Bernadette peered through the diaphanous curtains of her parents’ living room, watching the sleek, silver sedan pull into the cul-de-sac of their house. She called out a quick goodbye and let herself out of the house before questions could be asked. She was thirty-five years old, and her parents could be incessant with questions even still. Where was she going, who was it with?

This meetup with Connall wasn’t something she wanted to share. If Connall knew her father, then there was zero chance she’d bring it up with him. Her father’s work life was something she normally tried to stay far away from—except that recent happenings with her work in Montana had made it necessary to come to him, on hands and knees, begging for legal assistance. No need to muddy his support by bringing up work acquaintances who may or may not piss him off.

The inside of the silver sedan was cool and smooth. The driver greeted her, and they took off soundlessly. Whoever Connall was, he had money. And though she’d thought her little jaunt to Seattle would be pure business, this unexpected, luxurious diversion didn’t hurt.

“I’m in the car,” she texted to Connall. They’d been sending regular messages, far more frequently than anyone else she’d known for so little time.

“Buckled and safe?” His response was quick.

“As safe as I can be for getting into a complete stranger’s car.” She grinned as she pressed Send.

“This is a test, and you’re failing,” Connall responded. “Next stop: do not accept my candy.”

She giggled into her palm, watching her parents’ neighborhood whiz past as the driver took her toward their unknown Seattle destination. Connall was too handsome, too funny, and that accent. She had a whole list of things she wanted to hear him say, though some of them were better suited for the bedroom. His arms had bulged beneath the crisp work shirt yesterday, betraying biceps that practically screamed for her to grab on. Broad shouldered, blond, and with a dimpled smile, he gave shape to the amorphous dream man she’d lusted for almost her entire life.

Her work didn’t allow her to meet many men, or even many people for that matter. But Connall reminded her that if it had been a while since she’d met someone interesting, it had been infinitely longer since she’d met someone so goddamned sexy.

The driver wound through downtown Seattle, and every time Bernadette thought she could guess where they were going, he took another cryptic turn and she deflated into her seat. The sun had just begun to descend over Lake Union when the driver stopped along a treelined street, gesturing toward a partially obscured house. “The restaurant is in there. Mr. Beaumont is waiting for you.”

She thanked him and let herself out of the car, following a winding stone path up to a restaurant named Modo. She’d heard of it before, but only by reputation. It was the sort of place her father’s clients went, so of course it would be on Connall’s level.

Inside the restaurant, murmurs filled the wooden, homey walls of the restaurant. Garlic and pine hung in the air, and when she gave her name, a hostess led Bernadette through the main floor and up a staircase.

Bernadette followed slowly, wobbling up the stairs in heels she wasn’t used to. That was another consequence of her life’s work: being so far from civilization, she didn’t often get to play dress up or practice her balance in sky-high heels. The main requirements of her daily life were to wear protective clothing in the wild and climb ladders incessantly. This date felt like being in a fantasy already, and she wasn’t even seated.

The hostess led her toward a door at the end of the hallway and then swung it open wide, gesturing inside. “Enjoy.”

Bernadette peered inside, thoroughly confused. Was this a hotel or a restaurant? Inside, Connall sat in a chair, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows encasing two entire sides of the private room. A small table set for two glowed with candlelight in the middle of the room. Connall turned to greet her as she stepped inside, gasping softly at the view.

Lake Union blazed before them, illuminated in an increasing display of fiery sunset. The Cascade Mountains shimmered in the distance through the wall of windows on the other end of the room. She moved mechanically toward the table, unable to rip her gaze off the sights.

“Welcome, Bernadette.” His soft tone told her he understood the reverie of this sunset. “We’re just in time.”

She set her purse on the table and then slid into the chair next to Connall. Front row seat to nature’s greatest show. Maybe Connall was more than just a rich, sexy man. “This is incredible.”

“I hoped you’d like it. That’s why I wanted the private room. No interruptions. Perfect view. No better setting for dinner.”

She swallowed hard, watching the silky ripples cut across the surface of the lake as a breeze blew over it. The water glistened fire and metallic. “I agree. This is…wow.”

“Have you been here before?” He glanced over at her. The angle of the sun allowed a glimpse of the boniness of his nose, a crookedness she hadn’t noticed the day before.

“Never in my life.”

Connall smiled. “Maybe later we can use the telescope.” He jerked his chin toward the telescope in the corner of the room. She hadn’t even noticed it.

“Is that the candy I’m supposed to refuse?”

His smile widened. “No. You’ve already eaten it.”

A pleasant silence settled between them, one in which she struggled not to giggle like a school girl. He was too witty for his own good. And damn, was that a breath of fresh air.

