ALLIE

“It’s going to be a disaster.”

“Sure is with that attitude.” I point toward an open meter on Ocean Drive. “Park here.”

“Why don’t I just valet at the restaurant?”

“Stop arguing and park.”

Jack pulls over and parks his new, sleek black Audi in the spot. It’s expensive and understated, and completely Jack. He picked it up this week because, as he said, he might need it. That’s the sort of money that Jack has.

I hop out and put my credit card into the meter.

“I’ll pay,” Jack says, coming around.

“Too late,” I tell him. “Plus, you can pay for dinner. But if this were the start to a date, you can’t let the girl pay for the meter.”

“I didn’t want you to pay for the meter!” Jack growls. “I said I was going to pay.”

“You’re touchy today.” I size him up, and he looks positively menacing. “What’s eating you, Gilbert Grape?”

He merely scowls at me, which is annoying because he looks like a movie star in the process. Only Jack Darcy can look equally angry and terrifying, while still making a few select body parts tingle on any woman in the vicinity.

As we stride toward the restaurant, Jack inches a few paces ahead of me, and I’m left behind to observe several heads turning our way—most of them women, most of them staring unabashedly at Jack. A few of them are probably wondering why I’m practically jogging to keep up.

On a good day, I can’t keep pace with Jack, and I wouldn’t call this a good day. I’ve got on heels that lift me almost to Jack’s chin and a sleek black dress with spaghetti straps that extends to mid-thigh. It’s about the best I’m ever gonna look with my height and figure, and I’m pretty proud about it. But Jack seems to think I dressed like a stripper and is acting all huffy about it.

“Jack, wait!” I tell him. “Is the stick up your ass really about my dress? I’ve worn far less clothing than this and never heard a word of complaint from you. What changed your mind this time?”

“Allie...” he says, a warning note to his voice.

“You’re not my dad, last time I checked—so what do you care?!”

Jack doesn’t often lose his temper, but when he does, it comes swift and sudden. I know I’ve pushed him too far the second his hand snakes around my wrist and yanks me off the sidewalk. He catches me with both hands on my shoulders and guides me until my back is pressed against the brick wall of the nearest building.

His hands are gentle, but his eyes are on fire as his gaze meets mine. “I’ve never complained before because you were only wearing those ridiculous outfits around me,” he hisses. “Not parading around in front of some stranger.”

“I’m hardly parading around in front of some stranger! My date is a man my dad knows. We’ve met before.”

“You’ve met him before?”

“I’ve seen him at a party. It doesn’t matter; this date isn’t about me, it’s about you.”

“I didn’t want to go in the first place.”

“You’re the reason I’m here.”

Jack leans in, those eyes glittering, and stares straight through the back of my head. His gaze is so piercing I flinch underneath it, and finally, he steps back.

My chest is heaving from the closeness of him, the intensity of Jack Darcy that I so rarely get to see. When he’s around me, he’s usually as relaxed as he can be; I see him during those hours he deliberately kicks back, hides the stresses of the office, and focuses on enjoying the other parts to life.

The ferocity with which he’s breathing signals I’m not the only one affected by our all-too-close proximity. Ironically, neither of us find ourselves with much to say, based upon the ensuing silence.

After several moments of huffing and puffing, I glance down at my dress and tug it into place self-consciously.

“Do I really look so horrible?” I ask him, my voice soft. “If I look that much like a hooker, I’ll go change.”

“I never said you looked like a hooker.”

“You told me my dress is too short, the top is too low, and the straps are too thin.”

“It doesn’t mean—”

“What’s your problem, Jack?” I reach out and rest a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been pissed at me all night. What’d I ever do to you? If you want me to leave, I’ll leave.”

“No.”

“Well?”

He runs a hand across his forehead and gives a slight shake to his head. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s it? I’m not looking for an apology. I’m looking for an answer. What’d I do to get under your skin this time?”

“You look beautiful,” he explodes, those brilliant eyes cutting my way. “You look incredible, and I’m pissed you wasted it on me.”

I blink and take stock for a moment. “Sorry, but what?”

“You asked what you did, and I’m telling you it was nothing—”

“No, no, I understand that part.” I do a little twirl underneath his gaze. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Yes, Allie. Of course I do.”

“Thank you very much.” I end my twirl with an awkward pirouette-thing that has me tripping onto Jack. I land with one hand on his suit, the other on his shirt, and my fingers are stuck there. I feel a bit like Spider Woman trying to climb Jack Darcy. “Sorry about that.”

Jack stares up into the sky, the blinking stars shrouded by a layer of black and a wisp of cloud. Meanwhile, my hands remain firmly pressed to his chest, and I hate to admit it, but I’m enjoying the feel of them there.

His chest is sturdy and his shirt is soft, and the combination has me wondering what it might feel like if my hands slipped underneath his button up and landed on skin. I must end up biting my lip, but I don’t realize it until a few seconds of Jack staring unabashedly at my mouth.

Once I realize my face is pulled into a contorted grimace, I immediately blink away the stars in my eyes and force a somewhat normal smile onto my face.

“So, this outfit is okay?” I ask, smoothing my dress. “Because you look great. Perfect. Super hot. I mean, for the girl. The woman—your mom definitely picked out a woman—and she’ll appreciate you. Er—she should.”

