Gorgeous.

  I smirk at Gerard as we’re seated in a semi-private corner with our very own view of the sunset.

  “This is . . .” I’m trying not to sound like an idiot here.

  “Comfortable?” Gerard offers me a suggestion.

  “Very,” I agree.

  “Good.” He’s a bit presumptuous. He definitely put some thought into this date. I’m flattered, but I’m trying not to get ahead of myself. I barely know this man. And I have zero idea of his intentions. Past experiences have taught me to keep my guard up, and that’s exactly what I intend to do until he can prove me otherwise.

  “Gambit.” A man in a white chef’s coat and blue bandana approaches the table enthusiastically. “I thought that was you.” They clap hands as Gerard stands.

  “Yeah, man, I had to introduce this pretty lady to the best sunset and fish tacos around.”

  “Well, I appreciate that,” the man beams. He’s tall and broad like Gerard. A little bit intimidating, too, with his tattooed arms and rugged face. If I passed him on the street, chef would be the last occupation I’d peg him for.

  “And you are?” He reaches out to take my hand.

  “Kristen.” We shake.

  “Kristen, welcome.” His blue eyes sparkle in the setting sun, and I find myself liking him immediately.

  “Poker and I go way back.” Gerard slaps his friend on the back right before he sits down.

  “A little too far back.” Poker chuckles.

  “That’s an interesting name,” I comment.

  “My God-given name is John, after John the Baptist, but no one but my mother has called me that in years.” His chuckle grows into laughter. “I didn’t exactly turn out to be the man she expected.”

  “No one ever does,” Gerard muses.

  “Well,” — Poker claps his hands — “you picked a great night to dine. We have some awesome specials. Mako shark and salmon cakes,” he announces proudly.

  “I can’t wait to try.” Gerard bumps fists with Poker.

  “Me too,” I add.

  “Wendy is your waitress tonight.” He calls the girl over. “These two get drinks on the house all night, and I’ll be sending out a special appetizer for them in a few.”

  The cute young waitress nods with a smile.

  “Later, lovebirds.” Poker leaves the table.

  Lovebirds? It might be a little early in the game to be calling us that.

  “What’ll you have to drink, Kristen?” Gerard asks.

  Drink? Normally, I would stick with wine, but my anxiety is a bit high, so I’m hitting it a little harder. “Bourbon and Coke, please, with a lime.”

  My dad’s favorite.

  Gerard’s face lights up. Not what he was expecting, I’m sure.

  “I’ll have the same. Your best bourbon, please.”

  Wendy nods, her head full of thick, tight curls.

  “You are quite the surprise.” Gerard settles comfortably into his seat.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “A sophisticated woman who drives a vintage Vette and drinks bourbon. I like the combination.”

  “Well, thank you. I like to keep everyone on their toes,” I smirk.

  “I’m starting to realize that.” His statement is bold and suggestive. It makes me tingle in places that haven’t tingled in a very long time. The way Gerard is looking at me, I could be his appetizer. Maybe even his main course. There’s blatant attraction mixed with some suppressed hunger.

  Shit, I could really use that drink now.

  I clear my throat and break eye contact with him just for a moment, just to gather my bearings, but he doesn’t let the conversation go that easily.

  “What other surprises are you hiding from me?”

  “I’m not really that surprising.” I rest my arms on the table. “I’m just a woman at the tail-end of raising a daughter who’s submersed in running her company.”

  “And what kind of company is that?”

  “Cosmetics,” I answer as Wendy finally delivers our drinks. Thank Jesus.

  Gerard picks his tumbler up to toast me. “To surprises.” He clinks the rim of his glass with mine.

  “To surprises.” We both take a sip. The soda is sweet and cold, and the bourbon has a velvety burn as it slides down my throat. Gerard seems to take great interest in my neck as I swallow. I can almost feel what he wants — to take a bite right out of me.

  I may sort of want that, too.

  “What’s the name of this cosmetics company?” Gerard keeps the conversation rolling.