Or maybe she was just starved for it out in Montana. She spent the majority of her time alone, surrounded by wolves. People only figured in when she went on supply runs or when she came home to visit. She’d engineered her life that way…but Connall reminded her that maybe she was missing out a bit.

A waitress entered the room quietly, asking for their drink orders. Bernadette cleared her throat, turning to the table to search for a menu. While she looked, Connall answered smoothly, “We’ll have the pinot noir.”

She relaxed into her seat. “Sounds great.” The waitress let herself out of the room.

“I love pinot noir,” Connall admitted, scooting his chair to his side of the table. “One of my favorite parts of living in Seattle.”

“Something in your accent tells me you’re not from here,” Bernadette mused, sipping at her water glass. “What brought you to this neck of the woods?”

“My work,” he replied. “I have a company with my brothers, though we’re originally from just outside London. Are you from here?”

“Yes, I am.” She wanted to add more, but something stopped her. Why get in deep with the details of her life and work if he would only ever be a one-time date? Her work often scared people. Almost nobody could understand why she would choose to live with wolves in the middle of nowhere. And sometimes…during the long, dreary nights of Montana winters…she wondered the same.

“Seattle is a lovely area,” Connall said, “but my job doesn’t allow me nearly enough time to get out and enjoy it.”

Ah. Another workaholic like yourself. “And there’s so much to see and do that if you haven’t started by now, you’ll never see and do it all.”

“And tonight, I was hoping we could at least see part of it from a new angle.” Connall sent her a sexy grin, one that made her thighs clench. Deprivation of interesting human companions was one thing; the touch of a man was another. For far too long, she’d relied instead on her own trusty fingers to do the job she convinced herself she could do best. But suddenly, under the penetrating gaze of Connall Beaumont, she realized she desperately wanted him to touch her. In any way he saw fit.

“This angle is certainly breathtaking,” she said softly, unable to look away from him. They watched each other for a few timeless moments, suspended in a sweet pause. Connall’s gaze flicked over her shoulder, his face lighting up.

“Here’s my surprise.”

Bernadette twisted in her seat as Connall waved in a small man in a tuxedo and carrying an instrument case in one hand. He gave a small bow and a curt greeting before unpacking in the corner of the room.

“I’ve hired one of the most esteemed violinists in the region to perform for us tonight,” Connall said in response to her raised brow. “Mr. Lucas Grisaldi, performing on a 1717 Stradivarius.”

She blinked, looking back at the violinist as he pulled out the gleaming wooden instrument. “Y…You can do that?”

“He was honored to perform for our special evening.”

Bernadette’s heart fluttered. Connall was just too good at this wooing thing. “You are something else.” She smoothed her hair back, feeling more than flustered by the planning and forethought something like this would entail. Dinner in a private suite was nice enough. But hiring a world-renowned performer? “Most men settle for a nice dinner in a restaurant for a first date.”

Connall wet his bottom lip, giving her the most heartbreakingly boyish look of innocence. “I’m just making sure you agree to a second date when I ask you.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. A second date is out of the question. She’d be returning to Montana soon enough, and besides, one harmless, exploratory date seemed the best course of action. That way, neither of them would be operating under any illusions.

Before she could respond, the warbling, woody undertones of the music began. Bernadette stilled, eyes fluttering shut as she listened. Good lord, a private performance. This was heavenly. How much does something like this cost? She couldn’t help but wonder. Connall was way beyond her father’s level, she understood now. He was like billionaire level. Somewhere far, far away from her regular life.

“What are you thinking?” Connall’s voice was firm, his gaze serious when she looked up. She blinked a few times, unsure where to begin.

“That this is the most fantastic thing someone has ever arranged for a date with me,” she whispered, hesitant to break the spell of the music. A grin twitched at his lips, just as the waitress let herself in with the bottle of pinot noir. She poured two glasses and then took their order. Nothing had a price on the one-sided piece of parchment, so she couldn’t even guess what sort of cost the evening might have. Don’t even think about it. Just enjoy this prince sweeping you off your feet…

As long as she remembered to put her feet back on the ground once the evening ended.

Their evening progressed between lighthearted banter, heartbreaking violin chords, and four courses of food so delicious that Bernadette thought her mouth might melt from sheer pleasure. Their plates featured strange compilations of meat and veggies—rice porridge butting up against kohlrabi, wrinkled grape skins hugging a medium-rare slice of strip loin—but every single thing she put in her mouth was decadent and perfect.

After the last plate of fascinating food, she folded her napkin into her lap and looked at Connall with wide eyes.

“I can’t eat another bite or my palate will be ruined for the rest of my life.” She took a healthy sip of pinot noir, shaking her head. “I won’t be able to return to the meals of mere mortals.”

Connall looked entirely too pleased with himself. “Good. You’ll be forced to depend on me for food. My plan is working.”