“You think I’m...” Jack pauses with a terribly smug smirk on his face. “Super hot?”

“You think I’m beautiful,” I retort back, yanking my hands from his body. “Come on, asshole, let’s go eat. You’re buying my dinner.”

“Your date’s supposed to do that.”

“Whatever.”

I stomp ahead toward the restaurant and give the host my name. Of course, it’s not on the list because Jack’s mother made the reservation for us. And, of course, she used Jack’s name.

“Rule Number 13,” I snap. “Make your own damn reservations. Don’t let your mom do it for you.”

Jack shakes his head, murmurs politely to the host, and slips him a tip right off the bat. For this, we’re upgraded to primo seating and a complimentary glass of wine that’s delivered the second we sit down.

“Rule Number 14,” I say. “Make sure your date’s here before you start drinking. Doesn’t look good when your date shows up and you’re already three sheets to the wind.”

Jack raises his glass of red wine. “I haven’t been three sheets to the wind since your mom got that bottle of Grey Goose for a Christmas present when we were too young to be buying alcohol.”

A little of my sass calms as the bright and bubbly memory floats before me. Christmas Eve, Jack Darcy and me under the mistletoe taking our first foray into the boozy world of vodka. All had been going swimmingly until yours truly decided three shots in a row was the best idea ever invented. Jack had leaned in under the mistletoe, those gorgeous eyes just as bright and as sweet as they are now, and went for the kiss.

I’d proceeded to duck out of the way and vomit profusely on his shoes.

That’s the last time he’d tried to kiss me. That’s also the night I’d drunkenly told him I loved him and asked him to marry me. That might be what I’d referenced when Caroline asked if I’d ever given him a sign.

“Maybe that’s your problem,” I tell him, sitting back in my chair and waving a finger at him. “When’s the last time you did something a little reckless?”

“Allie—”

“Note!” I cut him off with another sharp wave of my finger. “I did not say stupidly dangerous, I just said a little reckless. You know, something on the edge.”

“I’ve grown out of that.”

“Correction: you never grew into that.”

“I’ve been reckless.”

“No, Jack, you’ve always done what everyone expects you to do. I’m not saying that it’s a bad thing because it’s not. It’s amazing; you’re an incredible doctor, a great friend, a good son...” I say with a teasing wink. “A pretty good son, usually. But what about doing something for you? For sheer fun?”

“It’s not me,” he says, leaning forward on his elbows. “I’m not the reckless type.”

“Rule Number Fourteen: You must—”

“You already said fourteen.”

“I did?” With a frown of confusion, I glance at my wineglass to find it moderately empty. I nod at it. “When did that happen?”

Jack looks at his watch. “Since we’ve been waiting half an hour.”

Apparently, we’ve been talking and swapping stories for thirty minutes, and I hadn’t bothered to notice that my date hadn’t yet arrived. Neither had Jack’s, so at least we were even on that front, though I’m not sure what it says about my observation skills. Or what it says about the fact that I’m having more fun than I ever thought I’d have tonight.

“Number fifteen?” Jack prompts.

It takes me a minute to remember what he’s talking about. Eventually, it hits me, and I give a decisive nod. “Rule fifteen: When falling in love, one must be just a little bit reckless.”

“Oh, I disagree—” Jack begins, but he’s interrupted by a blonde woman who pulls up a seat next to him and lays a hand on his.

“I completely agree,” the newcomer says, her eyelashes sparkling with silver glitter as she flashes them my way. “You’re Dr. Jack Darcy, right? And that would make you Allie?”

She purses her lips and nods to each of us in turn. I’m more struck by the confidence with which she walked over here and joined the conversation than anything else. It’s only after I’ve nodded and shaken her hand that I’m able to take in the rest of the package. And what a package it is.

Her hair is so blonde it’s nearly silver, and it’s pulled tightly back from her face in a sweeping updo. Her dress is slinky and maroon, and even though it flows all the way to her stilettos, she’s got more skin spilling out of her dress than I do by a long shot. It’s just that all the skin showing on her is up top.

I sort of ogle her chest and wonder how a woman so thin can have breasts of that size. I halfway want to ask if they are real, but in my head I’m already stating Rule 16: Don’t ask a woman if her boobs are fake on a first date.

When I rejoin the conversation, our new friend, Delilah, has already introduced herself to Jack. And by introduced herself, I mean she’s made herself completely cozy in his lap. She’s somehow wiggled under his arm and forced it onto the chair behind her, and she’s got a hand resting on his thigh.

I raise my eyebrows and look away, tempted to ask if they need some privacy. The only thing that holds me back is the murderous look on Jack’s face.

Leaving the two to cuddle, or whatever it is they’re whispering about, I take to coloring Rule Number Negative 1 on my napkin. Quietly, I slide it to Jack.

He takes one look at the page, and ever so slightly, one eyebrow inches up. He raises his gaze to meet mine and there’s a fire behind those blue sapphires that send fissures of current through my veins.

I shrug and pull the napkin back. NO SEX ON A FIRST DATE, it screams. At this rate, it’s going to be harder for Jack than he expected; his date is about ready to start foreplay here at the dinner table.

“I agree,” a voice says from behind me. “But why do you have negative rules?”

