The appreciative look Reed gave me when I got out of the taxi said he didn't mind that I was wearing the same thing I'd worn to the reunion. In fact, if the heat in his gaze was any indication, he was remembering what it had been like watching me take it off. I wondered if he realized now that I'd been using some of my work skills that night.

“Thank you for agreeing to have dinner with me,” he said as he held out his arm. Despite what I'd seen in his eyes, his actions and tone were completely platonic.

I let my arm hook around his and we walked towards the entrance. I could feel the muscles in his arm through the material of his jacket and wondered if he was as aware of me as I was of him. I pressed my lips together and made myself think of other things. I couldn't think of him in a romantic way, not now that I knew he was getting married. My father had cheated on my mother for years and walked out as soon as she'd told him she was pregnant. It was one thing to know there were married men ogling me at the strip club, and something else entirely to entertain sexual thoughts about one I knew was married, or at least partway there.

When we reached the restaurant, I was unable to keep myself from gawking at the view. Everything I'd heard had been true. The skyline was breathtaking, lit up against the deep blue sky. It was early June, so the sun was just starting to go down and the colors popped against the lights from the buildings. Up here, you couldn't see any peeling paint or drunken guests. The sleaziest strip clubs looked as clean and bright as the newest casinos.

Reed led me to our table where I was finally forced to look away from the city. He ordered wine in fluent French, of course, but didn't have a smug smile when the waiter walked away. At least his lack of pretentiousness had been real, even if nothing else had been.

I looked down at the menu, frowning when I saw it was in French.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot,” Reed said. “The menu's written in French, but there's–”

“Je crois que je vais poulet,” I interrupted.

He stared at me and I couldn't help but laugh at his expression.

“I went to the same high school you did,” I reminded him. “Four years of Ms Boudreaux.” I couldn't resist adding, “And it comes in handy when I pretend the reason I don't answer some of those assholes at the club is because I don't speak English. You'd be surprised at what idiots say when they think the stripper is foreign.”

The tips of Reed's ears reddened.

“Ask it,” I said.

“Ask what?” He looked down at his water glass.

“What you've been wanting to ask since you recognized me last night.” I'd seen the question in his eyes from that first moment and now I just wanted to get it out of the way. I didn't want it hanging over me all night.

“I-I don't know what you mean.”

“You want to know how I got into this, or why I do it. The wording may be different, but it comes down to the same thing.” I kept my words clipped and even, unemotional.

The waiter returned with the wine, and I fell silent while he poured. Being matter-of-fact about what I did was one thing. Having someone overhear the conversation was something else. No matter how polite and professional the waiter would be, I knew he'd only see me as a whore. It didn't matter that I didn't have sex with the men at the club. I sold the idea of sex, and for a lot of people, that was enough.

After the waiter promised to return in a few minutes for our orders, I waited until he was out of earshot and then gave him the short version of the story.

“When you move to Vegas at twenty-one with a high school diploma and waitressing as your only skill-set, there aren't a lot of opportunities for employment,” I said. “I want to be a dancer – a real dancer – and I thought this would be a good place to try to get my start.” I took a sip of the wine, and then added, “It pays better than waiting tables back in Philly.”

“There are dance schools back in Philadelphia,” Reed said. “And anyone who still remembers their high school French and had such a well-formed opinion on literature as a freshman should've been able to get an academic scholarship. You had options. Why'd you leave?”

I frowned. “That seems a bit too personal for an apology dinner.”

“So we can talk about you getting naked for money, but not about why you didn't go to college?” Reed seemed almost amused.

I scowled at him. “Yes, and if you're going to be a jerk, I'll just go home.”

“I'm sorry.” He immediately backpedaled. “I didn't mean to pry.”

I was saved from having to respond when the waiter returned. Once our meals were ordered, Reed started on some small talk that led us safely away from areas that were too personal. He asked about which classes I'd liked at St. George's and we reminisced about teachers we'd shared. We talked about favorite things like food and movies, but we stayed away from ballet and our families.

I found myself enjoying the mundane conversation and relaxing as we talked and ate. As the dinner started to near the end, however, Reed began to appear more anxious. He started tapping his fingers on the table and leaning forward in his chair. Either he was waiting for something to happen or he had something he'd been wanting to say. He was running out of time in which to say it.

