“I understand. I’ll take you in the town car.” Dorsey was clutching his wallet.

Liza’s eyebrow shot up. “Is Raymond still up?”

“Who is Raymond?” Dorsey asked.

“Your driver. He has two kids. I may have told him you would tip him an insane amount.”

“When did you have time to get the driver’s life story? And exactly how much did you promise him?” Dorsey asked. When she shrugged, he continued. “Yes, I informed him I would be returning you safely to Alexandria.”

“Shall we?” Liza asked.

Dorsey smiled a wolfish smile. “We shall.”

Park lowered his chin and made no move to join them, and Liza felt a flutter low in her belly. With Park gone, they had nothing but themselves and the attraction between them, which still flowed and crackled like an electrical current. Dorsey closed his loft door and showed her to the car idling out front. And just like that, they were alone.

Why was the atmosphere suddenly different? The molecules and atoms had re-formed themselves as soon as Dorsey closed the doors. They always did this—boil the air around them. Walls closed in. Lights dimmed. Dorsey’s scent filled the car. He seemed to take up the whole other side of the vehicle.

She could finally look at him as long as she wanted. Liza had only ever allowed herself short, sidelong glances—so afraid that someone would pop up out of nowhere, screaming, “I knew it!” But lord, Dorsey looked like the king of this town car. But what would that make her? A serf, a concubine, a jester, a queen?

Liza touched his lapel. Maybe if she focused on tiny details like this and not this whole gorgeous man in front of her, she wouldn’t make a fool of herself tonight.

“Gosh, the stitch detail on that shirt is amazing,” she said absently.

Dorsey looked down at his shirt. “Is . . . is this shirt turning you on?” He smiled a wicked smile.

“A little.” Liza laughed. “My grandmother is a seamstress. You get to notice fine detail work and high stitch density.” She ran her index finger up his collar. Then she unbuttoned the third button of his cream shirt, which exposed the muscular divot of his collarbone. What would it feel like to kiss him there?

“Want a trick to know if your shirt is outstanding quality or not?” she asked. Her eyes danced playfully. The way he had looked at her tonight. The way he touched her. It told her everything she needed to know. She was drunk off more than the drink tonight. It was a heady thing to be the center of a man like Dorsey’s desire.

“I’m not sure how I would happen upon a low-quality shirt.” His breath had taken on a measured slowness as Liza fiddled with the button.