11. Ember
ELEVEN
EMBER
Jack snapped the menu closed and set it down before grabbing his wine glass and taking a sip.
He watched me over the rim, a teasing smile playing at the edges of his mouth.
“The oysters here are fantastic.” He set the glass down, fingers trailing up and down its stem.
“And you know what they say about oysters.”
I returned my gaze to the menu. The chicken sounded nice, and the light in here was bright enough that I’d be able to tell if it was cooked through. “What’s that, Jack?”
“They’re an aphrodisiac. We order those, everyone will think we’re into each other.”
“The risk of becoming ill from eating raw shellfish is estimated to be one in ten thousand.” I lifted my gaze to meet his. “The risk of me becoming ill if I eat raw shellfish with you is much, much higher.”
Jack barked out a laugh, which made my frown deepen.
His eyes sparkled as he took another sip, and a smile lingered on his lips for a long while.
This was a problem. I’d gotten too close, and now I couldn’t ignore the effect he had on me.
Being hostile in an attempt to get him to turn down the charm didn’t seem to be working, either.
“You’re funny, Ember,” he said, voice hushed and warm.
I would not shiver at the sound of my name on his tongue. I flicked my gaze over the menu once more. “You’re the only person who’s ever thought so.”
“Maybe everyone else was wrong.”
Unable to resist, I lifted my gaze to look at him again. My left eyebrow arched. “That’s very like you, to think so highly of your own opinion that you deny all evidence to the contrary.”
His smile widened. “I can’t be sure, but I think you just called me stupid.”
“You’re enjoying this,” I accused.
He spread his arms as if to say, I can’t help what I am. “Candlelit dinner with a beautiful, brilliant woman who makes me laugh. What kind of man would I be if I weren’t enjoying it?”
My brain stuttered to a stop. He’d called me beautiful.
And brilliant. Scowling, I dropped my eyes back to the menu.
I’d go with the chicken. Closing the leather-bound book sharply, I took a slug of my own wine.
Jack had chosen a crisp white to get us started, and I resented that I loved it.
He wasn’t supposed to know about wine. He wasn’t supposed to be good at this.
Whatever “this” was. Or if he was good, I was supposed to be immune.
“How do your dates usually go when you come here?” I asked.
Jack arched a brow. “What do you mean?”
“Should I be laughing and flicking my hair? Batting my eyelashes?”
He rolled his hand toward me, a king giving permission. “Bat away.”
Not wanting to back down, I tilted my head and started fluttering my eyelids. He watched me for a beat, grimaced, then lifted his hand. “Stop, Ember. Stop. It looks like you got lemon juice in your eye and you’re trying to get it out.”
Despite myself, I snorted. “No good?”
“I think I just heard someone say they wanted to call 911 to help you with whatever medical emergency you’re having.”
I would not laugh. I rolled my lips together, then sipped wine between them. When I’d gotten control of myself again, I watched the man across from me. He lounged in his seat, utterly comfortable. His lips curled as he allowed me to study him, a brow arching as if to say, Like what you see?
“You never answered my question,” I said. “What usually happens when you bring a woman here?”
“Who says I bring women here?”
I gave him a flat look. “Jack. Please. The ma?tre d’ asked you if you wanted your usual table.”
He grinned. I hated when he did that. He had a way of smiling that made me feel like he’d never smiled at anyone precisely like that before. Like it was a secret joke, just between us. I was the only person capable of drawing out that warm, mirthful look from him.
But I knew the truth.
Jack Mars used his good looks like a blade to cut through any resistance he encountered. Right now, the resistance was me.
“Usually we just talk,” he finally answered, then shifted his body forward. His hand moved across the pristine white tablecloth, fingers brushing the back of my hand. “Then I’ll make a move.”
I watched his fingertips as they ran across my skin, suppressing a shiver. “This is your move?” I asked, keeping my voice flat and unimpressed. I lifted my gaze to meet his, ignoring the way the touch of his fingers made my pulse rattle.
Sitting back, Jack used the hand that had stroked me to grab his wine.
He lifted the glass as he shrugged, eyes steady on mine.
The playful light was still there, but there was something else lurking in his gaze.
The thrill of the hunt lending an edge to his stare.
A bald, bare excitement as he studied my every reaction.
It was unnerving to be read like that. To feel like every movement was noticed and catalogued.