“Look, I know we've been keeping things light, but I need to tell you something.” The words came out in a rush.

I tensed. What was he going to say now?

“After I saw you at the airport, I couldn't stop thinking about you, and then you came outside at the reunion. I've never been able to talk to someone as easily as I can talk to you,” he confessed. “And that night... I can't stop thinking about it.” He reached out as if he was going to take my hand. “I want to be with you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He froze, his eyes wide. Clearly, that hadn't been the response he'd been expecting.

All of the anger I'd been feeling since I saw him in that hotel room came bubbling up and out. “You want to be with me?” My laugh was brittle. “You're engaged, you asshole! Isn't it enough that you've already used me once to cheat on your fiancée?” I fought to keep my voice low. There were too many people around who'd love to see a good show. “Maybe you think that because of what I do, or because we slept together before, I'm easy, but I'm not. I had sex with you because I genuinely liked you. I thought you were a nice guy–”

He finally found his voice. “I don't think you're easy.”

I glared at him and made a gesture for him to continue. I needed to hear his explanation so when I stormed off, I'd feel justified.

“And I wasn't using you, Piper. I really liked you. I do like you.”

He touched my hand and I pulled back. I didn't want him touching me, especially when just that little bit had sent a jolt through my entire body.

“Dammit!” He ran his hand through his hair and leaned back in his seat. “This isn't going how I thought it would.”

“How you thought it would?” I shook my head. “What, you thought you'd take me out to eat, tell me you want to be with me and I'd just forget you were getting married and fall into bed with you?” I crossed my arms. “And before you say I did it once before, let me remind you that I didn't know you were engaged then.”

“I thought you'd at least believe my feelings were sincere,” he said. The expression on his face was almost sad and if I hadn't been so pissed, I might've felt sorry for him. “I thought we had a connection. I thought you'd felt it too.”

I had felt it, but that didn't mean it wasn't just physical attraction, a need to get laid, the psychological response to all those memories coming home had brought back. None of those were reasons to break up a relationship headed towards marriage.

“Connection or not, you have a fiancée.” It didn't seem fair that I had to keep reminding him of that fact.

He nodded. “I know, but it's not... I mean.” He blew out air in a frustrated sigh. “I don't have this with Britni.” He gestured between the two of us.

“Dinner?” I said dryly.

Not even a hint of a smile. “I don't have anything in common with her. I can't talk to her like I can talk to you, and I've known her since we were kids.”

“I'm not sure why that's my problem.” My voice was tight and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

“I'm going about this all wrong.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Considering you neglected to mention Britni before you fucked me, I'd say you definitely went about whatever this is the wrong way.” I knew I should just get up and go, head back to my apartment and forget all about Reed Stirling. I didn't know what his game was, but I knew that's all it was. I should've known better than to think he was different.

“I don't love Britni.”

Yeah, hadn't heard that one before. Still, I raised my eyebrows and waited for him to go on.

“Our fathers went to Brown together. Our families took vacations together. Her parents are my sister's and I's godparents and my parents are godparents to her and Brock.” He leaned forward. “She's five years younger than me, but as soon as she turned eighteen, our parents started pushing us together, having us sit next to each other during meals, encouraging us to spend time together, that kind of thing. Then, two years ago, my parents told me that they and the Michaels had basically decided that they wanted our families to join together.”

“Like a merger?” I thought I knew where he was going with this, but I wasn't going to assume. Fool me once...

“Exactly like a merger. Except there wasn't a buy-out or a contract. Just wedding vows.” His voice was flat, as if he felt nothing about what his parents wanted him to do.

“Why didn't you just tell them you don't love her?” Maybe I was overstepping my bounds, but if he was going to make me into the other woman who ruined his engagement, I thought I had the right to push a bit.

“They already know.” He ran his fingers through his hair again and I found myself remembering how it felt to do it too.

“And they don't care?”

“When they first told me what they wanted, I didn't care.” He met my eyes and I couldn't look away. “I'd gotten burned, bad, in college and I didn't think I'd ever fall in love.”

His eyes were blazing and my chest tightened until I could barely breathe. I refused to let myself think about what he was going to say next.

“But I think I could fall in love with you.”