Brock told me not to bother getting too dressed up for dinner. Nothing like the dress Veronica picked out for the pre-wedding dinner, but something nice. We’re going to his favorite restaurant to spend a little time getting to know each other.

After that scene this afternoon, I’m not sure how to act around him.

After making sure I was okay, he suddenly took a step back from me, his body tense.

“What?” I asked him.

He shook his head and went back to work in the little study just off the living room.

Confused, I went up to my room and put my new clothes away.

A long soak in the tub, just like I’d promised myself I’d do if I ever had the chance, and a long nap made me feel like a new woman. I look at the bruise on my arm. It doesn’t look good. Which reminds me that I need to do something about my hands. They look like working hands. I’ll find a manicurist tomorrow.

I pick out the only woolen sheath dress from my new wardrobe. Everything we chose is better suited to Nevada weather than it is to November in New York. Low heels, thank goodness. I’m terrible in stilettos. A lot of fun I’d be in Vegas with a broken ankle. Although, I guess we could always say I did it while skiing or something equally glamorous. Do they ski in November? I have no idea.

“You’re gonna be fine,” I whisper to myself. Even though I still don’t have anything in writing and I have no idea what I’m really getting myself into.

I sit at the mirror and start to put on my makeup. What a treat, having enough counter space for it, my curling iron and hair dryer instead of balancing it all while trying not to burn my hands off. I could get used to this sort of life. Who wouldn’t?

He must have heard me coming down the stairs because he comes out of the living room and waits for me in the hallway.

The sight of him makes my heart skip a beat. He looks just as delectable as he did last night, this time wearing a black turtleneck and jacket. Black seems to be his signature color. It works well for him, setting off his eyes, which seem to glow like blue fire as he follows my progress down the stairs.

“You look…stunning.” He takes a slow visual tour of my body as he speaks.

The tingle of my skin tells me I like having his eyes on me. Instead of being embarrassed, I’m pleased at his approval. He thinks I look good. “You’re the one responsible for this,” I remind him. “I mean, you bought it.”

He shakes his head, folding his arms over his broad chest. “I’m not the one responsible. I don’t believe in a Higher Power, or I didn’t before I met you, but you’re enough to make me second-guess my belief system.”

I shake my head. “Sometimes, you’re just too much.”

“If only you knew.”

“Whatever.”

He offers his arm, and I slide mine through it before following him out the door. It feels surprisingly natural. Last night, his sense of humor shone through, but he was mainly commanding and overbearing. Tonight, he’s warm and lighthearted. Maybe Luke should show up every day and stick out his chin to get popped.

The thought of him kills my smile, which Brock picks up on right away. “What’s wrong? Are you thinking about him?”

I have to keep in mind how observant he is. I stare at him, amazed at how perceptive he is. “Are you psychic? We may as well get little things like this out of the way as soon as possible. It wouldn’t look right for your fiancée to not know a thing like that.”

“Not psychic. Just not blind.”

“You looked like you enjoyed hitting him. Did you?” I ask without looking at him.

“Honestly?”

I look into his eyes. “Of course.”

“Yes.” His jaw tightens, as does the line of his mouth. “I enjoyed it very much. I always enjoy being able to hurt anyone who would take advantage of their power over another. He’s a bully. Anyone with eyes can see it. The fact that it was you he was bullying made it even more enjoyable.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“You’re wrong about that.”

I raise my eyebrows and look at him inquiringly.

Something flashes in his eyes then he says, “I might not know your favorite song, or the name of your childhood dog, or even what your favorite food is, but I know you. I knew you the moment you opened your eyes in my bed.”

“Really, now? I don’t know how good I feel about being so easy to read. Every woman wants to think of herself as being, I don’t know, mysterious and interesting.”

“I didn’t say you’re weren’t interesting.” The elevator doors open, and he throws his arm out across the doorway to keep them that way as I step out. “You’re extremely interesting. You’re also overworked, underpaid, ambitious, intelligent, definitely stronger than you’re aware of. And you very definitely take much more shit than you deserve.”

“Well,” I say, my breath exhaling out in a rush. “You’ve summed me up perfectly.” I’m not happy about the fact that I am such an open book to him. And I don’t like his smug tone.

“I forgot one or two things.” The limo is waiting for us, and he waves Tom off in favor of opening the door for me.

“What’s that?” I ask, waiting.

He grins. “I forgot temperamental. And gorgeous.”

I roll my eyes. “Funny how that doesn’t make me feel much better.”

I get in the car and he closes the door behind me.