Page 73 of Game Change

My stomach growls, and I stand and stretch my arms on my way back to his bedroom. Yesterday, while I showered, he brought my things down from the guest bedroom, even though I hadn’t asked him to. He went so far as to hang some of my clothes in his closet.

That’s where he finds me now while I gather my things.

“Honeybee,” he says. He takes the shirt from my hand, puts it back on the hanger, and hangs it up. “There’s a little bistro down the street I’ve been dying to try. I made a six o’clock dinner reservation. I’ll go and make us something light for lunch.” He kisses my cheek and walks out of the closet as if our plans are settled.

“Colin.” I follow him out of the closet. “I’m going home now.” His footsteps stall before he turns slowly and faces me.

“Why?” he asks as if the idea of me going home never crossed his mind.

“Why?” I repeat. “Because I don’t live here, silly. It’s time I get out of your space. You’ve been so hospitable and—”

“Please, Brynne, don’t tell me how hospitable I am. This weekend was not about hospitality. I wanted you here. I still want you here.” He reaches out to stroke my cheek with the back of his hand, and I close my eyes, giving in to his touch.

“I don’t see how—”

He puts a finger to my lips. “Let’s talk about it over dinner tonight; afterward, you can come back here.” He pulls me into his arms. “Spend another night with me.”

“You and those damn boots.” I’d punch his bicep if I weren’t holding on to him for support. “That I had to shine,” he reminds me.

“Shining my boots should be an honor and a privilege.”

We walk arm in arm to the bistro. It’s only a few hundred feet away, but we’re walking extra slowly because the sidewalks are still slick.

The restaurant is empty when we arrive, and the hostess takes us to a secluded table in the back. The place is small and intimate with low lighting. Colin helps me with my coat and pulls out my chair. After taking his seat, he puts his hand in the middle of the table, and I put mine in it. Despite the frigid temperatures we were just in, his hand is warm and inviting.

Moments later, a server arrives and pops a bottle of champagne. She pours two glasses and leaves. Colin picks up his flute, and I do the same.

“To us,” he says as we clink. “I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered our meals beforehand.”

“I don’t mind,” I say. The man has excellent taste, and he pays attention. I trust that he knows what I would like.

“So,” he says. He clears his throat, and I think he might be nervous for a moment, but I’ve never known him to be anxious. The man has been nothing but confident since the day my eyes landed on his bare chest. “I don’t want this to end.”

I arch an eyebrow at his words. I’m not shocked by his statement. From the time we were on the island, he made his desires clear. Even when we were fighting, he said he wanted to be with me.

“But you’re—”

“I know. I’m your boss, but no rule says employees can’t date each other. Even if there were such a rule, I’d get rid of it.” He puts his flute down and grabs both of my hands in his.

“You’re not an employee. You’re my boss, Colin. And let’s be honest, if this blows up in our faces, I’m the one who will suffer. Even if it doesn’t blow up, everyone will whisper about me sleeping with the boss, and if anything good happens to my career, people will say it’s because of my relationship with you.”

“Well, that’s unfair because you’ve worked at Kincaid longer, and your work is exemplary,” he says.

And does any of that really matter when you’re planning on leaving and striking out on your own? No one can accuse you of sleeping with the boss when you’re the boss of your own company.

“This weekend was the best weekend of my life,” he says. That shocks me, and I stare into his eyes.

“Mine too,” I admit.

The server returns, and he stops whatever he was going to say. She puts two bowls before us, and the aroma hits my nose. “Enjoy your crab bisque,” she says with a wide smile.

“My favorite,” I say as I put a spoonful in my mouth. “You could not have possibly known that.”

“I pay attention,” is all he says. He does, but there’s no way he could know my favorite soup or that I even like soup. “I want you.”

I look behind me and spot the bathrooms. “Well, you’ll have to make it quick, but really, Kincaid? You’re a grown man. You can wait an hour.”

He wiggles his brows. “I mean, I want you to be with me in a relationship. We talked about this before.”

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