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“Unless you don’t want to go.”
Emily hesitates for a second and then grips my hand tighter.
“I want to go.”
The weight sitting on my chest eases.
“Great, I’ll set it up.”
With that settled, I climb out and toss my keys to the valet as I move around to open her door. Emily steps out of the car, and I am once more at a loss for words. What takes other women hours to achieve, she accomplished in fifteen minutes while I waited downstairs in her shop.
Her hair is up in a fancy little twist with soft blonde curls surrounding her face. The dress is the color of snow and covered in little crystals that sparkle in the light. The coat around her shoulders is black and almost reaches the ground, while a small white clutch completes the ensemble.
Emily can walk any red carpet and turn heads, but she is all mine. My brother was so fucking stupid. She slips her hand through my arm, and my chin lifts a little higher.
“This place is gorgeous,” Emily says as we step inside.
Luxe Manor is not my usual haunt. But it’s important that I take her somewhere I’ve never taken anyone else. We walk in, and I help her remove her coat before the attendant can offer. No one but me is touching her. The man waits quietly for me to hand them over. Then we proceed to the maître d’.
“I have a reservation, Mitchell, for two.”
“Right this way.”
Emily follows him, calm and composed, but I walk closely behind her like a guard dog, blocking the view of how tightly the thin material hugs her sexy ass. I’m acutely aware of every man who looks a little too long or does a double-take at my woman. Each new pair of eyes only compounds the jealousy and possessiveness that, until Emily walked into my life, has remained quiet. Now I can’t shut it down.
He leads us to a table far too visible for my taste. Emily will be in view of everyone. I hate it, and before she can sit, I point to the booth in the corner.
“We will be sitting there,” I say, and the maître d’ swallows hard.
“But that one is—”
“I don’t care. I’ll pay whatever it costs to have it.”
Emily looks up at me, and her sweet doe-eyed stare sets my blood on fire. Unable to resist touching her any longer, I slip my hand around her waist.
“Was I not clear?”
The man sucks in a deep breath and nods once.
“Of course, sir, I’ll speak to the manager. Right this way.”
Emily slips in, and I follow, tempted to devour her the moment he leaves the menus and walks away. I grip her thigh, and her sudden inhale is loud enough for me to hear. I’m clinging desperately to a thread of sanity.
She turns her head slowly, and our eyes meet. Even when a shadow lands on the table, I don’t look away from Emily. I am in control. I will not let her get to me again. I will put distance between us. Fuck. I want to tear my rulebook apart and knock the scales of balance off the metaphorical table before fucking her in front of everyone.
“Sir, I’m Thomas, the manager. I understand you requested this table.”
“And?”
I still don’t look at him.
“This is our VIP table, and—”
“I don’t care what it costs,” I growl.
Reaching into my suit jacket pocket, I pull out the black card that everyone covets in this city and slap it down on the table.
Emily’s face fills with shock, but no one is more shocked than me. Forcing myself to look away, I let my gaze land on the man who hasn’t moved. He stares down at the credit card.
