“What’s your favorite food?” Liam asks as he weaves in and out of traffic.
I crane my neck to take in one skyscraper after another as we make our way down the congested streets that he seems to know by heart. “Other than Carolina ribs with hushpuppies, I’m not really sure I have any.”
It takes me a moment to realize that even when semi-suicidal tourists jump out in front of him like squirrels, Liam hasn’t laid on the horn. Not once. It’s hard not to compare him to Derrick, who’s cocky. Brash. Impatient. Needy. Did I mention he sometimes cries after sex? Yup. One of those.
The man sitting beside me is the complete opposite of my ex-boyfriend. Calm. Collected. Hollywood good looks and in control. So in control, he held a gun to a man’s chest and didn’t raise his voice. My eyes wander down his suit as I wonder if he exerts control in every situation.
This is exactly the type of man I shouldn’t want. Between the holster peeking from under his jacket to the trident tattoo at his neck, the man is the devil incarnate. Maybe it’s the dry spell talking, but I want to sleep with Liam just to know how the other half lives. The mind-blowing-sex half.
But then he opens his mouth, and all bets are off. “What’s a hushpuppy?”
A hand flies to my heart. “You did not just ask that.”
He gives me a sideways glance. “Tell me it’s not a puppy.” His smile is just as dangerous as the rest of him. I have no doubt he knows exactly what he’s doing when he flashes it. I’m not equipped to deal with a man like this.
I focus on his question. “It’s a heavenly combination of cornmeal and spices that’s deep-fried and served hot with honey butter.”
He nods with approval. “You had me at honey butter.” He flips his signal and cuts right. “Hopefully, this dinner is a close second.”
When we roll to a stop before a valet station, my nerves get the best of me. I know this car might not look like much, but it’s paid in full and constitutes the bulk of my worldly possessions.
Liam’s hand covers mine, soothing me with a squeeze. “I know these guys, and they know me. Your car and everything in it are absolutely safe.”
Breathing a little easier, I nod.
“Good evening, sir,” a valet says, wearing a crisp white shirt and bow tie.
“Hey, John.” Liam unfolds himself from my compact car and slips him what looks like two twenties before shaking his hand. “Take extra-special care of her.”
Before I can object, another valet has opened my door wide. “Good evening, miss,” he says, smiling as he waits for me to get out.
I try to, before realizing, like an idiot, that my seat belt is still on. I take a breath, unlatch myself, and accept Liam’s expectant hand as he whisks me to the curb.
With two valets on standby and the kind of cash he’s throwing around to take care of an eight-year-old economy car, my outfit isn’t half good enough for tonight. Liam’s wearing a blazer and slacks. I’m in a pair of jeans and a white long-sleeve T-shirt.
When Liam looks me up and down, my nerves flutter with uncertainty. His hand wraps around the small of my back, pulling my body next to his. “You’re breathtaking, Irene.”
It’s at this point I realize I might be dreaming.
A slight blush warms my cheeks, but it’s not because of what he says or how he says it. It’s his piercing blue eyes. They sparkle when he says Irene, and the name isn’t even mine.
“Thank you,” I say softly, pretending I’m not half as self-conscious as I am.
He leads me inside, resting his hand so it barely touches the small of my back, but the heat melts me as we enter the restaurant. Rounded fish tanks form columns two stories high, and bronze letters line one wall, spelling haydon’s on the shore.
“The view of the water is a must-see, Irene.”
“Wait.” I plant my hand on his chest, momentarily struck by how built he is.
He saved my cash, then possibly saved my life. And after all that, and me giving him the incredible brush-off, he wants to take me to dinner at one of the most exclusive and expensive restaurants in Chicago. I know, because it’s been on my top ten places to visit ever since it was featured on the Travel Channel.
“I can’t let you do this.”
“Have dinner with a beautiful woman?”
“Not when you look like that, and I look like this.”
Liam sweeps me to a private corner of the entry. “You’d be more comfortable if we matched?”
“I’d feel more comfortable if you took me to a food truck. You’ve already done so much for me.”
“Food truck, huh?”
The jaw he rubs has to have two days’ worth of stubble, but it doesn’t hide the dimple in his left cheek. The same way the sparkle in those bright blue eyes doesn’t hide the pain behind them. Pain like I’ve seen in so many visitors at the center. Pain that can never be hidden because it comes from love.
Is that why he needs the freedom of no commitments?
“Out of the question. But . . .” Liam slides a hand up the wall, leaning closer to me. “I have a better idea. I’ll be five minutes. Promise you won’t go anywhere.”
I swallow hard, and my words come out in a whisper. “I promise.”
When he’s gone, rushing back out the entrance, the minutes tick by way too slowly.
I’m underdressed, and I know it. Every time a woman walks by in six-inch heels and a cocktail dress that probably costs more than my car, I take another step back, trying and failing to blend into the woodwork.
It doesn’t do any good.
One woman tries to hand me her cashmere coat. She’s lucky I didn’t keep it. Three different waitstaff ask if they can seat me or show me to the bar, but between their tone and the way they eye my outfit, all I can hear is are you lost? I don’t belong here.
When the next person asks if I’m here to pick up Door Dash, I’m seconds from leaving. Liam said five minutes. It’s been closer to fifteen, and I have no way to reach him. And no valet ticket to retrieve my car.
My eyes slam shut. I’m an idiot.
I race out the door, slamming into a man who grabs my arms and doesn’t let me go.
“What’s the rush?” he asks, and I almost don’t recognize him.
Liam’s light blue shirt is now more casual, sans tie, and the top two buttons are undone and paired with jeans that look tailor-made for him. His blazer and dress slacks are gone, along with the shoulder holster and gun, presumably tucked inside the shopping bag he’s carrying.
Embarrassed and a little unprepared for the trouble he’s gone to, I turn away. “You said five minutes.”
His fingers lift my chin, and I see the unsettled tight line. “Sorry, I took a little longer than I thought.”
I lower my voice. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“You’re right,” he says, stunning my mouth wide open. His arm wraps around me, and he turns me in the direction I came from. “You should be right over there.” His electric blue eyes hold mine as I melt on the spot. “Don’t go.”
Don’t go. Has a man ever asked me not to go? Suddenly, I’m not in the hurry I was to leave. His big hands are warm, making me feel safe.
“I am a little hungry,” I admit. That makes his smile return, and mine as well. “Nice jeans.”
“Now we match.” Liam wings out an arm. “Ready?”
I’ve never had a man go to this much trouble—or any trouble—to make me feel comfortable. And I do. I’m so completely comfortable, I almost wish this was the start of something more.
I wrap my hands around a bicep carved of pure stone, reminding myself this is only for the night. That was my request as much as his.
As soon as we’re seated, a tuxedoed sommelier holds up a bottle of wine in offering, displaying it to each of us. Before he begins describing the fine red, Liam interrupts him.
“No alcohol,” he says easily, though he still checks with me. “Right?”
I love that he remembered that. Too impressed for words, I merely shake my head. But I don’t want him not to drink just because I’m not. “Don’t stop on my account. Haydon’s is world-famous for their exquisite pairings.”
“They are, but I actually don’t drink either.”
The sommelier nods, offering us an assortment of waters and sodas, as well as finely crafted virgin cocktails. I ask for the Lavender Spritzer, while Liam opts for the hometown sophistication of a Coke with lime.
Our drinks arrive in minutes, and Liam proposes a toast. “To you. And a night neither of us will ever forget.”
It’s the perfect toast because, no matter what, it’s already a night I’ll never forget.
I clink my purplish-pink drink to his. “Cheers.”