Page 14 of False Start, Real Passion

“No promises.” He laughs, and it rumbles through the hallway like a low, dangerous promise. But there’s more to it—something softer in his eyes that makes my heart stumble over itself in confusion. I pretend not to notice.

“I mean it.”

“I can’t help it. You’re putting all kinds of ideas in my head in that dress.”

Lord give me strength. “Let’s go before your ego explodes and takes out the whole building.”

He chuckles and steps aside to let me pass. I feel the heat of him at my back as I lock the door, his presence like a furnace in the hallway.

“And try not to embarrass me.” I square my shoulders like I’m heading into battle. Because maybe I am.

“Sweetheart, the only embarrassing thing about tonight is how much you’re going to be thinking about me after dinner.”

It’s going to be a long night,I think, heading for the elevator. The flutter in my stomach grows wings, fluttering in anticipation of the hours ahead with this beautiful, infuriating man.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. I slip inside and he follows, his woodsy cologne enveloping me in the small space.

We stand side by side as the doors close, close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off his body. My skin prickles, hyperaware of his every breath, his every shift.

He leans against the mirrored wall, watching me through half-lidded eyes. “You know,” he says, voice a low caress, “you pretend to hate me, but your body says otherwise.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, desperate to keep my composure. “My body has better taste than that,” I quip, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.

The elevator reaches the lobby and the doors open with a cheerful ding, completely at odds with the tension thick as fog between us.

I make my way as fast as I can outside where his sleek black Audi awaits, parked at the curb. Quickly, he steps in front of me, reaching for the door handle. Instead of opening it, he cages me in, one hand on the car, the other resting lazily in his pocket.

I arch a brow. “Are you going to let me in or are we just going to stand here while you stroke your ego?”

“I’m just wondering how long you can keep pretending you don’t want me.”

I snort. “You’re delusional.”

His fingers skim the curve of my waist, just once, just enough to make my breath hitch. “I don’t think I am.”

His body is close—too close—and I swear if I lean forward even a little, I’d be pressed against the hard planes of his chest.

I grip my purse tighter, clearing my throat. “Are you going to open the door or do I have to Uber?”

He opens my door and he whispers something inaudible.

“What did you say?” I ask.

“I said you look incredible tonight.”

My heart stutters and before I can summon a retort, he’s already on the driver side, getting into the car.

At least he could’ve closed my door after I got in.

He slips behind the wheel, the engine roars to life. We merge into the night traffic, the city lights blurring past the windows.

I sneak a glance at Jaxon’s profile, all sharp angles and stubborn jawline. His eyes focus on the road, but there’s a tightness there, a coiled energy waiting to spring. We don’t talk. I focus on the passing streets instead of his sideways glances, counting them like it’s a contest I might win.

We arrive at the restaurant. Rooftop. Low lights. Flickering candles. Everything about it screams romance, date night, run while you still can. It’s elegant, classy, totally out of my league. The words of a liar ring in my ears: it’s just dinner.

The hostess greets us with a smile that borders on knowing.

“Mr. Reid, Ms. Michaels. Welcome. Your table is ready.”

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