Page 37 of She Was Made for Me

“What I eat is none of your damn business. Okay, yes, I should probably eat better, given that this”—she smacks her ass—“isn’t getting any smaller. But right now I don’t have time to—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say, raising my hands and taking a step back. Holy crap, have I wandered into a minefield here. “I didn’t mean…” I begin, but I don’t know how to tell her that I asked because I’m worried about her, not because I think there’s something wrong with her body. I never see her eat—even at lunch with her parents she basically just pushed her food around her plate—and now she’s considering eating something this nasty? She deserves to have someone take her somewhere elegant, or better yet, cook for her. She deserves more than disgusting cold pizza for dinner.

And as for the suggestion her ass is too big… just, no. I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off her perfect proportions since we met. I’d give anything to have my hands on that gorgeous backside of hers, even if thinking that makes me a creep. I can’t fucking help myself.

She’s still glowering at me, the pizza looking less appetizing by the second. She’s been in a mood all week, ever since we argued in the yard, but goddammit, she’s lucky I was there—she could have been seriously injured.

My mind flashes back to the way it felt to hold her in my arms in the garden, the softness of her hair tucked against my shoulder, and the way she clung to me for a moment, as if I was her safe space. And when I saw that she was hurt, there was no mistaking the way my heart clanged violently. I didn’t stop to think, I just knew I had to care for her. It wasn’t until we sat on her bed, so close I could breathe in her sweet vanilla scent, her hand in mine as I cleaned the cut, that I realized what a mistake I’d made. All it would have taken was a few inches and her mouth could have been on mine. God, I wanted that.

I was relieved that she avoided me for the rest of the day, and seemed to return to being annoyed for the remainder of the week. It’s better when we’re arguing, even if I sometimes imagine what it would be like to pull her onto my lap and give her a good spanking when she uses that smart mouth on me. I wonder if she’d enjoy that.

Or maybe she’d think I’m a complete pervert.

I shake my head, disgusted with myself. What the fuck would Rich say if he knew I was thinking these things about his daughter? What is wrong with me?

I force my attention back to Violet, hovering over the pizza box. It might be better for us to be at each other’s throats, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let her eat this trash for dinner. I’m genuinely concerned about her health at this point. I think of Rich asking me to look out for her, and wonder if he knows how hard she works and how little she takes care of herself. If she’s not going to do it, someone else will have to.

And even though it’s against my better judgment, part of me wants that someone to be me.

I sigh. “No, Violet. I just think you deserve to eat something better, that’s all.” I swipe the pizza box into the trash before she can protest, then gesture to the stairs. “Get changed. I know a place.”

She lifts her hands to her hips. “I can’t go out right now. I have work to do.”

“Work can wait.” She opens her mouth to protest, and I add, “Violet, it’s summer. You’re young, and”—I almost say beautiful, but catch myself just in time—“single… and you’re choosing to spend this stunning evening with your laptop and cold pizza.”

She twists her lips to one side, considering this. “You make it sound so sad.”

I cut her a look that saysit is sad.

“Ugh, fine.” She sulks off downstairs to change, and I grin to myself. At least she’ll have a decent meal tonight.

* * *

Violet appearsin the parlor room thirty minutes later wearing a pretty white dress with loose sleeves, a low-cut neckline, and a hem that stops mid-thigh. She’s got the same wedge sandals on from the day we met, her legs long and shapely. Not going to lie, my cock twitches at the sight of her, at the way she looks both innocent and sexy at the same time. I don’t realize I’m staring until she shifts her weight from one foot to the other and laughs uncomfortably.

“Is this okay? I don’t know where we’re going, so…”

I tear my gaze from her, reaching for my wallet. Taking her out is a terrible idea. What the hell am I thinking?

You need to calm the fuck down.

“Yep,” I mumble. “It’s fine.” It’s better than fine—it’s gorgeous and I want to rip it off her.

It will be okay, I try to tell myself.As long as you’re out, as long as you’re not alone, it will be okay. You can control yourself. You’re not an animal.

We head out into the bright summer evening, the air still hot and sticky from the long day. The place I’m taking her is only a few blocks away on Montague Street, so we walk. As we cross the streets of Brooklyn Heights, I’m reminded of the day we met, the day I almost asked her out to dinner. It occurs to me that, technically, Iamtaking her to dinner, but under very different circumstances. Even if I wish the evening would end much the same way as a date.

We reach a Mediterranean restaurant and I pause, making sure Violet is okay with the choice. Her gaze swings from the tables and chairs spilling out onto the sidewalk to me, and a smile curves along her mouth in response.

I swear, that smile is going to kill me.

We find a table outside where we can enjoy the warm evening air, both of us feeling a little awkward and uncertain. I want her to stop worrying about work and relax. She deserves a night off.

“You’re being so nice to me,” Violet murmurs as I pull out her chair.

Huh. Maybe I should stop acting like I’m on a date.

I wonder if the same thing is running through her head—that this is like the date we never got to have. Probably not, since I’ve denied the fact that I was going to ask her out from day one.

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