Every time she thought about this place, the book lover in her got a little giddy.

“We get to eat here,” she said slowly. Absently, she reached up to rub her fingers across her lower lip, forgetting about her lipstick. “Tonight.”

“Yep. You were specifically requested to tell them exactly what you thought about the place—from how it looks, to the menu, and anything else you thought might be useful.”

She slanted a look at him. “I take it that you know the owners.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, jerking one shoulder up as he studied the place. Then he canted his head in her direction, a somewhat embarrassed grin on his face. “I . . . ah. Well, this is between us, but Mitch and Guff—when they were putting the plans together before they went to the bank, they talked to some friends about it. Asked some if they’d be interested in maybe offering some money for the start-up. I was—thought it would be a hell of a place to have in the area. So I’ve got a vested interest in seeing it take off.”

*   *   *

This had been a good choice.

Trey had been torn between trying this or a nice little Italian place he knew about or even something more casual—a chain place somewhere close to the mall. It would be easy to keep things nice and casual if they’d gone for the Italian place or a chain restaurant.

Casual was crucial right now because if he had too much time alone with her, it was going to shatter his ability to think. Maybe even destroy his ability to talk. It had taken a lot more focus than he’d thought possible just to drive here, because it had required taking his eyes off her and he just hadn’t wanted to do that.

But here, he’d have some semblance of privacy—not a lot of it because he knew Mitch Watkins and Les MacGuff weren’t going to give him that much privacy. Not when he was bringing a date. They got together often enough—BBQs a couple of times in the summer, and both Trey and Guff had boys the same age who got along well. Neither of the men had been able to resist digging for information when Trey had called to ask about maybe coming by. With a friend.

So he’d have to put up with their nosy asses.

But that was fine, because Ressa had just turned to look at him, a smile on her face that was nothing short of delighted.

He didn’t even have time to brace before she launched herself into his arms. “This has got to be the coolest thing ever,” she said, her mouth moving against his neck.

It sent shivers down his spine and he closed his eyes.

Behave. It was a stringent command to his body.

But at the same time, part of him wondered why it was so necessary that he behave. Well, yeah, clearly it wasn’t a good idea for him to push her up against the closest available surface. Or even the broad, large railing that led up to the veranda.

But really, did they have to be here?

Yes, his mind insisted.

A date.

They were having a damned date.

That didn’t stop the blood from draining out of his head, from churning hot and ready, from pulsing all in one direction—straight toward his cock. To try and get his thoughts on something other than how soft she was, how good she smelled, he said, “Well, don’t say that now. Guff and Mitch are raving about the kitchen crew, but for all I know, we’ll go in there and everything will taste like kibble.”

“I don’t care,” she said, pulling back and planting a loud, smacking kiss on his mouth. “You can fix that. Or they can. Fire the crew, hire better kitchen help. But . . . wow. I’m eating here before anybody else.”

He licked his lips, tasting her on them. He was a split second from pulling her back against him, just so he could have another, longer, deeper taste.

But then she turned around and her lids drifted down low, a tiny smile bowing up the corners of her mouth. “I can already tell you, baby, that’s not kibble cooking in there. I smell steak . . . and bread . . . whoa. Let’s go eat.”

She caught his hand and he let her tug him along behind her. He’d go pretty much anywhere she wanted at that point.

*   *   *

The restaurant had three floors.

She loved every single one, but thought maybe, the third floor with its dimmer lighting, the slow, smoky blues playing in through the speakers, and the semi-private booths was her favorite.

“So the first floor was more for the classics. Stoker. Poe. Doyle.” She smoothed a hand down the glossy hardwood, eying everything around her. “Second floor was geared for all the modern writers—I saw books from the big horror writers like King, as well as the major suspense and thriller writers—I loved seeing references to J.D. Robb mixed in with Lehane and Coben.” There had been what looked like a body bag affixed to the wall—she wondered what some poor diner might think of that, and the toe tag used to identify the body—as well as what looked like memorabilia from the futuristic romantic suspense series, side by side with similar items that played up books from the other authors.

When she’d asked how they’d picked what authors and what books they’d gone with for the décor, they’d shrugged, then one of them had answered, We went with who we like to read . . . who we like personally. Once word got out what we were doing, we had plenty of people offering to help out, but we went with who appealed to us.

She liked that, knowing that they had their hands all over this place.

But she still couldn’t quite figure out what was up here on three. Well aware that she had three men watching her, she stopped in the middle of the floor and tried to place the connecting theme.

The low light coming out from smoky shades.

The sultry music.

There were framed pieces of cover art and she caught sight of a few shadowboxes that had actual books in them, but they all looked old. “You already did the classics. I’m not quite sure what you were focusing on here.”

“Crime noir.” Guff shoved his glasses up his nose, smiled. He had a round face that was just this side of homely—but that smile made him almost beautiful. It was warm, welcoming and so genuine, she couldn’t help but smile back. “That was the only thing we could figure out to make this floor work.”

“Oh?” Puzzled, she gave the surroundings another look. Was she missing something?

“It was the answer, Guff, my friend. Not the only thing—the answer.” Mitch was louder, more flamboyant than both Trey and Guff and he flirted with anything breathing. Her, Trey, and Guff. Trey ignored him. Guff just rolled his eyes. She was hovering somewhere around amusement and irritation, but he was so good-natured with it, it was hard not to laugh, although a couple of times, she’d seen Trey give him a dark look.

“The answer to . . . ?”

“We wanted something sexy.” Mitch’s grin was wide and slightly wicked. “See how it’s quieter up here? Even with the music blasting downstairs, you hear only an echo. Plus, the entire air of the place, it’s just . . .” He paused, and then, voice lowering, he murmured, “Intimate. We thought we’d offer this for those wanting a quiet night. It’s already booked solid for the next eight weeks.”

“You’re kidding.”

He winked at her. “No. But for tonight, it’s all yours, honey.” Then he shot that grin at Trey. “Well, yours and Trey’s. Maybe I’ll send up a bottle of Glenlivet and then just lock the two of you in here.”

“Very funny,” Trey said, but there was an edge to his voice. “How about you go hassle your staff or align the edges of the napkins, Mitch?”

“My therapist has told me I’m not allowed to align things anymore.” Mitch gave a theatrical sigh.

Guff snorted. “You probably put your therapist in therapy. Come on, Mitch. We’ll send one of the servers up with menus, the whole deal. We need to see how everything is running. We have a test run next week, but you can be our very first guinea pigs as far as orders and all that goes.”