God, she looked incredible. Did she have any idea? Any fucking clue how good she looked?

Odds were, she didn’t. Women like Michelle were all about their appearance. Women like Penny were about a lot more than that. About love. Compassion. Kindness. Generosity. And nurturing, in Penny’s case, since she was a mother. I bet she wouldn’t even believe me if I told her how beautiful she looked—but I did anyway.

“Thank you,” she said, and I was right. She didn’t believe me. I could tell by the way her hands nervously twisted at her side, at her quick downward glance as if to make sure her dress looked okay.

So I tried again.

Taking her hand in mine, I brought it to my mouth. I ran her knuckles across my lips, and then kissed her fingers lightly. “You. Look. Beautiful.”

The blush that rose to her cheeks convinced me that this time she heard me. And could tell that I meant it.

With her hand still in mine, I led her deeper into my office. Past the conference table. Past my desk. Past anything to do with work. And into the suite.

Her eyes were wide as she took in the dimmed lights. The candles lining the countertop. The bouquet of white roses on the table set for two. “So… I guess this isn’t a working dinner.” She didn’t sound like she minded too much.

Taking a step closer, I ran my hand across her back. “You knew it wasn’t… that’s why you wore that dress.”

I felt, rather than heard, her small intake of air. She didn’t say anything, so I knew I was right. “Dinner’s not quite ready yet. It’s warming in the oven. Any ideas of what we can do until it’s done?” I traced my fingers up and down her bare arm, feeling her shiver in response.

“No,” she said, her voice a whisper. Her eyes flickered when she looked up at me, reflecting the candlelight.

“I have an idea.”

The tremor that made her body quake was a mystery to me. Fear? Longing? Anticipation? The way she bit her bottom lip as she looked up at me made me think it was all of the above.

I maneuvered her around until she was in my embrace. I pressed her head against my chest and buried my nose in her golden hair. She smelled so good. Clean. Fresh. But with some spiciness underneath that made me crave her. “Do you want to hear my idea?”

Penny’s brown eyes were huge as she looked up at me. I waited her out, wanting to know her answer. Finally, she nodded.

“Good. Because I think that while we’re waiting… we should dance.”

The look on her face was priceless as I began to lead her around the room. She was rigid with shock for a moment, but then she relaxed against me, at least a little. It was clear she didn’t know a lot about dancing, but that was okay. I did. If there was one thing rich assholes knew how to do, it was dance. The children of socialite mothers and corporate titan fathers learned that while normal kids were learning useful life skills like sharing. Working together. And how not to be jerks.

Penny clung to me as I whirled her around, deftly avoiding the furniture. She was following my lead, but she was still rather stiff in my arms. I hoped I could get her to loosen up, feel comfortable with her own sense of rhythm. It was too bad she couldn’t drink, that usually helped relax people enough so that they became less self-conscious.

The timer on the oven dinged just as the song on the playlist ended, so I dipped Penny back in a dramatic finish, my hand supporting the small of her back. Immediately, she clutched at my arms, struggling. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

“Let me go. Please.”

She continued to struggle. What the hell? I pulled her back up before she managed to hurt herself. Once she was back on her feet, she sprung away from me. “What’s wrong? I wasn’t going to drop you.”

Good god, she was trembling. “Penny, what's wrong?”

She smoothed out her dress and then wrapped her arms around her chest as if she were cold. “I can’t.”

“We don’t have to dance. Look, dinner’s ready. Just have a seat, and I’ll get you some wi—I mean, water.”

She backed away. “No, I mean I can’t do this. All of this.” She gestured at the flowers, the candles. “This is a date.”

We’d already established that, hadn’t we? I looked at her quizzically. She was really upset. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what I’d done wrong.

Penny took a deep breath and looked up at me. She was still backing away, but at least she was making eye contact. “I’m sorry. I thought I could do this. Be here, with you. I thought I could, but I’m not ready. I just can’t.”

I was beginning to get the gist, and it was depressing as hell. But still, there had to be some reason. Something had changed. She’d been happy to see me when she got here—I was sure of it. “Okay,” I said. “I understand. Can I drive you home? You’re upset.”

She blinked at me for a minute and then shook her head. “I can drive. But thanks.” Her voice sounded stronger now. More normal, less panicky. Which was good, but it didn’t bode well that she was thinking more rationally now—and still wanted to leave.

Helplessly, I watched her walk to the door to the hallway. Once she had her fingers on the handle, she turned back to look at me. “I’m really sorry, Blake.” She seemed to mean, it too. Enough so that I thought it safe to ask her the thing I really needed to know.

“Can you tell me why?”

She hesitated, and for a moment I thought she wasn’t going to answer. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. “The last man I danced with was Zoe’s father. He’s gone now, and I thought I’d moved past him—but I haven’t. I’m sorry.

The handle turned, the door opened, and she was gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Thoughts about her asshole ex who’d left her, but he’d also given her the most valuable thing in the world—her little girl.

How the hell could I compete with that?