I freeze, one hundred percent mortified. Probably a hundred and fifty percent mortified. So mortified I order another bottle of wine from a passing waiter before turning around to find my date—Theodore Anton Hamilton—standing behind me.

“How about we don’t mention this to my dad?” I tell him, standing and giving Theo an awkward hug. “I’d hate for this to pop up in conversation at our next Christmas party.”

“Hate for what to pop up?” Delilah asks, purring as she looks across the table at Theo. “What rules?”

Theo reaches across the table and sends the note to Delilah. “Rule Number Negative One.”

“Oh,” she says with a pout. “I don’t see anything wrong with sex on a first date.”

At this, Theo plops into the seat next to me and orders yet a third bottle of wine for the table, looking mighty interested in the woman across from him. The two guests have been here all of seven minutes, and already, Jack is right. Things are a disaster.

Luckily, Theo brings a pleasant distraction to dinner. The distraction is himself. Apparently, his father works in entertainment law in the thick of Hollywood, and Theo is considering a jump to the career himself. Which he explains in detail by name-dropping every client his father has ever seen.

“Pretty sure my dad was a lawyer on Michael Jackson’s estate,” Theo says, leaning back half an hour later. “I don’t remember the details.”

“Oh. My-God,” Delilah says, as if it’s all one word. She’s said this no more than a hundred times tonight. “Tell me more.”

“Please don’t,” Jack says.

I kick him under the table, even though I can’t agree more. The question I’ve been puzzling over the past hour or so is how on earth my dad thought this Theo could ever potentially be a good fit for me. Unless this really was all just a setup to help Jack—that had to be it.

I’m still puzzling out how Delilah fits into Kathleen Darcy’s mold for what a wife to her son should look like, and the only thing I can think of is that the two women have never met. There’s no way in hell the esteemed Kathleen Darcy would choose Delilah for her son. Delilah might be nice and all, but she’s not hitting the medical school track anytime soon.

It’s mid-daydream when I finally realize that Delilah is excusing herself to use the restroom. With a tittering laugh, she evacuates her seat and sends a finger wave back to Jack. I glance next to me and find the chair empty.

“Where’d Hollywood go?” I ask, noting Theo is also gone. “How did I miss my date leaving?”

“And I’m supposed to be learning from you?” Jack asks. “He’s been gone for five minutes. I don’t know where—restroom, I suppose.”

“This isn’t a real date for me. It is for you.”

“It’s practice for me. It’s not real.”

I lean across the table. “What were our parents thinking?”

Jack gives a shake of his head. “Let me remind you, I’m the one who said this would be a disaster.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t disagree with you.”

“I can’t even get a word in edgewise,” he says with a shift in his seat. “How am I supposed to practice?”

“Ask Delilah some things about herself. See if you can get her to open up about something—anything—aside from her desire to listen to Theo’s Tales over here.”

“It doesn’t matter; I’m not interested in her.”

“I understand, but you can work on getting to know her. What if there’s more than meets the eye?”

Jack doesn’t look convinced. He raises a wineglass to his lips, then pauses and extends it to me. “To horrible dates.”

I raise my glass to find it empty. “Yikes,” I say, before pouring one glass more. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been on a date that required three glasses to get through it.”

“Four.”

“Three. How much have you had?!”

“I’m babysitting half a serving,” Jack says, swirling a microscopic amount of red liquid around in his glass. “I’m on call tonight. And, not that I’m counting, but this is your fourth,” he adds with a sly smile. “Not that I’m complaining. Your cheeks look cute when they get all pink.”

“Cute?!” I slap at my face, wobbling the wine around as I pull out my phone. “Maybe that’s why Theo’s talking to Delilah more than me. I wasn’t going for cute, I was going for sexy.”

“Can’t you be both?”

“I don’t know.” I hesitate as Jack’s eyes, ever-so-slightly, stray to my cleavage area in a very un-Jack-like way. I don’t know what’s gotten into him, so I wave my hand in front of his face. “Hello, Jack. You’re on a date with Delilah? Don’t look at my boobs.”

His eyes snap to my face, and he’s got a sheepish expression as he finally takes a sip and passes me the glass. “Have mine; I wasn’t planning on drinking it anyway.”

Theo and Delilah rejoin us at the table just as our entrees arrive. Our table is divided with our choices: I’ve got the steak and fries, as does Jack. Delilah went for the chicken salad, as did Theo.

“I’m vegetarian,” Delilah says, taking a huge bite of salad with a grin. “But that steak smells incredible.”

“Uh, there are—” Jack begins, but I issue him another kick from underneath the table before he can finish his thought.

I know exactly where he was going with it: he’d been just about to point out there were huge hunks of bacon on top of the chicken salad, and Delilah had eaten at least three of them with her first bite. They are impossible to miss. The salad description is called the bacon bleu cheese chicken salad. I’m simply trying to train Jack to comment less on a woman’s choice of food.

Rule 17, I think. Never comment on a woman’s eating habits. There is no good outcome. Mention she eats a lot, and she could get a complex. Say she eats too little, and that’s annoying. I jot this down for Jack and pass him the note.

Theo and Delilah don’t notice, as they’ve returned to chatter about the Hollywood scene.

