Page 43 of Sweet Heart for the Bear

Not as breathtaking.

Not as utterly, mind-wreckingly, earth-shatteringly perfect as Carina.

We’ve spent the last two hours plowing through every single course they brought out.

Everything from succulent, garlic-rubbed lamb to juicy, spice-crusted sausage, to the showstopper itself—picanha, smoky and glistening with sea salt.

And finally—ten minutes ago—another round of what I deemed to be her favorite food tonight. Cinnamon-dusted grilled pineapple.

A ridiculous, sticky-sweet, impossibly perfect ending to a meal that somehow felt like a date and a war and a revelation all at once.

The waiter approaches, and I barely acknowledge him, handing over my black credit card with a flick of my wrist.

Yes. That one.

The one that says money is no object.

The one that says I could buy this entire restaurant if I wanted to, but tonight, the only thing I care about is the woman sitting across from me.

And now—now I’m left with one burning question.

How the hell do I ask her back to my place without scaring her off?

Because I don’t just want to take her home.

I want her to never leave.

“Oh, can I Venmo you for my half?” she asks, and I grin.

“No,” I reply automatically.

“No?”

“Nope. I told you, it’s my pleasure, Sweetheart.”

She shakes her head, but gives in.

Good girl.

Fuck. I can picture calling her that while she’s naked on my bed and spread out before me like a veritable feast for my senses.

If there is one woman who could capture all my attention, I know it’s her.

Already I’m hard and eager beneath my slacks, but I won’t push her into anything too fast.

I can scent her interest, and I know she wants me, too.

Thank the Fates.

But she is a normal, and I have to be careful, cautious, tender.

She holds all the cards here.

“Did you drive?” I ask, and I fucking hope not, because I really want her to come home with me.

“No, I took an Uber,” she says, and crinkles her nose.

A growl rolls through my chest before I can stop it.

---