  “Glam.” I lick some sweetness from my lips. His attention zeros in straight to my mouth. I swear the setting sun is scorching us with the temperature at this table right now. I just met this man, but the attraction between us is undeniable. Irrefutable, impossible to ignore. “Kira came up with the name when she was seven.” I try to keep our chat rolling, but the way Gerard is looking at me has me very distracted. It’s unnerving, and truth be told, I like it way too much. I take another sip of my drink, but that seems to just keep fanning the flames, so I just suck it up and keep talking, hoping I don’t ramble like a damn idiot. “I was a stay-at-home mom back then, and she was so into everything and anything girlie. She got into my makeup bag one day, and I found her with red lipstick all over her face. It was the most adorable thing, until she broke out in hives all over the place. She was allergic to most of the ingredients in cosmetics, and the ones she could wear just weren’t glamorous enough for her. So, I started doing some research, and then experimenting in my kitchen, and before I knew it, I had hot-pink lip gloss my daughter could wear. It was a slow start after that. Years of just playing scientist with Kira in our kitchen. It was the best times,” I reminisce, missing Kira at that young age.

  “So, what made you decide to start a company?”

  “I didn’t really. It just sort of happened.” I shrug. “For Kira’s thirteenth birthday, I put together homemade goodie bags with all the products we had concocted. Her friends went crazy over them, and so did one of the mothers. My social circle back then was very elite. My ex came from a high-profile family and had gobs of money, so we were always hobnobbing with the rich or famous. I didn’t really belong; I was just a surfer girl from Malibu who somehow caught the attention of an insanely rich, older guy.”

  Wendy appears in the middle of my story with two large white dishes in her hands. She places them in front of us, and I am struck with the smell of fresh basil and visually entertained by the vibrant colors of the tomatoes stacked on the plates.

  “Buffalo mozzarella caprese salad with Jersey tomatoes drizzled with a balsamic champagne reduction,” she announces cheerfully.

  Holy yum.

  “This looks fantastic. Tell the chef thumbs up.” Gerard gives her a wink as he picks up his fork.

  “Umm.” Wendy lingers. “The chef asked me to tell you . . .” She looks a bit uncomfortable, shifting on her feet. “That you don’t know jack shit about dining, so he’s going to prepare a chef’s tasting menu so you don’t screw up your date,” she speeds through the last of her message from Poker.

  Gerard chokes a bit, and Wendy nearly goes pale. “Did he now?” Gerard’s eyes are suddenly cold and deadly. My protective instincts kick in, and just before I throw myself in front of Wendy, Gerard barks a huge laugh. “Tell that motherfucker to piss off. But we’ll take whatever he’s willing to whip up.” He continues to chuckle as he takes a large gulp of his drink. Wendy visually relaxes, as do I. For a second, I was convinced Gerard was going to go postal.

  “That’s okay with you, darlin?” he asks, a large, endearing smile plastered across his face.

  “I’m up to try anything,” I tell Wendy.

  “Do either of you have any allergies?”

  We both shake our heads no.

  “Okay, then.” She adorably bounces. “Enjoy your first course, and I’ll bring the rest out when ready.”

  “We appreciate that.” Gerard nods.

  Wendy flitters away, leaving us to our appetizer and unfinished conversation.

  “Cute girl,” Gerard comments.

  “She is. I thought you were going to bite her head off for a second though.”

  Gerard pauses. A thoughtful look on his face. “I’m only violent when I have to be.”

  My eyes widen. “Do you have to be violent often?”

  “No so much anymore.” He cuts though his mozzarella meticulously. “My past is rocky. My position demands respect. And sometimes to enforce respect, you can’t show an ounce of weakness.”

  I stare at Gerard, trying to make sense of what he’s telling me. “What kind of position?”

  One corner of his mouth turns up and a dimple pops out of his cheek. “We’ll talk about that, darlin’, I promise. Just not right now.”

  “Okay,” I respond, slightly confused.

  Gerard slides his hand across the table and takes mine. His skin is so warm; his grip is so solid. I look down at our joined fingers, and I love the connection. I love his touch. Inside, I become flustered.