I lean forward and whisper to Jack. “Remember what we talked about?” I add a huge head nod toward Delilah. “Get to know her.”

“So, Delilah,” Jack says, during the first break in conversation. “What is it you do?”

“Do?” She stares blankly at him. “Do...?”

“For work? Career or school or...?” Jack is drowning here, and he looks to me for help.

I don’t give him any—not yet. On a real date, he’ll have to get himself out of these holes, and I won’t be around to clean up his messes.

“For work?” Delilah repeats, as if the very question itself is puzzling to her. “Oh, you know, I help run my parents’ company.”

“And what do they do?”

She stares at Jack. “They own the club.”

The club. The words sink in like a stone, and my gaze links with Jack’s for just a moment. Everything is suddenly clear. Delilah might not be a brainiac surgeon, but she comes from royal blood in the scheme of the Darcy’s circles. It would be an arranged marriage for the books: the brilliant doctor and the beautiful socialite.

As owners of the club, her family must know everyone who’s anyone. It also probably helps that they’re likely loaded. Kathleen Darcy has surely considered this.

“That’s great,” Jack says. “What sorts of things do you do for them?”

“Do?” she parrots. “For who?”

“Your parents.”

I can sense Jack beginning to lose his temper with this conversation, which earns him another swift kick to the knee. Jack simply cannot afford to blow this date like he normally would; it’s different this time. Word will get back to his mother, and she’ll be a lot worse to deal with than a wine stain on his shirt.

“Do you handle the finances?” Jack asks, forcing the politeness into his voice. “Or the event planning?”

Delilah rolls her eyes. “Ugh, never. I hate numbers. And details. And planning.”

Jack stares at his plate, seemingly at a loss for words.

“I am the resident shopper,” Delilah says with a smirk. “I handle the credit card.”

“You shop for the club?” Jack latches onto the tidbit she’s given him. “You mean, decorations, themes, supplies—”

“Stilettos, maybe,” Delilah says, and extends her leg to the side of the table and above so we can all see the red-bottomed heel. “I’ll get an inheritance from my parents. I’m not an idiot; why would I work if I don’t have to?”

Jack makes a strangled sound in his throat, and I move to kick him again in the knee. I’m doing this for him, I really am. I don’t personally care if he goes home tonight with Delilah or if he sends her running away in tears, but his mother sure will, and she’ll make things miserable for both of us. Best to end things on a polite note or, better yet, have Delilah end things.

But my plans are foiled. From underneath the table, Jack’s hand snakes out and grabs me by the ankle as I’m mid-kick. He catches me there and holds tight, leaving my leg bent in an awkward position as a satisfied smirk curls over his face.

“I see,” Jack says to Delilah, still holding my ankle captive. With a flick of his thumb, my high heel falls to the floor. “That’s nice.”

“It is,” Delilah says with a purr. “Then again, I’m one of the Monroe ladies. Monroe women never work. It’s not in our blood.”

“Of course not,” Jack says, a sure sign that he’s not listening to a word she says. “Makes sense.”

I wiggle a bit and try to yank my leg back, but it’s stuck pretty good in his hand.

“What about you?” Delilah turns her gaze my way and chooses this very moment to speak to me for the first time all night. “What do you do?”

“I’m a, uh...” A grunt sounds as I try to yank my leg back, but I’m unsuccessful. I smile at Delilah while simultaneously punching my foot forward toward Jack’s crotch. “I’m a kindergarten teacher.”

Jack’s too quick for me and deflects the kick so it bounces off his thigh. His nicely defined, very muscular thigh. My toes approve.

“Ew, kids,” Delilah says. “Not for me.”

“You don’t want kids?” Jack turns to Delilah, dragging my foot with him as his body shifts. “I want six kids.”

I know Jack’s lying; we’ve talked about this, and we both agree that three is the perfect number. Not that it matters whether we agree on such details. It’s not like we’ve ever discussed having children...together.

“Six?” Delilah wrinkles her nose and turns to Theo. “What about you?”

“I’m not interested in children at the moment,” Theo says with a huge grin. “I’m focused on my career.”

“Is that right?” Delilah murmurs, leaning across the table. “Tell me more about what you do.”

While Theo launches into another story, I slide my chair back as far as possible, but Jack’s hand cinches tighter, now easing up my calf. He pulls so tight that eventually I have to inch my chair back toward the table so I don’t tip everything over.

Then, Jack’s hands start to move. At first, I’m too stunned to say anything, so I sit and wait for whatever’s coming next. His fingers dig gently into my calf, and it’s one of the most incredible sensations. A leg rub. Why have I never gotten a leg rub before?

I lean back, arms crossed, surveying Jack. I’m not sure what he’s playing at, so I’m hesitant to show him how nice this feels. It’s no use, however, because his hand inches higher and squeezes in a way that makes me gasp just a bit, drawing the attention of Theo.

“Wine is sour,” I say, inhaling a gulp from my glass. “Carry on.”

Delilah stares a second longer at me than necessary, but eventually she’s drawn back into Theo’s stories about boy bands and their licensing rights.

I fix a glare on Jack, but it’s too late. He knows he’s won this round, and he’s not showing any signs of giving up the game yet. Sucking in a deep breath, I prepare for a counterattack when suddenly, he leans forward and murmurs for my ears only.

