7. Tessa
Chapter 7
Tessa
" H e actually asked you to dinner?" Ivy is sprawled across my bed while I tear through my closet. "Our brooding Mr. Mercer made the first move?"
"Technically, I was the one sitting on his desk," I admit, holding up another dress before tossing it aside. “And technically, I was the one who let my skirt slide sneakily up my thigh while biting my bottom lip—but yes, he asked."
"After you technically seduced him with financial reports."
"I wouldn’t use the word seduce—" I pause, thinking about how I'd deliberately perched on his desk and adjusted my glasses more than necessary. "Okay, maybe I played it up a little."
"A little?" She snorts. "You went full sexy librarian on him!"
"It worked, didn't it?" I pull out a deep-blue wrap dress that hits just above my knees. "What about this one?"
"Perfect." She sits up, grinning. "Shows just enough skin to drive him crazy but still leaves something to the imagination. Though after this morning's performance, I'm not sure he needs much imagination."
"Stop!" But I'm laughing as I lay out the dress. "God, you should have seen his face when I started talking about Q3 projections. I don't think he heard a word I said."
"Because you were doing that thing."
"What thing?"
"That thing you did in high school that always had the guys eating out of your hand.” She tilts her head, lifting her shoulder as she flutters her lashes. “Your nervous habit of acting shy that apparently drives not only old high school crushes but stoic businessmen wild.”
“I do not do that!”
“You absolutely do. And it’s working.” She checks her phone. “Two hours until he picks you up. Nervous?”
“Terrified,” I admit, sinking onto the bed beside her. “What if this goes horribly wrong? What if he shuts down again? I mean, it’s so fun doing this flirty song and dance, will we, won’t we thing, but ugh, I just want him to kiss me already."
"Then you'll know you tried." She squeezes my hand. "But something tells me that won’t be an issue for you very much longer. With the way that man was eating you alive at the bakery, I think Mr. Ice King is finally ready to thaw."
"He better be because I'm running out of suggestive ways to discuss profit margins."
There’s a sharp knock on my door at exactly eight. Of course he's punctual.
“Are you staying here or should I suggest his place if things… progress?”
Ivy laughs, standing up from my bed. “I’m heading out to Asher’s actually.” She glances at her watch. “I’ll lock your place up when I leave in a few.”
“Thanks, have fun with Asher!” I wriggle my eyebrows and turn to race to the door.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Ivy calls as I grab my clutch.
"That leaves a lot of options open," I shout back, checking myself one last time in the mirror in my hallway. The dress fits perfectly, showing off curves I usually keep hidden under business attire. My hair falls in soft waves past my shoulders, and yes, I'm wearing the glasses. Just in case.
I open the door and nearly swallow my tongue.
Zane in a suit is one thing. But Zane in dark jeans and a charcoal sweater that clings to every muscle? That should be illegal.
"Hi," I manage.
His eyes drag over me slowly, lingering on the dress, the heels, the glasses… my breasts. His tongue darts out slowly, sliding across his bottom lip as he takes in a sharp breath. "Hi, yourself."
"You clean up nice." Understatement of the century.
"So do you." His voice is rougher than usual. "Ready?"
"I am." I step out, deliberately brushing against him. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see." His hand settles on my lower back as he guides me down the hallway toward the elevator, and that simple touch sends electricity down my spine. His subtle cologne hits me when the doors slide shut. I expect him to remove his hand once inside, but he doesn’t. Instead, it stays pressed against my lower back where it threatens to burn through my dress.
"Still being mysterious, Mr. Mercer?"
“Can’t you be patient, Miss Marlow?” He steps a touch closer as we exit the elevator and walk through the lobby, then outside to where he’s parked. He opens my door, leaning in close. "Haven’t you ever heard of a thing called delayed gratification?"
"Seriously?" My tone doesn’t hide my sarcasm. “I think I might know a thing or two about that.” Before I slide past him into the seat, I rest my hand against his chest for a brief second, pausing, giving him a good view of the dress. His eyes drop and his sharp intake of breath is deeply satisfying.
The drive is charged with tension. Every red light is torture, every casual brush of his hand on the gearshift makes my skin tingle. When we pull up to an intimate Italian restaurant, I raise an eyebrow.
"No trendy hotspot or expensive steakhouse?” I say, referencing the few times I’ve seen paparazzi photos of him out and about, always at the newest hotspot with someone new on his arm.
"I save those for business meetings." He helps me out of the car, his hand lingering on mine. "This is definitely not business."
"No?" I step closer, straightening his collar. "Then what is it?"
"You tell me." His eyes are dark, intense. "You're the one who started this game."
"Game?" I breathe, too aware of how close we're standing. "Is that what you think this is?"
"Isn't it? The glasses, the desk, all those little challenges…"
"Maybe I'm just tired of waiting for you to make a move."
His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheek. “Mmm… you’re dangerous.”
"You keep saying that." I lean into his touch. "Like it's a bad thing."
"It is." But he's smiling slightly. "You make me want things I shouldn't."
"Like what?"
Instead of answering, he kisses me. Right there on the sidewalk, one hand on my face, the other pulling me closer. It's everything I've imagined and nothing like I expected. He kisses like he means it, like he's done holding back. His tongue slips past my lips, caressing against mine.