  “Kristen, there’s some things about me, about my past, that might be hard for you to accept. I am who I am, but before I dump all my dirty secrets onto the table, I want you to know me. I want you to know who I really am before you finally judge me.”

  “I don’t judge anyone.”

  Gerard scoffs. “People always judge, even when they don’t mean to.”

  “Are you like a masked murder or something?”

  “Or something.” There’s a dark, humorous undertone in his voice.

  His grip gets a little tighter. “I’m really enjoying your company, Kristen. And I’m not trying to scare you.”

  “Well, you kinda are.”

  “I’ll never give you a reason to be scared of me. I’m just rough around the edges, and sometimes I forget not everyone is used to that.”

  “I kind of like your rough edges,” I admit coyly.

  “Good. Hopefully, you’ll find a few other things to like about me.”

  I bite my lip. I can already list a few. Your eyes, your smile, your face, your laugh, your body . . .

  Gerard pulls his hand away from mine, and the loss of contact leaves me lonely. “Now, finish telling me all about how your business came to be.” He relaxes back in his seat, full attention on me like a spotlight. It’s not intimidating at all.

  I clear my throat and continue where I left off. “Well, like I was saying, we ran in an elite circle. My ex-husband knew people, and one of Kira’s friends’ moms at the time was an executive producer on one of those big-name shopping channels. She loved the goodie bag and asked if I ever thought about producing a line. I never did — it was just for Kira — but Dex saw an opportunity and forcefully encouraged me.”

  “Forcefully encouraged?” Gerard asks.

  “We’ll get to my ex when we’re ready to swap dark secrets. You’re not the only one with a rocky past.” I pick up my drink and take a hefty sip. Dex will always be a trigger for me, no matter how much time passes.

  “Fair enough.” Gerard pins me with glowering blue eyes. He definitely has a dark side, but for some reason, it doesn’t intimidate me. Not the way Dex’s dark side did. It feels like a different kind of dark. Reactive instead of proactive. Dex was always looking to start a fight. Gerard is just ready when the fight comes looking for him.

  “Anyway, before I knew it, I was testing products and formulas in a gigantic production warehouse and meeting with marketing managers. It was all so much so fast,” I explain with my hands, reliving the mass chaos that took over my life. “Then, when all the products were ready, the first show aired, and the line was an instance success. We sold out, and kept selling out, over and over again. Eventually, we were picked up in department stores and online, and the little project I shared with my daughter became a global success.” Sometimes I still can’t believe it. Sometimes, I still can’t believe this is my life. But it is. And I work hard every damn day. I owe it to the people who supported me. Who believed in me. Who were there when I walked away and was left with nothing.

  “And the name Glam?”

  “Kira called all our homemade makeup her glam products, so we stuck with that.”

  “That simple.” Gerard seems to approve.

  “That simple. If it wasn’t for Kira, there would be no Glam. It was only right.”

  “Kira is very lucky to have you.”

  I scoff. “I’m the one who’s lucky to have her.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” Gerard agrees as a bus boy removes our scraped plates. “Ky’s a great kid. Well, man now. Ex-Marine, good head on his shoulders, big heart.”

  “He sounds wonderful.”

  “Yup, he is. Even with a father like me.”

  “You don’t seem so bad. Even if you are a masked murder,” I make light.

  Before Gerard has a chance to respond, Wendy appears with an armful of dishes and another waiter behind her. “Sundried tomatoes polenta cakes” — she explains each dish as she places it on the table — “beet and goat cheese napoleons, prosciutto pear bites with herbs and blue cheese, warm figs stuffed with goat cheese, pistachios, and a balsamic glaze, and last but not least, tempura shrimp skewers in a mango dipping sauce.”

  Both Gerard and I sit astounded by the feast laid out in front of us. It all looks like art on an array of contemporary plates.

  “This looks absolutely amazing,” I share my thoughts with Wendy.

  “I’ll let the chef know you’re pleased.”

  “Yeah, this looks okay,” Gerard feigns being unimpressed.

  I shake my head at him.

  “I’ll refresh your drinks.” Wendy grabs our glasses up. “Bon Appetit.”

