The Vivienne standing in the entrance to the Rouge’s dining room is a vision in red, the satiny fabric of her dress hugging every one of her luscious curves. I want to be that dress. No—I want to take that dress off of her, slide my hands along every divine inch of her creamy, soft skin until I find every single one of the places that make those pretty lips part, that make her gasp and tremble and never want to pull away from me.

I need to be patient. There will be time for all that.

That’s what I keep telling myself—we have time. My heart races at the sight of her, trying to will my mind into rushing through this evening, but I won’t. She has her reasons to be skittish, I’m sure.

Tonight I’m going to find out what they are.

She hesitates a moment longer, and a tuxedoed waiter glides to her side. I see her mouth my name, and the words on her lips make me hard all over again.

Patience.

The waiter guides her through the elegant tables, each adorned with a spotless heavy white linen tablecloth, each with two or four people seated around its edges, all beaming at their incredible luck at getting a reservation at one of New York's hottest new places.

I didn’t need luck.

All I had to do was say my name and the management found a table for me. Not any table, either, but a quiet table for two hidden in a private alcove with a window overlooking the river.

If Vivienne’s reservations are similar to my worries—that her reputation might be smeared by being out in public on what’s clearly a date with a man who is essentially her boss—then this alcove should put her mind at ease. She couldn’t see it from the door of the dining room. I didn’t notice it myself at first, which tells me we’re safely hidden away here.

To be extra cautious, I’ve slipped the members of the wait staff assigned to our table a hefty tip, and we haven’t even started our evening yet.

The waiter shows Vivienne to the table and swiftly disappears as soon as she thanks him. Then her green eyes are fixed on my face, and a blush rises to her cheeks.

“Wow. You pulled out all the stops, Mr. Wilder.”

“Dominic,” I correct her automatically, standing up and stepping over to her. “And this is hardly all the stops.”

The air hums with her anticipation. I move in closer, my hand lightly touching her elbow, and lean down to kiss her cheek. My reward is the hint of a gasp, a quick intake of breath that tells me she’s as much on edge as I am, as ready to be here with me as I am to be here with her.

But that’s as far as I take it, and her shoulders slink back down into place as I pull out her chair and slide it back underneath her as she takes her seat. She tucks her little purse down next to her chair and then straightens her back in her seat, beaming across at me with a sweet smile as I take my place across from her.

“I take it you like the necklace?”

The single diamond gleams above her breasts, framed perfectly by the neckline of her dress, and her cheeks go a little pinker and her eyes twinkle. “It’s gorgeous.” She leans in a little closer. “And discreet.”

“I thought about it carefully—too much of a statement piece would have drawn a bit too much attention, don’t you think?”

She considers me again, her eyes dancing in the candlelight. “You’re different.”

“Different how?”

“Different…now.”

I know what she means. Being in this restaurant with me, at least for the moment, seems to have tempered Vivienne’s snappy attitude, softened her edges a bit. The energy she’s radiating tonight is more sensual than nervous.

It makes me want her more with every second that passes.

“It’s different, outside of the office.”

“Tell me about it.”

She looks down onto the finely printed menu, smiling to herself, and we’re off.

Over a glass of the restaurant’s best Cabernet Sauvignon, I ask her the first question that’s been bothering me since I saw her on the sidewalk. “Have you lived in New York all your life?”

She gives me a coy look. “Do I sound like a native New Yorker?”

“Not at all.”

“I grew up in Michigan.”

“Why’d you leave?”

She shrugs a little, cuts her eyes to the side, the stem of her wine glass held lightly in her right hand. “I wanted bigger things than a small farming town could offer.”

“Bigger things…like the Executive Support Department at Wilder Enterprises?” She seems too smart, too poised, for that to be her greatest aspiration.

Vivienne grins at me, but there’s a hint of something in her eyes that I can’t quite place. “I’m planning to work my way up.”

“That’s the right attitude to have.” I don’t want to talk about work, I don’t want to talk about the office, and I’m betting she doesn’t really, either. “Do your parents miss you now that you live so far away?”

She laughs a little. “Oh, I’m sure they do. But they wanted each of us to be independent, not clingers.”

“Us?”

“I have a sister, Delilah.”

“Older or younger?”

“Younger, by two years.” She sips at her wine and places the glass back down on the table. “Do you really want to know about my sister and parents?”

The honest answer comes before I can stop it. “No, I want to talk about you.” The grin on her face turns a little bit wicked. “What makes you so irresistible?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“That’s an easy answer.” I lean in like it’s a state secret. “It’s my fabulous wealth.”

Vivienne cocks her head to the side. “That is a plus.” She lets her phrase linger in the air for a moment. “But that’s not all of it.”

“My good looks, of course.”

“You’re very modest.”

“I don’t know that modesty is always a virtue.”

She blushes at that. “No? When is it not a virtue?”

“In elevators, for instance. Or in cars.” The charge in the air kicks up another notch, and the waiter arrives at that moment to deliver the main course. I hardly notice. Vivienne doesn’t even pause to glance down at her plate.

“You’re not being very fair.”

“How am I not being fair? You love this restaurant.”

Her eyes sparkling, she nods. “It’s gorgeous. Lovely.”

“Like you.”

She shakes her head shyly. “But when you talk about those places…”

“Does your mind get overtaken by certain…memories?”

“Certain memories…and certain sensations.”

“Sensations that you’d like to experience again?”

She bites her lip, glancing down at her plate for the first time, then looking back up into my eyes. “I shouldn’t want to.” Her voice drops to almost a whisper.

“You’re free to want anything in the world, even if other people think otherwise.” I reach my hand across the table and take hers in mine, the electricity sparking back and forth between us. “And do you know what, Vivienne Davis?”

“What?”

“I’m free to give it to you.”

I hold her gaze for another long moment, watching her imagine all the things we could do together, and then I put her hand back down. She sucks in a breath.

“But I think,” I say, keeping my tone languid, “that we should start…with…”

“With leaving?”

“With dinner.”

She laughs, and my heart sings.