A gasp escapes, a soft moan tumbling from my lips. He nips at my lips before sucking gently on my tongue, the excitement coursing through my body like white-hot electricity.
If this man told me he was going to bend me over on this street and take me to pound town right now, I’m certain I’d let him. Public indecency be damned.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. I’m dazed, swaying on the sidewalk outside the restaurant like my entire world’s just been turned upside down.
"Like that," he says roughly. "I shouldn't want that."
"But you do." I fist a handful of his sweater, loving how his muscles jump under my touch. "And I want it too."
"Tessa—"
"No more running," I whisper. "No more walls. Just dinner, and maybe…"
"Maybe?"
I rise on tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "Maybe dessert."
He groans, pulling back slightly. "You're going to be the death of me."
"Only if you're lucky." I grab his hand, tugging him toward the restaurant. "Now, come on. I'm starving."
"For food or…?"
"That depends entirely on how this dinner goes." I shoot him a look over my shoulder. "Think you can keep up?"
His answering smile is downright wicked. "Game on, Tessa. Game on."
And as he follows me inside, I can't help but think I've finally started to break through those walls of his. Now I just have to make sure he doesn't build them back up again.
The candles flicker between us as our waiter brings the main course. I watch Zane cut into his steak, the way his thick fingers move with each movement. Everything about this man is sexy. The way he carries himself, the charming smile he flashes discreetly, the grace with which he commands a room when he enters. He catches me staring and the corner of his mouth lifts in that devastating half smile.
"See something you like, Miss Marlow?"
"Just admiring the view." I take a deliberate bite of my pasta, letting the fork linger against my bottom lip. Two can play at this game.
Desire blooms in his eyes as he watches the movement. "Careful," he warns softly. "You're playing with fire again."
"Maybe I like getting burned." I adjust my glasses, knowing exactly what it does to him. The way his jaw clenches tells me I've hit my mark. “Fine.” I smile. “Change of subject. What made you want to start your own company?”
He pauses chewing for a second, thinking through his answer before gently patting his mouth with his napkin.
“A multitude of things come to mind, but one that has always driven me is just giving back.” My facial expression must convey my shock. “Don’t look so surprised, Miss Marlow.”
“Sorry, it’s not that I don’t think you’re a generous entrepreneur; it’s just that I didn’t know that about you.”
He nods, his expression growing serious as he tells me about a project he’s currently working on with the city that would bring not only housing but so many more resources for the less fortunate and homeless population.
“Wow, that is incredible. You know, Ivy and I have always said we would love to do something like that too someday, give back to the community that’s helped us. Maybe we could do something together, like our businesses.”
He smiles genuinely. “I like the sound of that.”
“Sorry,” I apologize after several more minutes of me peppering him with questions about the project.
“No need to apologize. I’m happy to discuss it. It’s nice, actually. Most people only want to discuss how it’s either going to benefit them or their bottom line.”
I scrunch my nose at the thought of looking at a resource center and homeless shelter in such a selfish manner.
"Tell me something," he says, interrupting my thoughts and leaning forward slightly. "Did you plan all this? The glasses, the desk, everything?"
“Technically, you requested the glasses. I merely obliged.”
“You don’t always wear them, do you?” he says, lifting his glass of wine to his lips.
"Would it matter if I did?"
"I'm curious how long you've been plotting my downfall."
I laugh, the wine making me bold. "Your downfall? That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?"
"Is it?" His voice drops lower. "You show up after all these years, looking like every fantasy I never knew I had, talking about profit margins like they're foreplay…"
"Are they?" I tilt my head, enjoying the way his eyes follow the movement. "Working for you?"
"You know damn well they are." He takes a long drink of his wine, and I watch his throat work. His eyes narrow. “Who sent you?”
“Afraid I’m a spy? Here to do some corporate espionage and this bakery is just a front?” I can see his resolve crumbling and it ratchets up the excitement.
"You've always known exactly what you do to me."
"Have I?" I lean forward, dropping my voice. "Then tell me, Mr. Mercer. What exactly do I do to you?"
His hand finds my knee under the table, fingers sliding just high enough to make my breath catch. "You make me forget every reason why this is a bad idea."
"Maybe because it isn't." I cover his hand with mine, holding it in place. "Maybe it's the best idea we've ever had."
The tension between us builds with every passing moment. Each brush of hands, each heated glance, each carefully chosen word feels like kindling being added to an already dangerous fire.
"You know what I think?" I say, trailing my fingers along the stem of my wineglass.
"Dangerous territory, asking me to think right now." But his eyes never leave my movements.
"I think you're scared."
"Of you?" He smirks, but there's something vulnerable underneath.
"Of this. Of wanting something real." I meet his gaze steadily. "Of admitting that maybe those walls you built aren't as solid as you thought."
"Tessa…" His voice holds a warning, but I press on.
"Tell me I'm wrong." I lean closer, close enough to catch the woodsy scent of his cologne. "Tell me you haven't thought about this—about us—every day since high school."
The look in his eyes makes heat pool low in my stomach. Instead of answering, he signals for the waiter.