And his mouth. We won’t go there with his God-given perfectly pink lips and his expert turn upward.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Donnelly,” he says, his voice husky as he takes my hand. He lifts it to his mouth and brushes his lips warmly across my knuckles.

“I’d love to say the pleasure is all mine,” I muse, admiring the way that suit hugs his shoulders, “but I’m sure I might be lying.”

Carter Hughes stops, his mouth hovering against my fingers, and smiles. “That you might.”

“And the name is Bee,” I add as an afterthought.

Yes, sir. My name sure is Bee. You can try it on later.

“Bee,” he murmurs. “As in the animal?”

“As in the animal,” I agree. Damn hippie father. I half-smile, ignoring the shivers that cascade across my skin when his fingers clasp around mine. He shakes my hand. The movement is easy and slow, but his grip is tight and strong, and his thumb flexes as it brushes across mine just a little too harshly.

Hello, Mr. Hughes. I declare that you’re interested.

“Does the name reflect the personality?” He quirks a brow, slowly, and the easy way his lips curve into a smirk has my stomach flipping.

“As in bright with a sharp tongue?” I curve my eyebrow upward to match his. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Hughes?”

His grip on mine tightens, and he pulls me toward him. It’s hard enough that I have to step forward to keep my balance. “Absolutely,” he responds. “I have sixty minutes of this little slice of hell before I’m out of here. Convince me to stay longer.”

Sixty minutes. Excellent. Thirty less than I’d planned for.

I brush my finger down the center of his stomach, its smooth journey interrupted by the bump of his button. “I would… except I have no interest in drawing this out any longer than it needs to be. Looks like you’re stuck to sixty minutes of my stunning company.” I smile sweetly, pat his deliciously firm stomach, and step back.

“Really,” he drawls, grasping the back of my chair as I sit and pushing me in. “Stunning—is that the personality or the looks?”

“I’d love to tell you, but where’s the fun in that?” I follow him with my eyes as he takes the seat opposite me. “You’ll just have to find out for yourself.”

He drops his head as he sits, but those startling green eyes raise beneath thick, dark lashes to meet mine. “Can I get you another drink, Ms. Donnelly?”

“Not as long as you continue to call me Ms. Donnelly.”

“Bee,” he corrects himself, his lips quirking again. “A nickname?”

“Unfortunately not,” I reply. “My father was… eccentric.”

He smiles as he waves a confident hand in the general direction of a server. “Red or white?”

“Blush.”

“Clearly the stunning part of your previous statement wasn’t your personality,” he teases, turning to the server. “A bottle of your finest blush wine for the lady, and I’ll have your best merlot. Thank you.”

“A bottle, Mr. Hughes? Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Will you stay longer than an hour?”

“Absolutely not.”

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I’ll ask you after another glass.” He grins, and it’s playful, an endearingly charming smile.

I’d bet he uses that on all the girls.

I curl my fingers around the stem of my wine glass, swirl the small amount of pink liquid left, and drink it in one. “And my answer will be the same.”

An hour in the restaurant, I mean. If he felt like taking it outside would be proactive, I’d be down with that. This man is fucking fine. And by fine, I mean he’s fucking fah-ha-hiiiiine.

“What do you do?” I ask, acknowledging the server with a tilt of my head as he fills my glass. Halfway. Professional, but ridiculous. Wine glasses should be full at all times.

“I work in business,” Carter Hughes answers. “And you?”

“I also work in business, along with one hundred percent of working Americans.”

“You’re kind of sassy, you know that?”

“Kind of? No, sir. I’m incredibly sassy. I’m just handing it to you in small doses so you don’t get overwhelmed.” Another sweet smile.

“Bee,” he says it in a low voice, leaning toward me, his glass raised to his lips. “If you think it’s your sass that’s overwhelming, you haven’t looked in the mirror.”

“Well, that’s sweet, isn’t it?”

“And true.”

“That’s what they all say.” I pause. “Are you trying to get in my panties? Because it’s a little early, don’t you think?”

“For sex?” He takes one long, slow drink, his eyes never wavering on me. “It’s never too early for sex.”

Huh. We agree on that, then. “Unless that sex is the morning after when one of you should have left in the middle of the night.”

Carter’s lips move slowly, oh so slowly, into a smile that is equal parts amused and predatory. A thrill runs down my spine—and I know why. It’s cat and mouse.

The chase.

It’s starting.

“Oh, Bee,” he mutters. Darkly. So, so darkly. “Could it be that I’m finally on a date with someone that understands my aversion to that commitment bullshit?”

“Please don’t use the ‘c’ word in my presence. It makes me sick.”

His eyes flash with a hint of desire. “You know, I find myself not hungry at all. Shall we move this conversation into the bar?”

“Great idea,” I say, grabbing my wine glass, then my purse from the back of the chair.

He lifts his hand, waves, and a server appears as if by magic. “Can you have this wine bottle moved through to booth one and have my usual on the table? Thank you.”

I raise one eyebrow as he stands, the server smoothly removing the wine bucket from the table and heading out through a door. Hell, I didn’t even know this restaurant had a separate bar area, never mind booths.

Carter holds out his hand, his fingers stretched toward me. “Shall we?”

Ignoring my best friend’s eyes on me, I place my smaller hand in his and stand. “You seem to know this place well,” I comment casually, taking a step in front of him.

His hand finds its way to the small of my back, and he leans in so his lips brush my ear. His breath coasts across my cheek in a thick swath of warmth. “Bee, I own this restaurant.”

“And I’m assuming it was your intention to bring every date to it,” I say dryly.

“On the contrary, I do my best to avoid dates and my business. However, I was tied to this by my buddy’s insistence of having this, and his date’s insistence on it being a double. My restaurant was, naturally, the only one that could free two tables at such short notice.”

Ah. I knew Charley was a dirty liar. Her date just happened to have a single friend my ass. “How very convenient for you.”

“Is it? Does the fact I own this building bother you?”

“Why would it? All I know about you is that your name is Carter Hughes, you want to get me drunk because it isn’t too early for sex, and you own this fine establishment.” I turn so I’m walking backward, and careful of my glass, grasp the lapel of his jacket. “Honey, I won’t remember your name tomorrow morning, let alone the rest of that. So, no, you can say it doesn’t bother me at all.”

We move into a seating area that’s darker than the restaurant. The only lighting is really from the bar area. It’s all black marble and black leather seating here, from the stools lining up along the glass bar to the cushioned booth seating. And it’s all couples—two people to a booth, despite the fact each one could easily sit six. Each one is curtained, too. Translucent black curtains cover the openings, and Carter tightens his grip on me as he reaches for one of them.

“Take a seat,” he breathes into my ear.

Okay.

I slip past him and drop myself on the seat. “This is… different.”

“The bar area is… exclusive,” he explains, slowly. “It’s invite only. Otherwise no one would be able to get a booth.”

“And this one? Is yours?” I look around it. There’s a tiny light on the wall, casting an eerily sensual feeling across the small area. The circular table in front of me is just big enough to hold two plates of food, a wine bucket, and a glass or two.