Page 19 of Valentine's Day Daddy

“Why not?”

“I just haven’t been in a place where I wanted to date,” I tell her. “And you?”

A wry smile twists her lips. “Same.”

“That’s it? That simple?”

“Were you expecting something grander?”

I shrug. “Grander? No. Something more explanatory maybe.”

“You first.”

I take a drink of my beer and set the bottle back down, taking a beat. “Honestly, I learned a long time ago that most women I’ve dated only date me for my name and money instead of for who I am,” I tell her. “I’m not interested in being somebody’s sugar daddy or their claim to fame. But that is, unfortunately, one of the pitfalls of my life. So, I pretty much gave up on the whole idea of romance years and years ago.”

“That has to be difficult,” she replies.

I watch her closely, waiting for the punchline or some bit of snark about me being a poor little rich boy or something—which seems to be her default setting. But she doesn’t fire off a single barb, telling me her statement was actually sincere. She was genuinely empathizing with me.

“It can get lonely, yeah,” I tell her. “But, I’m not going to be with somebody just for the sake of being with somebody. I don’t want a trophy bride.”

“I understand that. More than you know,” she tells me.

“Your turn,” I say. “Why aren’t you dating?”

“Kind of for the same reasons. Most of the guys I’ve dated in the past have only been interested in what’s between my legs than in who I am,” she says. “And I’m not a sleep around kind of girl, so…”

“I think that’s probably more difficult than what I’ve dealt with.”

“I don’t know about that. Different. Not necessarily more difficult,” she replies. “At the end of the day, it boils down to the fact that neither of us knows who we can trust.”

“I feel like I can trust you,” I tell her, a small smirk creeping across my face. “You’ve made it more than clear that you’re not seeing me because of my money.”

“That is very true. I may not have anywhere near as much as you, but I make my own money and I am an independent woman. I don’t need somebody to take care of me.”

“So, I’ve gathered. And I respect that,” I say and mean it.

“And I respect you for the fact that you haven’t pushed me into doing anything I’m not comfortable with,” she says. “I’m thankful that you haven’t tried pressuring me.”

“That’s not my style,” I tell her.

We stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment and the air between us crackles with the tension and sense of expectation that’s been steadily growing for the last few nights. As I look into her emerald green eyes, my gaze focusing on her full, red lips, I feel my cock stiffening. I have no trouble not pressuring her into having sex right now but that doesn’t mean I haven’t had a few fantasies about her. Sue me. She’s sexy as hell and I’m just a man, so yeah, I’ve come away from our dates so aroused, I’ve had to jerk off in the shower a few times.

I clear my throat. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

She smiles at me as I get to my feet. Turning away, I make my way to the restroom to throw some cold water on my face and try to get my raging hard-on under control. Like I said, I’m just a man. These feelings of desire she stirs inside of me are unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I have never wanted anybody the way I want Ashton. There’s that savage beast inside of me that just wants to bend her over the table, push her dress up, and sink my cock into her. I know I won’t though. Not until she tells me she’s ready anyway. In many ways, I do take those things that I want. But women aren’t one of those things.

I dry my face and hands then head back to the table. And when I turn the corner and step into the dining room, I pause when I see a man standing at our table. He’s about five-ten and lean with dark hair and dark eyes behind his thick, black-rimmed glasses. He looks to be close to Ashton’s age and he’s got an intense look on his face. Ashton is recoiling from him, a look of annoyance tinged with fear etched into her features and it feels like liquid fire is flowing through my veins. Anybody who makes Ashton feel fear—anything but joy, really—is automatically my enemy.

My jaw clenched, I march across the restaurant and immediately insert myself between the newcomer and Ashton and put a hand on his chest. He's light and stumbles backward when I give him a shove. There are gasps and startled murmurs around the restaurant, but I ignore them, my eyes laser-focused on the man who'd scared Ashton.

“Dude, what the fuck?” he stammers, his voice quavering.

“It’s time for you to go,” I growl.

He glares at me, but I can still see the fear in his eyes. Confrontation isn’t natural for him and it seems to be taking everything in him to keep standing there staring me down.

“I know what you did,” he says. “I was part of the tabulation group. I know what you did, Ezra. She deserves better than you.”

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