Page 62 of Lennox Lane

CHAPTER NINE

TERMS & CONDITIONS APPLY

When Lennox pulled into his driveway that evening, he had spent the entire ride trying not to look smug. Not because he thought he had won Lane Sanders. A man with his track record would have to be foolish, delusional, or plain out spiritually misguided to believe one yes from Lane meant victory. Lennox was at least two of those things on a good day, but even he knew better.

Still, she sat in his passenger seat wearing fitted jeans, a soft cream sweater that slipped off one shoulder, gold hoops, and white sneakers, looking casual in a way that felt more dangerous than sequins. Her lavender pixie was curled softly around her face, her makeup light but perfect. Her lips were glossy and kissable. Her skin was glowing beneath the low dashboard light. She had spent most of the ride pretending to scroll through her phone while sneaking glances at him when she thought he was not paying attention. He was always paying attention, especially to her.

“You’re quiet,” he said, turning into the drive.

“I’m preserving my energy in case this date requires me to flee.”

“You won’t flee.”

“Bold assumption, Lennox.”

“I have amazing food and wine.”

Her gaze slid to him. “That is the first reassuring thing you’ve said all day.”

He smiled and parked. “Progress.”

Lane studied the house through the windshield. “If I walk in and see handcuffs and rose petals shaped like my initials, I’m leaving.”

“No handcuffs.”

“That pause was suspicious,” her brow raised.

“I was remembering where I put them.”

“Lennox.”

He laughed and got out before she could decide to use the heel of her sneaker as a weapon. By the time he reached her door, Lane had already opened it herself, of course. She stepped out and looked up at him with one brow raised. She allowed him to guide her toward the front door without touching her lower back. He wanted to. Badly. The urge sat in his palm like memory. But he had spent the last twenty-four hours learning that wanting to protect Lane did not give him the right to claim every inch of space around her.

So he walked beside her. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and let her step in first. Lane stopped just inside the foyer, and her reaction hit him before she spoke. Her shoulders softened. Her lips parted slightly. Her gaze moved slowly from the entryway to the dining room beyond it, and for once, Lane Sanders didn’t have a ready-made insult loaded and aimed at his chest.

His house had been transformed while they were at the food bank. Not dramatically. He knew Lane would have hated dramatic. No rose petals. No violinist lurking in a corner. No ridiculous show of wealth designed to overwhelm her into gratitude.

The dining room glowed under dim amber lighting, warm enough to flatter skin and low enough to make the evening feel private. Fresh flowers covered the center of the table in a loose, elegant arrangement: cream roses, blush ranunculus, white tulips, eucalyptus, and lavender woven through in fragrant purple sprigs with silver-green leaves. The lavender carried through the room lightly, not overpowering, just enough for Lane to inhale and know she had been thought of.

A small candle flickered near each place setting. Crystal glasses caught the light. White plates sat on woven chargers, simple and beautiful. R&B played softly through hidden speakers, old enough to feel familiar, slow enough to make the air seem warmer.

Lane walked forward carefully, as if the room might disappear if she moved too fast.

Lennox stayed behind her, letting her take it in.

“This is…” She stopped, then tried again. “You did all this?”

“Yes,” he said. “I did all this.”

Her hand lifted toward the flowers, fingers brushing lightly over the lavender. The movement was so gentle it made his heart skip a beat.

“You remembered,” she said.

“I remember everything with you.”

Lane gave him a look over her shoulder. “That would be romantic if you weren’t a cybercriminal,” making him laugh.

She looked back at the table, and he watched her fight a smile. The chef had already left, per Lennox’s very specific instructions. Lane did not need strangers hovering while she decided whether to trust him with a quiet evening. The meal was warming in the kitchen, plated in stages and labeled because Lennox could break into encrypted systems across the world, but sauces required humility.