“You like to give orders, don’t you?” I teased.

His gaze darkened. “Oh, cupcake, you have no fuckin’ idea.”

My throat tightened and my pussy hummed with need. Again.

I swallowed roughly and gripped my wine.

“Now get that sexy ass of yours outside,” Rowan ordered gruffly.

What was a woman to do? I got my sexy ass outside.

* * *

Though there were plans of a grand romantic night at one of the best restaurants in the state—if not the country, in my humble opinion—and though those plans were somewhat ruined by a violent asshole, I found myself almost glad.

Not glad that Lori had been traumatized yet again—if I could’ve wished that away, I would have—but glad that the conventional date plans had been derailed.

Not just because of what had happened upstairs.

But because of what the night turned into. Sure, we might’ve skipped a bunch of steps—the unwritten dating handbook had some kind of time limit before a man was supposed to be in your space cooking dinner, but I didn’t give a shit. That handbook had been thrown out the window. Not that Rowan was a man to stick by any rules in a handbook, written or unwritten.

And although, prior to this, I was a woman who stuck to rules, who believed in the stages of dating, boundaries—both physical and otherwise—in a relationship, I couldn’t help but admit that this was the best date I’d had in my entire life.

We were sitting outside, the fire going. I was curled up against him on the wicker sofa, the fire flickering in front of us, wine in my hand.

“You’ve done good on this house,” Rowan broke the comfortable silence. He was looking up at the exterior, the crisp white paint and the pink window shutters and detailing. If the man I bought it from knew I was planning on so much pink, I bet he would’ve burned it down rather than sold it to me.

“Fucking great,” he amended. “I’m so fucking impressed with you, Nora.”

My face, neck and ears heated at the compliment, still unused to how easily he gave them out, how sincere they were. “Well, I’m sure you could’ve done it a lot better and in a much shorter time frame. And there’re still a couple of things I need to work on.”

“Don’t do that.” His tone was no longer warm and easy. It was stormy, like his pinched gaze.

“Do what?” I asked, feeling nervous, on guard.

“Cut yourself down. Your work. Try to make it smaller. This is as good if not better than I could’ve done. You’re fucking amazing, Nora. A wonder.”

My blush deepened, and I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.

“Thank you,” I responded quietly.

I looked up at the house, at my work. Sure, I’d had help. And I’d cried plenty over the work, how hard it was. The mistakes I’d made and having to start all over. But it was pretty darn impressive.