Page 16 of Dirty Arrangement

THOMAS WATCHES ME ASI cross the restaurant back to our booth. He didn't touch his food yet, he waited for me. “Hi,” I say, sitting down.

He gives a half-smile, pointedly looking at his jacket on me. “Hi.”

I notice I'm clutching the sleeves. Easing my grip, I clear my throat and lift my fork. “You didn't have to wait for me.”

“It's only polite.”

“I never took you for a polite guy.”

His eyes narrow. “Maybe you don't know me as well as you think.”

“How could I? We're strangers.” I stab the salmon almost angrily. I just reminded myself that I know nothing about the man I'm falling for. Shoving a forkful of salmon into my mouth, I gasp. It's tangy and spicy and a little sweet. “Oh, that'sgood.”I crinkle my nose. “You were right, I love it.”

“I'm glad.” Thomas sips his drink thoughtfully. “You make a good point, Alice. We're essentially strangers. But...” he hesitates, something I'm not used to seeing. “We seem to understand each other very well.”

“In some areas,” I mumble. I chew my food slowly so I can think of how to explain myself. “How do you know so much about making my bakery succeed? Your ideas about the colorful chef coat, the cake-bombs, you came up with those so fast and they're working.”

“I'm a business man.”

“It's more than that,” I argue. “You figured it out so fast!”

Thomas pushes his spine into the back of the booth. His gorgeous face is full of sharp shadows because of how far he is from the candles on the table. “I didn't buy the bakery on a whim. I researched it for a few weeks before deciding to buy it. My ideas... I'd been evolving them, tweaking, thinking.” He shakes his head. “When you brought me that pink box of pastries you'd baked, it helped solidify the concepts.”

“I don't understand,” I say quietly. “I brought you those pastries, then you had the chef coat ready for me the very next morning. That's impossibly fast.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “It took me most of the night to finalize the fit of the jacket for you.”

My eyes fly open as wide as they can. “You mean you made that yourself? How?”

Thomas finishes his drink, setting the empty glass down gently. “You want to know more about me, so I'll tell you a little fact. My mother was a seamstress. She worked for a very big name brand before my father married her. Even though she didn't need to work after that—my dad was quite rich—she kept sewing. When I was old enough, she took me under her wing. It's thanks to her I'm as good as I am, though she's still leagues ahead of my skills.” He stares into his empty glass. “We spent a lot of time together. Especially after she got hurt and could barely leave the house.”

“What happened to her?”

“A car accident. She's lucky to be alive.” He hesitates. “I'm lucky she's alive.”

I'm blown away. Thomas has cracked open a door to his heart, and even if it's just a sliver, I'm seeing something I never pictured. “My mom taught me how to bake,” I say, compelled to share my own background. “She worked for my mentor, John Bird, who owned Simply Sweet. After she passed away, he kept teaching me, and he left me the building in his will.” I smiled sadly, stirring my food on my plate absently. “I didn't know he still owed money to the bank until later. Guess he never did well enough to pay the loan down after all those years.”

Thomas tightens his lips into a firm line. He tilts his glass back and forth, as if wishing it would refill itself. He's in deep thought and I wish I could read his mind. We finish our dinner in smothering silence. When the waiter walks up, we both look at him. “Dessert?” he asks sweetly.

I go to answer, but Thomas cuts me off. “Just the check.”

“You don't want dessert?” I ask when we're alone.

He leans towards me, his lips curling at the corners. My heart begins to pound. “I do, but what I want isn't something they serve here. Come with me, Alice.”

****

THE NIGHT AIR IS CHILLYoutside the restaurant. We slide into the car together, the parking lot dark and growing empty. “Did you have a nice night?” he asks.

In the bubble of the car, my voice sounds shaky and loud. “Yes.”

“Good.” I see the centers of his black eyes a second before he crosses the middle cup holders to kiss me. The back of my head pushes on the cool glass of the passenger window, his weight holding me there. He tastes like scotch... like brown sugar... like every bad idea known to this world.

His fingers wind in my hair. My cells sparkle, waking up to his delicious assault. I want him. I need him. We kiss so roughly I know I'll have bruises on my swollen lips tomorrow, and it still isn't enough. I'm starving for this man.

Thomas turns my cheek to the window as he breathes in my ear. I can't see him, can't predict him. His nature is predatory and I'm worried, somewhere beneath my excitement, that this will go beyond my limits. Whereismy breaking point, and will he find it?

His tongue is soft and hot on my throat. He kisses my pulse, moving down until he's nibbling my collar bone. When I run my hands over the back of his neck, he growls like a bear.

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