Page 38 of The Potter

He flashes me a bored look. “Too bad. Get out.”

And he’s back to being a jerk.

Too bad I know how to deal with him now. Folding my arms, I watch as he gets out of the car, the valet opening my door.

I don’t get out.

The valet won’t pull me out of the car, and in front of all these people, neither will Vance. I can’t help the big, stupid grin on my face when Vance comes around to the passenger side, a nasty scowl on his face. “Get out.”

“No, thank you. I’ll just wait for you to finish your meal.” I make a show of looking around. “I might walk around and see if I can find a McDonald’s.”

He takes a menacing step toward me, and the valet moves aside, allowing him. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. We’re having dinner here.” He scrunches his face. “Not at McDonald’s or anywhere that has a cartoon mascot.”

Like a crazy person, I reach out and touch the corner of his frown. “Most men typically ask women where they prefer to go on dates,” I muse. “The whole alpha, demanding thing went out of style years ago. Nowadays, women like to be equals.”

This man has two settings, angry and broody, so I’m not surprised when he leans over me, his breath grazing my ear. To the valet, it looks like he’s sweetly undoing my seat belt, and I think he is, but the words that slip from his breath are far from romantic. “If you don’t get out of this car, the valet will have a vivid image of what it sounds like when you beg for my mercy.”

I swallow, my throat bobbing, my skin tingling with his seductive threat.

“Do you want him to jerk off to the memory of your screams, Peach?” The seat belt slides between us, setting my sensitive skin on fire. Why? Why do his animalistic threats send delightful shivers throughout my body? I should be pissed that he’s basically giving me another ultimatum, but I’m not. Instead of being angry, I’m hot and bothered. It’s been four years since a man has been this close. Four years since I’ve even tolerated or wanted a man. And the one who finally makes my lady bits quiver, is the very man who is delaying my dreams and being an overall giant pain in my ass.

His finger drags along my cheek, barely grazing the skin as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Test me,” he threatens. “I’d love to show you how I can handle you off the clock.”

If I didn’t know any better, I would say Dr. Potter, asshole extraordinaire, is just as pent-up as I am. Could it be he hasn’t been with a woman in a while, either?

“What’s it going to be, Ms. Belle? A calm dinner or tomorrow’s front-page news? I’m sure you’d love to keep it right next to the precious article that delivered you to my clutches in the first place.”

Have mercy.

He is absolutely frustrating in the sexiest of ways.

Turning into his shoulder, I whisper, “I’ll eat here if you promise we can stop for dessert somewhere cheap.”

Pausing, he absorbs my words.

“Unless you’d love another go at your fifteen minutes of fame.” I smile into the stubble of his cheek, the scratchiness making me shudder. “I’m sure your pretty face will only bring more potential patients that you won’t operate on. You’re running out of excuses, Dr. Potter.”

I’m not the only one who has something to lose here. As sexy as Vance is, he doesn’t really want to draw attention to himself, even if he would love to toss me over his shoulder and make me squeal in front of the valet.

“Do we have a deal, Dr. Potter?” I prompt when he keeps silent, his lips hesitating at my neck as he considers my offer.

“Deal,” he clips, his voice sounding like gravel as he drags his face against mine, his fingers grazing dangerously close to my center as he lifts up and meets my heated gaze. “Always negotiating,” he says, a barely-there smile as he stands, straightening his suit jacket and extending his hand.

I was raised with manners, so I smile, avoiding the valet’s gaze as I take Vance’s hand. “I wouldn’t have to negotiate if you were more agreeable.”

He jerks me into his side, propelling us up the steps. “And I wouldn’t have to keep enduring your terrible negotiations if you would learn how to take no for an answer.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree.” I shrug, but I don’t think he notices since he’s already giving the hostess his seating preference, which is a small table in the corner by a window overlooking the river.

“Wow, this is pretty.”

He makes a noise in his throat as he pulls out my chair. “And to think we could have a view of a drive-through.”

I refrain from rolling my eyes in such a fancy place. “I’m too underdressed to eat here,” I try to explain. With the multiple chandeliers and white linens, I feel like I need a ballgown and a tiara.

“You look fine.” He scoots my chair to the table and takes the empty chair across from me, picking up his menu and scanning. I follow suit, but I stop, leaning over the table and whispering, “There are no prices listed.”

I’m no idiot. No prices mean it’s so ridiculously priced that the establishment is too embarrassed to list it. “I can’t afford a two-hundred-dollar burger,” I add, just in case he doesn’t get what I’m saying. He might be the fancy surgeon making a thousand dollars an appointment, but I’m the broke girl sleeping in a rathole so she can afford revision surgery.

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