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“No!” I hold up my hands in surrender, my pulse racing. “You win. I’m hungry. Let’s just eat. Please.”

Stepping back, Connor offers me his arm. I take it on autopilot, letting him lead us back to our table. By the time we’re seated across from each other, I’ve managed to regain an ounce of composure.

He plucks the menu. “So, what will you have?”

“Whatever you recommend.”

Connor calls over a waiter and proceeds to order a multi-course meal, including a bottle of red wine.

My favorite.

There’s no need to ask him how he knows because he is so definitely stalking me.

Once the waiter leaves, Connor fixes me with a piercing stare. “Let’s circle back to the self-absorbed dates you had.”

“Interesting first topic for a date.”

“Need to know what I’m competing with.”

“As if you don’t already know. Or did my stalker grow a conscious?”

“I want to hear it from you.”

He knows but still doesn’t mind hearing it from me again?

“Like I said, most have been utterly disastrous. Stuck up assh—men that my mother insisted on setting me up with.”

“And I’m different?”

The waiter appears filling up our glasses with the ordered wine.

“You’re certainly not boring.” I take a sip. “My family has been trying to marry me off for years. It’s refreshing to go on a date that isn’t… orchestrated.”

“I’ll take ‘not boring’ and ‘refreshing’ as a good sign.”

“Don’t get too cocky. You still have a way to go before you beat the guy who spent our entire date writing messages to some other woman and asking me for flirtation advice.”

His eyes flash as he observes me. “Well, then, I’ll be sure to give you my undivided attention tonight.”

I shift under the scrutiny, suppressing a smile. “You’d better.”

The waiter returns, balancing two plates of the same entrees. My mouth waters as I take in the sight.

Succulent scallops nestled on top of a bed of spinach drizzled with a creamy sauce.

“Enjoy.” The waiter disappears back into the kitchen.

I pick up my fork, spearing one of the plump scallops. The creamy sauce drips down the tines as I lift it to my mouth. I close my lips around it, savoring the rich, buttery flavor that melts across my tongue.

When I glance up, fork poised for another bite, I find Connor’s eyes fixed on me, like I’m some puzzle he’s trying to solve. His own fork hovers above his plate, forgotten.

“What?” I ask after swallowing.

“Admit it, you can’t stand the thought of me paying attention to another woman.”

“You’re delusional.” But his words spark an unexpected pang in my chest. I hate that he’s right—I did feel irrationally possessive at that moment.

Connor just continues regarding me knowingly, clearly seeing through my facade.

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