“Try,” he whispers. “Kick me one more time, Allie.”

I lean forward, too, oblivious to whatever’s going on around me. His eyes are locked on mine, burning with a challenge. I bite my lip, unable to back down, and send my heel crashing into his leg.

He’s faster, once again, and drags his thumb under the sole of my foot. It’s the most sensitive place on my entire body. He knows my weak zones, and he’s not afraid to use them.

I shriek, yelping as I fly backward. My knee bangs against the table, sending a glass of wine flying. It lands on Jack’s shirt, soaking him thoroughly as Delilah leaps away from the table with a look of utter disdain on her face.

“Sorry,” I grimace. “I thought a spider touched my toe.”

Delilah gives me a look that says I’m about as awesome as pond scum, and Theo takes the opportunity to move around and make sure Delilah’s okay. It seems that everyone’s forgotten who’s on a date with who here.

All I know is that Jack has asked for it, and I’m not going to let him get away with this.

“Oh, Gawd!” Delilah moans, glancing down at her feet. “I have wine on my shoe!”

“Come on, let me help you,” Theo says, tutting in sympathy. “We’ll get you cleaned up. I’ll grab some paper towels.”

“Sorry,” I say, wincing as the two shuffle toward the restrooms. I glance toward her shoes, but I can’t see a thing on them.

“There wasn’t wine on her shoe,” Jack says simply, once we’re alone. “I don’t even think she stepped in it.”

“And you wonder why you can’t keep a date!” I shake my head at him. “What was that?”

“You kicked my knee enough times to leave a bruise. Your fucking heels hurt.”

“I was trying to help you.”

“Trying to cripple me, maybe.”

“You might at least get a sympathy card then,” I snap, retrieving my fallen heel from under the table and sliding it back onto my foot. “You can’t use my weaknesses to your advantage.”

“Weakness?”

“Don’t play dumb. You know the only spot I’m ticklish is on the bottom of my foot. I can’t handle it.”

“That’s not the only place I can think of.”

My face burns at the memory to which he’s referring. That damn mistletoe. Jack Darcy had leaned in to kiss me, so many years ago, and his hand had reached for my waist. His thumb, that glorious thumb of his, had stroked the bare swatch of skin just above my jeans.

That single stroke of the thumb had turned me on in so many ways. It was the first time I’d ever felt such urges. I can still remember the thrill to this day, so intense I shiver just thinking about it. I’d shivered then, too, and Jack had felt it. We both had.

Until I vomited.

“Well, good luck ever touching me there again,” I say, and realize that statement has come out just a bit too loud. At least two nearby tables are staring unabashedly at us, and it’s all I can do not to blush tickle-me-pink and die of embarrassment. “You’re right. This was a horrible disaster.”

“You should’ve listened to me.”

“You were right,” I spew at him. “I’m sorry I had more faith in you than you do yourself.”

Jack stills, whatever he was about to say cut off by my statement. Biting his lip, he gives a slight shake of his head and looks almost disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally. He glances down at his shirt and offers a weak shrug. “This is why I worried about involving you. Whenever I pull a woman into a romantic situation, it turns sour. Apparently, you’re not immune.”

“Forget it,” I say, waving a hand. My heart is beating faster at the mere thought that I had hurt Jack’s feelings. He’s the toughest man I know, and he doesn’t crumble to much of anything. The despair on his face is too much for me to handle. “Another shirt bites the dust. Come on, laugh about it.”

“It’s not—”

“Look what I packed.” I bend to retrieve my purse and drag out the extra shirt I’d brought as a joke. “Feel like changing?”

“I thought you had faith in me,” he says, a whisper of a smile playing at his lips.

“I did. I do. This is left over from last time.”

With a sideways tilt of his head, he surveys me for a long moment. I feel him scoping me out—my hair, my face, down to my lips, then back to my eyes.

“Thank you. I’ll go once they get back.”

I nod in agreement. We proceed to wait over fifteen minutes while I twiddle my thumbs and sip the last of my wine. Jack picks at what’s left of his steak, and we mostly ignore the very extended absence of our two guests.

“Can I pay the check?” Jack finally asks when the waiter offers a dessert menu. “I’ll take it for all four of us.”

“You don’t have to—”

One look from him shuts me up. Jack pays the check, and I peer around, making sure Delilah hasn’t left a purse at the table. Neither her nor Theo’s personal belongings are here, so I stand and gesture for Jack to follow me on an evacuation attempt.

“Should we find them?” I ask. “I feel like it’s rude to just leave.”

“I have to use the restroom,” Jack says, gesturing to his beautiful white shirt, now stained and useless. “Maybe we’ll run into them. If not, I think they might have disappeared.”

I follow him to the restrooms, figuring I might as well use the ladies room while we’re here. Those four glasses of wine have to go somewhere, after all, since they didn’t end up on my shirt.

Jack turns the corner into a hallway and stops so abruptly that I run smack dab into his back.

“What the—” I freeze, first spotting the signs for Men and Women on the restroom doors, and then spotting the couple before them.

Theo and Delilah are wrapped in an embrace far too indecent for a Michelin starred restaurant. His hand is on her thigh, her dress is tucked into her underwear, and their tongues are wrapped around one another while a series of moans and grunts tell me things are much further along than I expected.

