He watched as her lips parted. It was as if she understood the subtle change from “if I kiss you” to “when I claim your mouth.” But she didn’t look away. He drew close enough that he could reach out and pull her away from her lunch date. Her eyes widened and then slid lower. Hell, she looked like she wanted to mentally record every detail. His lips. His broad shoulders dressed in a white button-down, open at the collar. His cock, hard beneath his thousand-dollar suit pants. He slowed his pace and let her look.
Forget leaving a shoe behind. He would imprint the image of what she could have if she accepted his invitation to share a damn juice box.
And a helluva lot more.
He walked by her table. The contact snapped as he turned his attention to the double doors. He pushed through the servers’ entrance and marched into the kitchen.
“Thanks for the avocados, boss.” Minny looked up from the line and reached for a plate sitting beneath the heat lamps. “Have some enchiladas while you wait.”
“I won’t be waiting long.”
Minny shrugged and turned his attention back to the dish in front of him. “She made it past the guacamole this time.”
“She feels sorry for the guy.”
“If you say so,” Minny murmured. He sprinkled cilantro over a burrito and lifted the plate to the service area. Jared watched as a waiter pushed into the kitchen followed by one pissed off patron.
“What are you doing here?” Lucy hissed as the kitchen door swung closed behind her. “I’m not accepting another pack of juice—”
“I’m here for you.” He took her hand and led her away from the bustling, hot kitchen filled with cooks pretending to ignore them. He guided her past the walk-in fridge and freezer.
He had waited for Lucy to call and offer to meet him at the beach. He’d waited to hear her voice and make her laugh. And while he’d sat on the sidelines, she’d set up another date. She had every right to go after the happy-ever-after that defied the limits of the real world. She’d end up disappointed by the lack of first date fireworks. Didn’t change the fact that it was her choice.
But I want her to choose me.
That detail had solidified into a hard truth while he’d waited for her to pick up the damn phone. To hell with the fact that she was his friend’s sister. To hell with the fact that he lived in New York. He could deliver magic—in the bedroom. And he could convince her that was all the spark she needed right now.
“Shouldn’t you be working?” she asked. “Making your millions? Securing your sugar deal?”
“Your brother’s got it covered today.” He opened the door to the storage room and pulled her inside. Shelves lined the dark space. He reached for the light switch as the door locked out the rest of the world. The florescent strips flickered on overhead, and he turned to her.
She pulled her hand free from his and crossed her arms in front of her chest. She wore the white lace shirt like body armor. “And if I tell Finn you spent your lunch hour interrupting my date?”
“Your date was over.” He stepped closer and inhaled her sweet vanilla scent. “What you tell your brother, that’s up to you.”
“So you didn’t drive over here on some misguided rescue mission?”
He raised his hand to her cheek and brushed his fingers over her skin. “I came here to kiss you.”
Her lips parted as if her body had jumped on board with his plan. Only he hadn’t come to the restaurant hoping for a make-out session in the storage closet. He’d needed to see her and talk to her. “I left you notes with the juice. You didn’t call.”
“Some men would take that as a sign. Some men would think hmm, maybe she doesn’t want a kiss,” she said.
“Then tell me.” He lowered his hand. “Tell me to leave.”
He steeled himself for rejection. It was her choice. He might force the question, but if she said no . . . He’d take the hit and walk away. He’d return to the things he could fix. His companies. His deals. And he’d leave Cinderella alone. He’d let her find her own way to the logical path that spelled out the truth about relationships—they were built on desire, trust, and circumstance. No magic required.
“Lucy?” he growled.
“I’m not in your league.”
Her whisper filled the space. His nostrils flared. A surge of adrenaline demanded that he reach for her.
Not in my fucking league?
The words roared in his mind as he placed his left hand on her waist. His fingers dug into the delicate lace. His other hand reached for her chin and tipped it up.
“And,” she continued, because hell, there had to be an “and.”