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Normally, I’m not so forward on first dates, especially blind ones, but he’s so far from your usual date, I can’t help myself. I watch his eyes follow the movement, then lift back up. When his gaze meets mine, I detect a spark of interest, but there’s also a hint of reservation.
“I hate to have to tell you this,” he says, “but I think you have me confused with someone else.”
“I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself,” I reply, realizing my blunder. “I’m Lizzie.”
He nods politely. “Pleasure to meet you, Lizzie. Yet I’m still pretty sure there’s been a mix-up.”
“I’m Mrs. Loughty’s neighbor.” When he doesn’t react to the name, I frown, suddenly feeling self-conscious. I gesture to his pocket square. “Aren’t you Linda’s son? The doctor? You said you were a doctor. We’re supposed to have a blind date…”
“Well, I am a doctor. But I don’t think I am the doctor you’re supposed to meet.”
Just then, the door of the restaurant opens, and I glance over to see a man enter. He’s tall and thin, with downy red hair, and a suit that’s too big for him. Somehow, he thought the lime-green tie would work well with his red hair.
He’s talking loudly on his cell phone, absentmindedly scratching at the reddish beard on his chin.
Shit! There it is, right in his suit pocket: a haphazardly folded red silk pocket square.
Oh, no.
Oh, hell no.
The mysterious man by my side shifts his attention in the direction I’m looking. He must have seen the red square because he chuckles. “I take it that’s your blind date. What are the chances of two doctors wearing an identical pocket square in the same restaurant at the same time?”
“Yeah, I’m betting on slim to none.”
I take a chance to peek in his direction again. Heart sinking, I watch Doctor H squint my way, before looking at his phone again. He seems to be checking something over, shifting his gaze between the phone and me.
I should have known that fate wouldn’t be kind to me.
For a brief moment, I entertain the idea of turning to the handsome stranger and suggesting we pretend that we’re dating.
It’s a flawless plan. Just a tad ludicrous.
I observe Dr. Actual-Date’s gaze ping-pong between me and Dr. Wrong-Date, landing back on me.
I turn to the stranger and sink one last time into the depths of his gaze. I want to say something semi-funny like “Ha, wrong target!” or “Unexpected plot twist!” or “That was the shortest blind date of my life,” but I can’t get around to it.
A heart-stopping flash of determination in his eyes is the only warning I get.
He cups the back of my neck and pulls me into a kiss.
All thoughts fly out the window.
Dear God.
His lips are soft and hot.
He tastes like black coffee, hot male, sin, and—matching the sea in his eyes—a little bit salty. His curious tongue licks the inside of my mouth as I lean into him, encouraged by his hand on the back of my neck holding me. His thumb strokes my hairline, tender and firm and with just the right amount of pressure. Heat shoots into my lap and spreads like wildfire. It’s like he’s stroking right over my clit. I’m wet within seconds, my abdomen clenching half in pleasure, half in pain as his kiss grows more urgent.
Whimpering in the back of my throat, I clutch the front of his jacket, curling my fingers around the soft and at the same time firm material. Not because I’m interested in the quality of the fabric—I need support. His kiss makes me dizzy with a kind of want I didn’t even know existed.
When we draw away from each other, I swear I see stars. He leans in close, his breath ghosting across the shell of my ear as he whispers, “I would say I’m sorry for chasing him away, but I’m not.”
I’m so lost in the tingling sensations traveling throughout my entire body, I’ve got no idea who he’s talking about. “Who?”
His eyes never leave mine as he nods over my shoulder, and I peer back to see that my actual date has slunk away in defeat.
“Oh, right. Oh, my.” My head is still spinning, and it’s suddenly extremely warm in here. “Why did you do that?”