“Oh, no,” I whisper. “This is a horrible date.”

“Not for them,” Jack murmurs. “Come on, Allie.”

Resting a hand on my back, Jack steers me through the front of the restaurant and past the crowd of prying eyes. Not only is Jack’s shirt a mess, but we’ve clearly left without half of our party, and our party attracted a significant amount of attention.

“I can’t believe it,” I tell him. “Were they about to have—”

“Looked like it,” he says, a bit grim. “I’m sorry my luck with dating rubbed off on you.”

“I didn’t—don’t—even like Theo,” I say with a hint of surprise. “So why is it annoying that he’s dry humping another woman while he’s supposed to be on a date with me?”

Jack’s heading toward the car, but appears to change his mind. He shifts direction, his hand cinching lower on my back until his arm is wrapped around my waist. My head leans against his chest as we wait at a red light.

“Where are we going?” I finally ask. “The car’s that way.”

“I thought we could walk along the beach a bit,” he says. “I could use a breath of fresh air. Clear my head.”

“How much wine did you drink?” I ask. “Can you even drive?”

“All of one sip. I can drive, but you can’t.”

“And Delilah,” I continue. “How on earth could she have picked Theo over you?”

Jack propels me forward as the light turns green. “That’s what you’re supposed to be helping me figure out.”

“Probably because you told her you wanted six kids!”

“Come on, Allie. Give me a break. I don’t know what my mother was thinking.”

“Your mother thinks you’re going to be a king,” I say, and it’s a bit slurry. “And Delilah’s going to be your queen. Like how the ancient Egyptians married each other to align families.”

“What does Egypt have to do with any of this?”

I wave a hand at him, feeling a little more wobbly than expected. That fourth glass of wine had probably been one too many, but it had given me a nice little halo of warmth to use as a buffer between Jack’s body heat and my own.

“Thanks for watching my dates,” Jack says. “I appreciate it.”

“That sounds kinky, but you’re welcome. For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re as horrible a dater as you think.”

Jack glances down at his shirt. “Is that right?”

“You’re funny, you’re handsome, you’re nice...” I shrug. “Sometimes you just say the wrong thing. But you’re getting better.”

“I never thought I’d have to change for someone.”

“You don’t, Jack. You don’t.” I turn to face him, my fingers reaching unconsciously for his. “You’re perfect just the way you are. And the right woman will appreciate that.”

“Then why all this pomp and circumstance around first dates?”

“Because these women need to get to know the real you. You deserve someone who’ll know the real you.”

“Shouldn’t they want to know the real me without me pretending to be someone else?”

“You’re not pretending to be someone else, you’re just...” I trail off. He has a very good point. “Don’t change, Jack,” I say softly. “Be patient.”

“I have been patient. I’m thirty-two. I’m ready for the right woman to come along.”

“You’ll find her. Plus, it’s not like you haven’t had some bites in the past. And you’ve had plenty of first dates!”

Jack purses his lips and shakes his head, a sure sign he’s not offering conversation.

“Fine,” I tell him. “But you know as well as I do that you can have any woman you want. You just have to find the one who deserves you.”

We walk in silence for a few minutes after this, the wind whisking around us as the waves play at our toes. I’ve long since kicked off my heels, and Jack has graciously reached over and eased them from my hands, carrying them by his side.

“What if I suck at kissing?”

“What?” I stop walking, toes sinking into the cool sand. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, Dr. Darcy.”

“You said it,” he argues. “I’ve taken women home after a first date before, but there’s never any follow up. It’s not the first date that’s the problem, it’s the next, and the next.”

“Oh, Jack,” I say with a weird, gurgling sort of laugh. “You are not bad at kissing.”

“Sex?”

“I’m sure you’re excellent at sex.”

“How do you know?”

“Because, I just...I can tell.”

Jack’s eyes settle on me. “How can you be certain?”

“Because,” I tell him, and I lean into him. “You have nice lips.”

“Teach me.”

“What?”

“You’re my instructor. Teach me how to kiss.”

“I’m not teaching you how to kiss.”

“It’s sort of your job.” Jack glances over at me, a twinkle in his eye. “And you owe me a kiss.”

“Have you ever considered the fact that there’s no follow up because you never call these ladies after you kiss them?”

Jack frowns, but he doesn’t have a response.

“Don’t play stupid, Jack. You know as well as I do that if any of these women had caught your attention, you would’ve pursued them. If there haven’t been any second dates, it’s because you didn’t want them.”

“That’s...” Jack trails off mid-response.

While he’s thinking, my mind replays something he said that I glossed right. “What do you mean, I owe you a kiss?”

“New Year’s Eve,” he says. “The first night we tried alcohol.”

“Yeah, you don’t want that kiss back.”

Jack smiles. “How about a new one?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

I puzzle on this as we walk. He grasps my hand in his, and it feels nice enough that I don’t let go. It’s comforting, walking side by side, only the moon and the stars and the lapping waves to hear our conversation. The guise of darkness covers our inhibitions, helped along by the wine, enhanced by the tingle of electricity from Jack’s skin on mine.

It feels almost romantic. Almost special, almost magical.

As if this could be real.

