvious?”

  “Either that or you plan on robbing me and you are terrible at recon.” They both laughed.

  “I’m going to grab a couple things and we are going to go out back and I will answer all of your questions. Deal?”

  “Deal. What can I do to help?” After gathering the rest of the ingredients together, Knox led me to the back yard.

  I stopped dead in my tracks.

  Paradise.

  I’d sell my house and buy this one in a heartbeat. This backyard was everything. The framed yard with the ocean backdrop, outside shower, hot tub, chef level patio set to entertain. My millionaire clients searched high and low for vacation property like this. I could sell this house in five seconds flat. I had a list of clients searching for ocean front property half as nice. If this was my home, I’d be rushing back to it every night.

  I sure as hell wouldn’t be drinking alone at a bar.

  I could imagine myself throwing a pizza in the oven and eating slices of it while reading a book in my hot tub after a long night of work. Now, that was a daydream I could get lost in.

  I looked longingly at the waves as they crashed against the sand just a few feet away. The ocean has always been my safe place and tonight was no different.

  Closing my eyes, I take a long deep breath of the salty sea air and smile. Knox is standing behind the outdoor grill, putting a piece of wood in a bowl of water. The setup is something my dad would drool over. The BBQ island with its sink, double grill, pellet smoker and wood-fire pizza oven, beverage center, fridge and prep counters are a chef's dream.

  “Are you a chef?”

  “No. But it’s my favorite hobby and one I’ve invested a lot of time and money into, if you can’t tell.”

  “Wow. I can totally tell.” He sets out a beautifully thick, pink piece of salmon and goes to work expertly chopping vegetables.

  “I like to eat good food. I discovered that if I made it myself, not only is it cheaper, but I can control what goes in my body and remain healthier. You never know what additives and the amount of sugar they add to food when you order it out.”

  Healthier.

  Does he think I’m unhealthy?

  The age-old feeling of defensiveness settles heavily over my chest. The looks of judgment from the fraternity brothers as their gazes wandered over my plate, the whispers about how I must have gotten into the sorority as a legacy, since they couldn’t possibly want me at my size. Memories of choosing salads when I badly wanted a cheeseburger because I knew people were watching, crash over me like the waves a few feet away.

  I eat healthy. I’ve eaten healthier than most of my skinnier friends my entire life. A fact that’s made me slightly bitter. While they could down pizza without gaining an ounce, I eat a single French fry and gain ten pounds. Thinking back to mentioning my chimichanga and ordering hot wings, I want to facepalm. Of course, he’d think I’m an unhealthy eater.

  “I eat healthy too. I know you probably think I’m a fat girl who eats nothing but fried food but—” I rush to defend my eating choices.

  “Stop. Right now. Take a breath and count to five.” He sat down the knife on the cutting board near the zucchini he was slicing and walked towards me. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he gave the order again.

  “Deep breathe in and hold it until I’m done counting,” he commands. “One, two, three—”

  I obey almost mindlessly. What was it about this man that pulled me into obedience?

  “Good girl.” Gripping my chin tightly, he looks into my eyes.

  I could get lost in the deep, dark chocolate depths before me.

  “You will not apologize to me for being you. I did not judge your food choices earlier. I don’t know you well enough to decide if your nutrition needs work or not, nor is that something we’ve negotiated. Two food items aren’t enough data points to analyze a pattern of behavior.”