Page 23 of Riches and Romance

“Or you can see her on Thursday.” He slides his hand into his pocket and pulls out a small envelope that he holds out to me.

“No way,” I gasp. I put my iPad down on the console table and grab the envelope. I slide my finger under the flap and pull it open to peer inside, holding my breath until I see what’s there with my own eyes.

I let the breath out with a whispered, “Oh my God, I can’t believe it.” I look up at him, my eyes wide with wonder and a kaleidoscope of butterflies in my stomach. “How did you get these?”

The flush that was already on his cheeks deepens even as he shrugs off my amazement. “I called my agent to ask if he could get his hands on some, and it turned out the Tate comped him these last year. They were just sitting there.”

“Wow, that’s amazing. In my next life, I want to be a talent agent who gets comped tickets,” I quip with a grin.

He nods and smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” He clears his throat. “No, it’s just…there are two tickets. I was hoping we could go together and maybe have dinner after. It’s Thursday night, and I know you have your shift?—”

“I’ll get Jodi to cover it for me. It’s fine,” I interject loudly.

“Perfect.” He rocks back on his heels with a nod.

“Thank you so much. This might be the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me,” I confess and stare down at the treasure in my hands.

“You’re very welcome, Jules.” That rare smile of his is fully present, dimples and all, and I feel a surge of pride at putting that hard-won rarity on his face. “I’m glad I could get them. It starts at six. I can pick you up from work and drive us over.”

I tap my chin and think about what my day looks like on Thursday. “I’ll be in chambers that afternoon. If you don’t mind, we could meet at Blackfriars Underground Station at five-thirty. It’s only a fifteen-minute walk, so we can take our time.”

“It’s a date,” he says easily. Probably because he’s said it countless times before. But I haven’t. And it’s not just a date. I have a date withOmar Solomon.I’m squealing like a maniac on the inside, but I keep my exterior as cool as it can be and smile. “Sounds great.”

“Let’s exchange phone numbers so we can touch base if anything comes up before.”

“Absolutely. I’ll give you mine and you can text me so I’ll have yours,” I effuse, my voice pitched higher than normal. I rattle off my number as he types it into his phone. That maniacal squeal is close to turning itself inside out by the time he looks up and says, “Text sent.”

He glances at his watch and winces. “I’m meeting a friend for drinks in Mayfair. I’ve got to dash, but I’ll see you Thursday at Blackfriars at five-thirty?”

“Great,” I croak and lift a hand to wave.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He doesn’t move, though, and his eyes drop to my T-shirt. His lashes beat against each other softly as he blinks in surprise and looks back up at my face. “There’s, uh… something on your shirt,” he explains and points to it.

I look down at the dark brown dollop of chocolate hanging off the tip of my left nipple.

“It’s… Shit,” I grumble, annoyed and then mortified. “No. It’s notshit.It’s chocolate sauce,” I explain and wish I had a rewind button on this whole encounter. I swipe it off with the tip of my finger and gasp at the jolt of pleasure the friction creates.

“I fucking love chocolate sauce,” he says in a low, quiet voice. I look up and find his eyes fixed on the tip of my finger.

My heart is beating a wild timpani that’s too fast to be healthy, but I attempt a breezy smile and casual tone when I catch enough breath to speak. “Oh, well, next time you’re here, I’ll have you in to try some. It’s Tesco’s brand but really?—”

“Can I try it right now?” he asks.

“You mean…” I look at my finger. “You want this?”

“Yes. Please.”

I hold my finger out to him, and he leans forward, grabs my wrist, and sucks my finger into his mouth.

I gasp at the hot rasp of his tongue as he twirls it around my finger, and his eyes flick up to meet mine. And if the naked heat in them hadn’t nearly given me an arrhythmia, the sensation of his lips closing over it and sucking would certainly have.

My nipples, already primed by my touch and his desire, furl and stiffen with a sharp shot of pleasure I feel all the way to my core.

He releases my finger and lets my go of my wrist.

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