She threw her head back, laughing. “And here I thought you were harmless.”

“Oh no. I’m quite sinister when I want to be.” He flashed an endearingly wicked grin, reaching for her hand on the table. He covered it with his, his thumb scraping across her knuckles. Warmth shot through her, and she was glad to be sitting. If she’d been upright, she might have fallen over.

The violinist finished his song with a flourish, which left the room in pleasant echo of Bach. Connall leaned back, clapping loudly. Bernadette joined, smiling at the musician, who bowed slightly before packing up his instrument.

“Simply marvelous,” Connall said. “You made that Stradivarius weep.”

After the violinist excused himself and the plates had been cleared, Connall and Bernadette watched each other in a pleasant wine haze. When Connall suggested they head for the car, Bernadette knew this was the crucial moment. Overcome the raucous desire for more. Appreciate a nice evening with a nice man, and leave it at that.

Because if she somehow ended up sleeping with him, the outcome would either be regret or more regret. She knew herself well by now, and that was part of what made it so easy to eschew society. She fell too deeply for people, trusted too much, wanted too much to be part of an immutable partnership that would always care for her, look out for her best interests.

And unfortunately, men just didn’t tend to be able to give that to her.

Though sexing Connall in the backseat of a limo or in the broom closet of the restaurant might be memorable, it certainly wouldn’t taste very good in the light of the following day.

His personal car waited outside for them as they stepped out of the restaurant into the cool night air. She drew her shawl tighter around her, shivering when Connall’s warm hand found the small of her back, helping her into the back seat of the car. When he joined on the other side a moment later, his eyes shone in the dim moonlight.

“I do hope you’ve enjoyed yourself tonight,” he said.

“Too much,” she said, clutching her handbag tightly, as if it might help stop the swell of desire between her legs. “You’ve ruined me for life.”

His throaty chuckle rippled through her, sent goosebumps prickling up and down her forearms. He shifted closer, his heat sinking into her.

“I could say the same about you.”

“Oh?” Her heart rate ratcheted up as she sensed him leaning closer, his face growing imperceptibly nearer. One kiss should be fine. You can do one kiss only. “How is that?”

“Now I’ll never be able to engage a beautiful woman at the corporate bar again. I’ll only be disappointed.” His warm hand covered hers, sending a surge of moisture between her legs. “You’ve ruined me for life.”

The most girlish squeak-giggle she’d ever heard escaped her lips, but the dark car hid the flush in her cheeks. “Oh, please. Now you’re just being smooth.”

“Only now?” He tutted. “Pity, I thought I’d been smooth all along.”

She laughed, leaning her head against the head rest, struggling to catch a glimpse of his gaze. Passing streetlights illuminated him in flashes, quick glimpses that did nothing but make her desperate for more.

“Bernadette.” His grip on her hand tightened, his voice low, as if he was about to tell a secret. “May I kiss you?”

A gush of air escaped her, and she whispered, “Yes.”

Connall’s hand found the dip of her neck, and a moment later the heat of his mouth pressed against hers, prompting a kiss as sweet as it was savory. He was gentle, so incredibly soft and tender that Bernadette reached for him, knotting her hand in the lapel of his coat, bringing him closer.

They kissed again and again, each one deeper and juicier than the last. When his tongue pressed inside her mouth, she made a small noise, unable to sense anything other than the blazing desire between her legs, the wild need for more of this man.

When they broke apart, Bernadette was breathless. And at home. Already.

“Oh my god. That was fast,” she whispered, gazing at her parents’ house through the back window.

“Quickest fifteen minutes of my life,” Connall murmured at her ear, nipping at her earlobe. She shivered. “Are you sure you want to get out?”

She steeled herself. Of course she didn’t want to get out. Which meant that she should. “I need to get to bed.” Lamest excuse ever. “Thank you for an amazing night.”

Connall grunted softly, making his displeasure clear. “You were the most amazing part of it.”

She giggled, squeezing his hand before pushing on the door. He made her wait until he got out to open the door for her, then he bowed primly, his grin ever more mischievous and boyish in the faint lighting of her parents’ landscape spotlights.

“Sleep well, sweet Bernadette,” he murmured against the back of her hand, before he placed a kiss there.

“You are such a gentleman,” she said, not trusting herself to walk away from the car. “How rare are you these days?”

“Hopefully rare enough that you’ll consider answering my texts from here on out,” he said, lifting a brow.

She squeezed his hand. Not a chance. “Goodnight, Connall. Thank you for everything.”

And with every ounce of willpower in her body, she strutted to the front door like a woman in control of her destiny. A woman who was perfectly fine without hunky, perfectly proportioned British men who also happened to kiss like a god.

She didn’t have room for someone like him in her life.