“Do you like Italian?”

She scrunched up her brow at the question, but then she connected the dots as she sat down. The last text he’d sent her was about dinner.

“I do,” she said, because it was the truth, and because it didn’t commit her. She wasn’t sure if she was going to continue this thing—whatever it was—with him. She wasn’t sure about anything, except the fact that he looked good at three o’clock in the afternoon when his five o’clock shadow seemed to start. Add in that dark hair that had felt so luxurious in her fingers, the chiseled cheekbones and the slightly loosened tie, and she’d have to say he seemed like a man who’d stepped off the pages of a magazine.

He took another step closer. “I made a reservation.”

“Where?” she asked, feeling a bit like they were having this conversation on another plane of reality. Then again, the last few hours had her feeling like she’d slipped into another world.

“There’s a place near Madison Square Park. It has bocce ball and the best—”

“—Pasta primavera in all of New York.”

He raised an eyebrow as she cut in, finishing his sentence.

“Restaurants are my thing,” she said, by way of explanation. She loved researching New York’s best eateries, both the newest shi-shi ones, the off-the-beaten-path spots, and the best-kept secrets in dining.

“Then you’ll go with me to Gia’s tonight,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. It was a statement, and the way his cool blue eyes held her gaze made it clear he wouldn’t take no for an answer. She tilted her head, considering. The conundrum was this—Michelle wasn’t a woman who was turned on by a lack of choices, but she was a woman turned on by this man. And she hadn’t seen this give-a-woman-an-order side of him. Well, of course she hadn’t seen this side of him. She’d only spent one night with him. There was no reason why she’d know that he had this kind of intensity, and such a commanding tone to his rich, deep voice that was like a note held long and lasting on a bass guitar. And it made her feel like this . . .

“Yes.”

Because it turned out, she liked this side of him.

In his presence, she was keenly aware of her body. Of her physicality. She’d never been so aware of it before, but every bone, cell and nerve seemed to be on high alert near him.

He moved closer. She remained still, seated in her chair, facing him. He crossed the remaining distance and placed his palms on the arms of her chair, his chest inches from her, but not touching. The air between them was like an electrical storm in the summer. Charged, heated, and ready to crackle with a lightning strike in seconds.

“Did you think about me when I was with Kana?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice bare and truthful.