Something had shifted between us these past couple of days, and I wasn’t exactly sure what it was.
“I tend to date women who want my moves to work,” he finally said with a careless shrug. “They come here knowing what they want.”
“And what they want is you?” I couldn’t keep the sardonic edge out of my tone.
Another casual lift of his muscular shoulder. “It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement,” he said—and grinned. It was the smile of a man who was used to offering invitations, who wasn’t afraid of rejection. The smile of a man who always got what he wanted.
My body tightened, thighs clenching, skin prickling. It took me a second to realize what I was feeling was violent, visceral desire.
“You folks ready to order?” Our waitress was a young woman of about twenty, with a bright smile and a bubbly voice. She flushed slightly as Jack smiled at her, and I narrowed my eyes at him. He met my gaze, and his smile became sharper.
There were layers to this man, and I wanted to—
No. No, I didn’t want to discover them. I wanted to stay on the very surface, convince his grandmother we wanted to file the certificate, get the inheritance, and get out of this marriage.
That was the plan. Anything else was riddled with unquantifiable risk.
“I’ll have the steak, medium rare, with the peppercorn sauce,” Jack said. “And the burrata to start.” He looked at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Unless you have some stats to share about the dangers of eating beef?”
“Only that it increases the probability of getting cardiovascular disease, colorectal cancer, and type 2 diabetes. I’d have to know how often you eat red meat to calculate the actual mortality risk, though.”
His smile was a wide, bright thing that made my heart thump so hard it was hard to think. “I’ll take my chances,” he said, and handed the menu back to the waitress, who tittered. “Hang on, let me check the wine list. I’ll have a red with my main.”
While Jack cracked jokes with the blushing server and ordered his wine, I tried to control my breathing. I ordered my chicken and shook my head when she asked me about an appetizer.
“We’ll share mine,” he said, and gave her a smile to dismiss her. Then his eyes turned back to me, and his smile transformed.
That’s when I realized that once again, I’d just watched him put on and take off the mask of the lady-killer that seemed so natural to him. With her, he’d been smooth and charming, but as soon as she was gone, his eyes turned canny. Assessing. Intelligent.
I liked seeing a different side of him. I liked feeling like what I got was something special. The realization made my ribs winch tight. It was hard to breathe.
Blinking, I pushed the thought away. That was probably exactly what Jack wanted—to make me feel special. He was an expert at it, after all. I could still feel the spot where he’d brushed the back of my hand with his fingertips. It felt like he’d branded me with the barest touch.
Swallowing thickly, I met his gaze and continued our conversation from earlier. “This is a mutually beneficial arrangement,” I noted. “So I guess you’re on familiar ground.”
“And you aren’t?”
“No. I’ve never entered into a marriage of convenience with a man I can’t stand for the purposes of making my father roll over in his grave.”
Like a predator stalking his prey, Jack went very still while his eyes remained trained on me. “So it’s not just about the money for you,” he said quietly.
Crap. I’d said too much. Affecting a casual flick of my fingers, I said, “Just your run-of-the-mill daddy issues.”
His hum was low and warm, and it sent sparks flitting through my stomach. “Nothing about you is run-of-the-mill, Ember.”
Dangerous—this man was dangerous. Even though I could see it from a mile away, like the violent crashing of ocean waves against the base of an impossibly tall cliff, certain death churning below, he still made me want to jump.
I was not a woman who jumped off a cliff into frothing, black water. I was not a woman who fell for the charms of a man like Jack Mars.
And yet.
And yet when he reached over once more to touch the back of my hand, I didn’t pull away.
He kept his gaze on his own fingers as they stroked over my knuckles and gently turned my hand.
He traced the lines on the inside of my palm with his thumb, and a shiver tumbled through me.
With his eyes still on the contact between our two hands, Jack smiled.
“Not so impervious to my moves, after all,” he murmured, then jerked his head up when I snatched my hand away.
I gripped it against my chest like he’d burned it, breathing hard, glaring. Shame was a hot coal beneath my ribs. My cheeks burned with embarrassment and anger. He’d been toying with me.
Ocean blue eyes narrowed across from me.
His strong jaw clenched. Then, as if with a superhuman effort, he relaxed his expression and leaned back in his chair, a mocking smile gracing his lips.
I didn’t like this smile—it reminded me too much of the way he looked at everyone else. Guarded. Flippant. False.