Page 397 of One More Kiss

“You’re still in school?”

“Getting my master’s in business so I can take over this place once my dad retires. Why?”

With a new sense of appreciation, he looks around my family’s pride and joy and tosses a couple of fifties onto the counter.

“Hawthorne, I said I was buying––”

He grabs my wrist to stop me from shoving the bills back at him and steps closer until the heat radiating from him brands me from head to toe.

Then he drops his voice low so only I can hear. “While I’m all for feminism and shit, when I’m interested in a girl, I treat her like a princess, and that includes paying for everything when we’re together. We clear?”

“I’m not a princess,” I argue.

“And I’m no Prince Charming, but this isn’t up for debate.” He lets my wrist go, and it falls limply at my side. “I’ll meet you out back.”

He leaves, and I’m left gaping at the man who’s completely thrown my evening off-kilter, yet I’m too intrigued to put him in his place.

Biting my lower lip, I watch him exit through the front, tugging at the lapel of his soft gray suit before disappearing from sight.

I count to ten and head to the breakroom, trying to keep my steps steady when my heart is racing a million beats per minute. Once I’ve gathered my purse from my locker, I head out the backdoor and find a very suave, very sexy man leaning against the brick wall.

“Fancy seeing you again,” I quip.

He dips his chin. “Hey, Princess.”

“That nickname isn’t sticking.”

“It is for the night.”

For the night.

The words act like a wet blanket, though I have no idea why. A one-night stand is exactly what I was looking for. The idea of anything else usually gives me hives, but for some reason, hearing him say it out loud feels…off-putting.

I shake it off and fold my arms as the cool night seeps into my bones. It isn’t cold by any means, but in a tank top and cut-off shorts, it’s a little chilly.

“So… Shall we?” I ask.

He slips off his designer jacket and hangs it over my shoulders. The scents of orange and sandalwood envelope me, nearly knocking me on my ass all over again.

How can he smell so damn good?

“Thanks,” I murmur, peeking up at him.

“Don’t mention it.” He steps back and puts some space between us again. “Do you want to take my car, or should we take yours since you’re supposed to be studying?”

“I actually live on the top floor of this building, so I don’t exactly have to drive to work.”

“Ah.” He nods his understanding. “Got it. Follow me.”

He tangles his fingers with mine and leads me across the parking lot to my freaking dream car––a 1967 Shelby GT 500.

My mouth gapes. “I-is this your car?”

Head cocked, he answers, “Yes?”

“How?”

He laughs. “I like to drive.”

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