“You’re definitely not like any other woman,” he countered.

I decided that if James thought of me that way, I definitely didn’t want to change his mind.

“That’d better be some kind of compliment, Russo,” I teased, playfully narrowing my eyes at him.

He took a handful of steps toward me and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me against him. “It’s absolutely a compliment.”

The way he looked at me screamed danger, and I shoved at him before moving a safe distance away. I had no idea how to navigate any of this with him. My dad’s threats rang in my ears as my internal war continued to rage.

“Are you ready?” I cleared my throat as I asked.

He laughed deep and throaty, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable his presence made me. “Yeah, Julia, I’m ready.” He waved an arm for me to go ahead of him. Such a gentleman.

We drove in silence toward our tiny downtown, neither of us knowing what to do. The sexual tension between us almost took on a life of its own. It felt thick and tangible, like something I could reach for and pull out of the air. My hand wanted to rest on his thigh. My fingers itched to rub the back of his neck, play with his hair, and feel the scruff of his beard. My body betrayed me with every mile, but my mind stayed firm.

When we parked, I made sure to open my door before James had a chance to. I couldn’t have him reaching for my hand and interlocking his fingers with mine even though my body wanted him to and hated me for not giving in. With James, even the simplest of gestures were dissected, overanalyzed, and stopped.

He held the front door open for me, and the hostess did a double take when she noticed it was the two of us coming in together. Her expression looked completely shell-shocked, and I couldn’t blame her.

“Uh, hi, you two.”

“Hi, Samantha,” James and I both said in unison.

“You’re here together?” she asked, her tone wary and untrusting.

James laughed as he said, “Yes. Hell has officially frozen over.”

She leaned toward me and whispered in my ear, “Are you here willingly? He didn’t kidnap you, did he?”

“I can hear you,” James said, and Samantha genuinely looked embarrassed. “Look at her, Samantha.” He waved a hand up and down the length of my body more than once. “Does this look like a woman who isn’t here willingly?”

“Hey”—my voice rose, calling more unwanted attention in our direction—“what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, you look gorgeous.” James quickly covered. “And I don’t think you’d dress up for a kidnapping.”

My face heated with his compliment, and I knew I was blushing.

“Sorry. It’s just that this is all very unexpected,” Samantha apologized.