But it’s not, and I remind myself of this as I face Jack with an apologetic smile. “First, a kiss requires an element of surprise. Spontaneity. You know, something to sweep a girl off her feet and—”

Without warning, Jack drops my heels onto the sand and pulls me into an embrace. One of his arms grasps tight around my back, the other cradling beneath my knees as he sweeps me off my feet and against his chest. “Like this?”

“Um, yeah, I guess, but Jack!” My voice raises in alarm. “My shoes!”

“Shoes?” He frowns, as if he’d forgotten all about the heels he’d been holding in his hands. “Oh, shit.”

I wouldn’t normally care so much about a pair of shoes, but a teacher’s salary means I’m not rolling in dough, and I’d saved for three months to buy these beauties. Which means I’ll do a lot to save them. Including the ditching of another kiss from the illustrious Jack Darcy.

“Grab them!” I sound like an excitable mouse. “Don’t let the shoes drown!”

Jack kicks off his own dress shoes and begins to roll up his pants. He tosses his phone and wallet to safety before wading further in. I, too, try to hold up the edges of my dress, but eventually I wade in the ocean up to my waist and I forget all about the dress. I got the dress on sale. I paid full price for the shoes. If I’m saving one, it’s going to be the shoes.

“I thought Cinderella left her shoes behind,” Jack grumbled, stomping into the water behind me. “She didn’t go back for them.”

“Yeah, well Cinderella’s shoes appeared magically, and they were supposed to disappear at midnight,” I tell him as I lunge for the first shoe bobbing just beyond my reach. “My shoes aren’t going anywhere, except the bottom of the ocean if you don’t get moving. And I had to eat rice and beans for a month to afford these beauties.”

“I’ll buy you a new pair of shoes.”

“That’s not the point!” I lunge again and miss entirely. I splash around futilely in the crashing waves as I face Jack, a sopping mess. “Not to mention, since when do you know anything about fairytales, you romance-noob?”

“I know Cinder-fucking-ella!” He curses as a wave catches him by surprise and bowls him over. “I hate Cinderella.”

“Don’t hate on Cinderella,” I manage to gurgle before the wave hits me a second later.

I’m down for the count then, too. The water swirls over me, all salty and frigid, and it’s in that moment that a spiky object connects head on with my back. Limbs flail, I struggle for the surface and catch a glimpse of Jack’s arms waving a few feet away as he lumbers toward me.

“My shoe! Get it!” I thumb behind my body as Jack resurfaces, coughing up a lung and a half while he dives for me.

He misses the shoe and hits me instead. He’s much bigger than I am, even when I’m wearing my beautiful heels, and his force brings me underwater. It’s a full-on football tackle, and I tell him this as I’m lifted to the surface in his arms.

“I didn’t tackle you,” he says. “And even if I did...” He gives a cheeky little grin, all cute and boyish, and holds up one shoe in his hand. “Success.”

“What about the other one?”

He looks annoyed. “The other one?”

“I can’t walk around on one shoe, Jack. I’d look like an idiot.”

“I look like an idiot,” he says, glancing down at himself. “I’ll buy you a new pair of shoes.”

I can’t respond to his comment because I’m too busy properly taking in the view of a sopping wet Jack Darcy. He looks like anything but an idiot. He looks like one of those romance cover models, all sopping wet and brooding. Except instead of brooding, he’s pissed, and he directs his anger toward diving into the water just to my right and disappearing.

“Jack!” I yell, but he’s already gone. I mutter my own string of curses as I dive in after him, realizing that probably, I could’ve let the shoes drown. Better the shoes drown than my best friend.

There’s no sign of Jack resurfacing yet, and I’m doggy paddling out past my comfort zone. The night is dark, save for the stars, and there’s not a single person on shore. Probably because it’s close to midnight, and it’s technically illegal to be on this beach.

Or, probably, because only idiots go swimming in waters dangerous enough to swallow a pair of Louboutin stilettos. And I’m the idiot who chased in after them instead of forgetting the shoes and sinking into Jack’s arms and savoring his sure-to-be-orgasmic kiss.

“Jack, don’t die, please!” I yell to the white tops of the waves. “The shoes aren’t worth it.”

Jack’s head bobs above the surface just as I’m wishing for him to pop up.

“No shit,” he says.

Then he’s gone again, and I’m doggy-paddling after him like a lunatic with only the beam of moonlight to lead the way. The water pelts toward me, saltwater burning down my throat as I cough and splutter and generally struggle toward the place where Jack disappeared.

When he still doesn’t surface after too long, I shout again, waving my arms and legs in hopes I’ll get a touch of him. The night is black, the ocean is blacker, and my worry is growing exponentially by the millisecond.

“Jack—” My screech is cut off midway as he breaks through the cresting waves so close to me our chests are practically touching. “Jack,” I whisper, my heart thumping against my chest. “I’m sorry. You can let the shoes go.”

Jack winks. “Or, you could thank me.”

I gape as he holds up a my soggy, but perfectly intact, other shoe. “Oh, thank you, Jack.”

I throw my arms around him and, because the water is too deep for me here, I use him for buoy. He’s standing in a way that’s so sturdy it makes me think he can touch the bottom, so I go ahead and wrap my legs around his waist for balance. I let my head fall onto his shoulder as my breaths come in ragged gulps. I hiccup once, and then giggle.