  “Would it be totally unattractive if I just start stuffing my face right now?” I laugh as I survey all the food.

  “Not at all. I love a woman who can eat.” Gerard grabs a stuffed fig and holds it up in front of me. It’s almost like a moment of truth, taking food straight from his fingers. It’s such an intimate gesture. But if there is one thing I’m coming to realize, it’s that I like Gerard, and the idea of intimacy with him turns me on more than I was prepared for. I lean forward and take the fig from his offering hand, hoping it’s more alluring than unappealing. It’s been a long time since I was attracted to a man. And even longer since I was actually sexy.

  Gerard’s heavy breathing and alight eyes tell me he approves of my action. My stomach flutters in a way that’s foreign to me. Even with my ex, there were never really butterflies. Not the kind I’m feeling with Gerard. A blanket of sexual tension descends on the table, and for a moment there is only him and me suspended in a heated moment. A flaming moment. Holy God.

  “Two bourbon and Cokes.” Wendy cheerfully drops our refreshed drinks on the table, extinguishing our connection.

  “Thank you,” I respond graciously.

  “Welcome. Oh, you tried the figs. They’re my favorite. Totally decadent.”

  “That’s definitely one way to describe them.” Gerard never breaks eye contact with me, innuendos flying all over the place from his response. I think I’m actually blushing. Who am I right now? Definitely not a forty-two-year-old woman, that’s for sure. I’m more like a fourteen-year-old girl smitten with the man sitting across from her.

  Wendy leaves us to dine, and we indulge in the food and each other’s company.

  By the time we finish dessert, I’m so full my pants are tight, and I’ve laughed and smiled so much my cheeks hurt. I can’t remember the last time I had such a wonderful dinner and company to match.

  “Ready to blow this joint?” Gerard tosses his napkin on the table.

  He’s so . . . masculine. It’s the best word I can come up with. There’s such an air of authority in everything he does, even with the simplest of gestures. My ex is nothing like him. He’s all clean-cut, impeccable clothes, and condescending attitude. He doesn’t drip with authority the way Gerard does. With an air of dominance. It’s sexy, and a little bit intimidating, but also intriguing. I feel safe with him. That’s crazy to think since I only just met the man, but there’s something about him, something I’m wildly attracted to.

  “I’m sort of sad to see the night end.” I stand along with Gerard. The sun has set completely, and we are now surrounded by darkness and a blanket of beautiful stars.

  “Who said the night was ending?” Gerard stretches his hand out to me. “I’m just ready to stretch my legs and go for a ride, if you’re up for it.”

  I take his hand willingly. “I’m definitely up for that.”

  The complacent look in his eyes has the fourteen-year-old girl inside me giggling her head off. Oh Jesus, Kristen, get-a-grip.

  As we walk through the restaurant and toward the front door, Gerard veers left in the direction of the kitchen. It’s all open so you can see everything the line cooks and chefs are doing.

  “Hey, Poker,” Gerard call’s out, gaining Poker’s attention. “Your food wasn’t shit.”

  Poker laughs then throws up his middle finger. “Glad to hear it. Hey, Kristen, if he doesn’t treat you right, you know where to find me.” He winks.

  “Over my dead body, bitch. Stay in the kitchen where you belong.” Gerard pulls me away. “Later,” he hollers with his back to Poker.

  “Later,” I hear Poker laugh.

  I look over my shoulder and give Poker a little thank you wave, before we are out the door.

  “You two have a very loving relationship,” I joke.

  “The loviest doviest.” Gerard picks up my helmet off the handlebar and places it on my head. “He’d kill for me. I’d kill for him.” He puts his own helmet on, and I pause. I know when most people say that it’s a figure of speech, but when Gerard says it, there is something eerily true in his tone.

  “Have you ever killed someone?” The question just tumbles out. There is a heavy silence between us.

  “If I have, would you still ride away with me on this bike?”

  I contemplate. “Are you a masked murder?” I ask in all seriousness this time. There is no denying there is more to Gerard than he lets on. I can feel it. But he doesn't scare me.

  “No,” he responds in the same serious manner. “But some of my past is dark.”