Page 96 of Double Fault

The restaurant is posh, with a sleek black marble façade. Holy hell. It’s stunning, but it had to have cost a large fortune to build.

“Wait here.” Noah slips out of the car, then opens my door with a proffered hand. “Milady.”

His attempt at a British accent is pitiful, but it helps ease some of the tension from my shoulders.

As I straighten and take in the structure again, the anxiety threatens to reappear. Based on the outside alone, I clearly don’t belong here.

I understand now Ebba’s insistence on the designer attire and her threat of tossing my boots.

The inside is just as opulent. More black marble and dark-hued wallpaper covered with flowers and golden snakes winding through and around the petals. I double-check to make sure my mouth is closed (it is) rather than gaping open as I take it all in.

As we approach the hostess desk, the woman behind it says, “Welcome, Mr. Baker. Your table is ready for you.”

Wow. The man didn’t even have to give his name.

He lets go of my hand, but only so he can slide it down to my waist and give me a gentle nudge in front of him.

The main dining area is open and dotted with tables. We pass through it until we reach the far side and the alcove there that branches out to a series of private booths.

“Enjoy.” She bows her head, then leaves us.

I slide into the booth, and when Noah slides in beside me rather than across the table, the heat of him radiating into me, I startle.

Having him this close, inhaling his delicious scent, might be too much for me.

“Where are the menus?”

His leg brushes mine as she shifts. “There’s no menu. They’ll bring one course out at a time.”

“Oh.” My cheeks heat. “I’ve never been to a place like this before.”

“It’s a new experience for me too,” he says, his hand finding mine and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “My kid’s favorite place in the world is the Cheesecake Factory, so experiences like this are few and far between.”

For a moment, I study our hands, his rougher, lighter skin against my softer, darker tone. “So why are we here?”

“Because you deserve a memorable night.”

I sigh, taking in his dark eyes, his dark brows, his strong nose. “I would’ve been happy with McDonald’s.”

At my poorest, there were days where I couldn’t even afford a fast-food cheeseburger.

“I’m not taking you to McDonald’s on a first date,” he scoffs. “The second one?” He quirks a brow. “Maybe.”

I laugh at his attempt at a joke.

“I thought we could try something new together. That’s all.” His look is so earnest I can’t help but melt a little.

I lean in, the privacy of the booth making me bold, and press my mouth to his. My intention is to keep the kiss light, but before I can pull away, he threads his fingers behind my neck and holds me to him. Even the way he kisses me is a new experience. I’ve never been kissed like this before. He takes his time, memorizing the taste of me with his tongue. He’s slow and careful, but not cautious. No, his movements are full of confidence.

He releases me, his breaths heavier than they were before. “You are perfect.”

My heart stutters as the words register.

Sure, they’re simple, and maybe, if he were another man, I’d assume that sentence was nothing more than a throw-away phrase, but with Noah, I know better. No one has ever called me perfect, and the idea that he thinks of me in such a way makes me glow inside.

Our first course appears with a soft whisper of fabric as the server sets the dishes on the table. It’s some kind of soup, served with bread and a special, delicious spread that I can’t decipher based on taste or smell.

We’ve barely finished with those when our salads arrive.

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