“I’m so sorry I made you—”

“Like this?” he asks, ever so softly.

“Like what—” My question drifts off into the sound of pummeling waves as Jack’s free hand reaches for me.

He grasps my chin between his thumb and middle finger and tilts it gentle as a breeze until I’m facing him. Our lips hover just millimeters apart, and the closeness between us is so intense I shiver.

“Are you cold?” His breath whispers across my lips, smelling of fresh gum and a hint of wine. “You’re shivering.”

“No.”

“Then you’re shivering because...” Jack eases my shoes into my hands so his are free. He cups me around the waist with both of his hands. “Of this?”

My dress has wrapped oddly around my waist thanks to the thrashing water, and Jack eases his hands underneath. His thumb brushes across that erogenous zone below my belly button, just above my panties. My eyes close of their own accord, my lips trembling with a low moan. Jack groans, his thumb skimming across the thin strap of my lace underthings until his fingers curl into my bottom and pull me close.

“Allie...” He leans in, his lips a breath from mine. “You said you didn’t want me to touch you here again.” Jack runs his thumb along the same sensitive spot, sending flutters through my stomach. “Did you mean it?”

I don’t pull away. I gasp as the spray of water sprinkles onto my shoulders, but I’m still not cold. My body is burning up, soaking in the heat from Jack, despite the goose bumps covering my chest. My hands reach for his shirt, tearing open the top buttons so my fingers can play across his chest.

He watches, tense, as I inch my hands to the back of his neck, clasping there, the shoes dangling from my fingertips.

“I asked you a question,” Jack says, and this time, the words are gritted out. “Did you mean it?”

“No.” It’s no more than a breath, but it sends a message.

His hand snakes behind my head, and tugs out the binder holding my bun in place. My hair falls free, salty and mussed, as his fingers rope through my locks and press me to him.

I don’t know if it’s the fuzzy wine blanket I’m wearing, or the fact that Jack Darcy just went all Rambo hero to save my shoes. Maybe it’s the fact that his body feels like magic under my fingers—all muscular and strong and gorgeous. It could be the fact that he’s holding me, possessive, as if I’m the only thing he’ll never let go of in this world. Whatever it is, when my lips meet his, it’s a slow burn, a cautious tale that turns into a fury the second his tongue slips past my lips.

He explores with a newfound determination, his hands gripping and grasping as he tastes. I can feel his arousal pressed against me, and in that moment, I’m convinced that Jack Darcy is the bomb at sex. I’ve never been more turned on in my life, and I’m in the middle of the frigid ocean at midnight, sopping wet and almost fully dressed.

Jack moans and my insides alight with desire. The cold outside hisses against the burning lava in my veins, and I sink into the kiss as a wave splashes across our shoulders.

The water pummels us, battles us back, and still Jack holds me tighter. I move against him in return. My nails dig into his back, but I can’t find a gentler way to hold him. It’s as if this passion has been simmering, boiling, bubbling over and erupting now in this kiss.

“You taste amazing,” Jack murmurs. “I love kissing you.”

“For the record,” I say, sucking in a deep breath. “You don’t suck at kissing.”

“Thank God.”

“But hell, you need more practice.”

“I think so, too,” he says. “Can I—”

“Just shut up, Jack, and kiss me again.”

He does as I instruct. Suddenly, I can’t tell where my breathing ends and his begins. I dive back into his lips and soak it up; this is probably the last chance I’ll have to kiss Jack Darcy, and I want to remember every taste of him.

When he lowers me onto him, his erection pressing at my entrance, only a thin layer of lace between us aside from his pants, I groan and fall into him. His hand loops through my hair and pulls it back. My neck is exposed, and he leans in, tastes it, dripping kisses down to my collarbone as I lean back and press deeper into him.

I have half a mind to tell him I’m on birth control. We could get this out of our systems right now, judging by how much we want one another, but just as I’m about to say this, a wave rips over us and drags us under water.

Jack’s mouth leaves mine, and the absence is sheer pain. I need more of him, so I clutch at him, his shirt ripping as the undertow flips us around. Never once, even for a second, do his hands leave me.

Then we press through the surface again, and Jack’s got a shit-eating grin on his face. “This is a freaking disaster.”

“I guess I love disaster.”

“Me too,” he murmurs, leaning in for another kiss.

It’s in this moment, however, that a follow up crash of water swipes my shoes from my hands. I cry out and immediately regret it. I did pay full price for the shoes, but at this point, I’d rather have Jack.

He, however, does the noble thing and dives after my shoes.

By the time he resurfaces, I’ve waded my way to the shore, feeling like a sopping, sheepish puppy, as I wring my dress out. My hair is probably straggly around my face, and the cold has finally set in.

“Your shoes, Cinderella,” Jack says, extending a hand with both heels dangling from his fingers. “Sorry about that.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“Worth every second,” he says. He leans in, as if to kiss me once more, but instead he kneels, and eases first one shoe into place, and then the other. “Can I take you home, princess?”

He extends an arm and, despite the pit in my stomach, I loop mine through his. I wish our moment together had never ended. I would’ve turned into a popsicle rather than be dragged apart from Jack Darcy, but alas, reality has returned.

“Of course,” I tell him. “Thank you, Prince Charming.”