Page 34 of Off Limits

I’ve wanted to for ages, it feels like, and even though that’s usually reserved for the end of the date, I’m tired of denying myself what I want. I’ve already decided I’m not going to do it anymore. Why wait?

I lower my head slowly, giving her plenty of time to move away, but she doesn’t. She presses up on her toes, meeting me, her lips colliding with mine. We’re on a public sidewalk, so I don’t do all the things I want to. I don’t pull her body against mine or open her lips to taste her like I want. I keep it PG. Chaste.

But damn, the feel of her lips against mine is even better in reality than in fantasy. She’s soft and pliant and the heat of her mouth under mine is enough to send a fine tremor running through my muscles with the effort to keep myself under control.

She drops to her feet after too short a moment, ending the kiss. I lift my head, but don’t take my eyes off her, because I’d be okay with skipping dinner and just going somewhere to do more of that. Somewhere private where we can do more than just that.

But she ducks her head and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she clears her throat. “Well. Thanks.” Then she covers her face with her hand. “I mean, that was nice. Um … god. I’m going to stop talking now.” She drops her hand and looks at me with an overly bright smile and flushed cheeks. “Dinner?”

Grinning at how adorable she is, I nod. “Dinner.” And with my hand on her back again, I usher her inside.

She stops just inside the door. “You said it wasn’t fancy,” she hisses.

I look around, and yeah, maybe I understated it a bit. It’s definitely fancier than I let on. The hostesses are dressed all in black—fitted button-down shirts and either pencil skirts or flowy pants, and the waitstaff wears white shirts, black pants, and bowties. Most of the diners are in at least business casual. And then there’s us—me in jeans and a button-down and Ellie in her jeans and T-shirt clutching her Marycliff University tote bag full of homework.

I just shrug, though. “We’re fine,” I reassure her and approach the smiling hostess. I give her my name for the reservation, and we follow her to a table in the corner under a pendulum light emitting a soft glow over our table, a tiny oil lamp burning in the center. The hostess sets the menus in their embossed folders in front of us and tells us our waiter’s name and that he’ll be right out, but I barely hear her, all my attention focused on Ellie, who’s biting her lip, her cheeks a perpetual pink, and looking all around.

“Hey,” I whisper, leaning over the table. “Don’t worry about it. There’s no dress code. We’re fine.”

She looks at me, her lips pursed. But at least she’s stopped looking all around like she feels conspicuously out of place. Sure, she’s cute when she’s flustered, but I want her to feel comfortable.

“Why did you pick here?” she asks.

I’m tempted to shrug off her question and bury my face in my menu, but I force myself to hold her gaze. I’m not usually the talk-about-my-feelings type, but I’m pretty damn sure that if I don’t lay all my cards on the table for her tonight, she’ll walk and never look back. And after that kiss? I’ll be damned if I let that happen.

“I wanted to take you somewhere nice.”

She doesn’t even blink. “This is a date restaurant.”

I nod.

“So this is a date?”

“Of course it is.” How could it not be?

The color creeps back into her cheeks. “So you thought my text was me asking you out on a date.” She says it so quietly that she’s almost whispering.

I lift my eyebrows. “You told me to come take you to dinner. I assumed you wanted me to take you on a date. The fact that you meant to send that to your roommate changes nothing about what I want.”

“And what do you want?” Her chin lifts, giving her that defiant look that’s so at odds with her embarrassment, but so often seems to accompany it. Is she defying her own embarrassment?

I lay my hand out on the table, silently inviting her to place hers in it. “I would think that much should’ve been obvious before we came inside.” I wait, and am rewarded by her fingers slipping over mine. “You.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ellie

My breath catches at his calm declaration.

He wants me.

It’s like a declaration out of a movie or a book. Is this even real life?

I don’t know what to say, so I break eye contact, shifting my focus to our hands on the table.

Simon’s strong, calloused fingers surround mine. His hands are so large compared to mine. Which makes sense, because he’s huge. All over. And I can’t help wondering where else he might be huge, which of course has heat surging to my cheeks again.

He squeezes my fingers. “You said I was confusing you, so I’m just trying to be as clear and direct as possible, Ellie. I’ve enjoyed spending time with you since you showed up and watched TV with me that night. I want to spend more time with you. On purpose. I like you. And you said you like me. So I want to see where this goes.”

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