Dana Bell: The Wallflower

She rolled her eyes at him over her shoulder. “It’s not like this is a date, Max.” She flipped her ponytail back over her shoulder with a defiant flick of her wrist. “It’s more like a kidnapping. With food.”

He had to press his lips together to keep from laughing out loud. “Do you want my help with Simon and Becky, or not?”

“At the rate they’re going we’ll be ninety before they get together, so, yeah, anything that will help speed that up would be good.”

He managed to reach the door before she did, opening it up and placing a hand at the small of her back

as she sailed through. He kept that hand there, reveling in the feel of her strong, sleek back as he maneuvered her towards the hostess.

“Max! Wonderful to see you.”

Max smiled what he called his social smile at Belinda Campbell, hostess at Noah’s. He ignored her curious stare with ease, all of his attention focused on the woman beneath his hand.

“Table for two, Belinda.”

“Coming right up, Max.” Her full red lips curled up with a hint of contempt. “Business dinner, Max?”

Max looked up at Belinda through his lashes, his eyes flashing briefly gold in warning. “Pleasure.”

Just as Emma said, “Business.”

Max turned his attention back to Emma, noted the way her chin was tilted, and grinned. She was still pissed off about being “kidnapped”. “Perhaps both.”

Belinda’s brows rose in disbelief as she gathered their menus. “Right this way.”

As she sashayed across the restaurant to Max’s preferred table, Emma whispered, “Gee, I get the feeling she doesn’t like me.”

“I wouldn’t worry about whether or not Belinda likes you,” Max whispered back as he helped her out of her light jacket and assisted her into her chair. Bending over, he whispered into her ear, delighted when she shivered. “Worry about whether or not I like you.”

He sat himself across from her, enjoying the flush high on her cheekbones. When she cleared her throat and snapped open the menu between them, he nearly growled in frustration. Watching her face, her expressions, the way her eyes lit up or went dreamy, was becoming an obsession.

The more time he spent with her, the more she fascinated him. She amused him with her wit, aroused him with a glance, frustrated him with her avoidance, and forced him to deal with her in a way very few people could. When he’d used his power to force an answer out of her in that alley, she’d actually walked away from him, back turned, head held high.

He still couldn’t decide if he wanted to fuck her or spank her for that.

If he played his cards right, he’d get to do both.

“So, the seafood alfredo is supposed to be really good here,” Emma croaked, her eyes glued to the dinner choices on the page in front of her rather than the dinner of choice sitting across from her.

After a brief hesitation, Max answered, his tone light and easy. “I’m more of a traditionalist myself. I think I’ll go with the manicotti.” He put his menu down, then gently pried hers out of her hands. “Salad or soup?”

“Um, salad, I think.”

Max nodded with satisfaction. When the waiter appeared, he quickly placed their orders, going with wine to drink, chardonnay for her and merlot for himself.

She crossed her arms and glared at him. “What if I wanted something else to drink?”

“I thought, with your scare in the alley, you wouldn’t mind something to help you wind down.” He smiled, sensuous and predatory, nearly causing her to fall off her chair. “Relax, Emma. Enjoy the moment.”

Without thinking, she blurted out the first thing that popped into her head. “Are you flirting with me?”

He blinked, then laughed, low and soft, taking her hand in his and gently stroking her palm with his thumb. She could feel the sensation of his fingers all the way down to her womb. “What do you think?”

“I think I’ll need more wine,” she deadpanned, completely flabbergasted.

Max Cannon was flirting. With her .

When Max chuckled, she tried prying her hand out of his, with no luck. Deciding to completely ignore his heated stare, she tried switching topics. “So, how do you plan on helping me with Simon and Becky?”

She raised her brows in silent command, demanding he answer her while trying to hide the fact that her insides were melting into a puddle of aroused goo.

He leaned back with a sigh. “Actually, I was hoping you had one, and I could just lend a hand.”

“I know Simon is going to the masquerade on Saturday night; do you know what costume he plans on wearing?”

Max frowned at her, thinking. “Technically, the costumes are supposed to be a secret.”

“You’re going as Zorro.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Livia and Marie were gossiping in the grocery store while I was there.” Emma grimaced, remembering how Livia had treated her that day, with a mixture of false pity and contempt. Livia and Belinda were best friends, which meant that Livia would shortly hear of her little “business” dinner with Max, which meant Livia would be confronting her sometime in the near future. Emma sighed; dealing with Livia in a snit was never a fun time.

He shook his head. “Listening to gossip, Emma?”

His face was mockingly sad, the hint of laughter finally clueing her in. She could practically hear the little light bulb go off over her head. “Let me guess. Simon is Zorro.”

“Got it in one.”

“Wow. Livia’s going to be disappointed.” Emma tried to control her giggle, but it slipped out anyway.

“I think I can live with Livia’s disappointment.” Cradling his glass in one hand, her hand still firmly

clasped in his other, Max took a sip of his wine, looking extremely pleased with himself. “Let me guess, she immediately bought a Spanish senorita?”

“Complete with Spanish comb, mantilla and fan.”

Max confined himself to shaking his head as the waiter arrived with their food. After the waiter left, he let go of her hand so they could both eat. “So, what are you going as?”

His tone was casual, but his look was anything but. “I’m not sure. Becky and I haven’t had a chance to go shopping yet.”

Max’s fork paused. He looked at her, his face filled with unholy amusement. “I have an idea.”

Emma raised her brows in enquiry as she licked a bit of alfredo sauce off of her fork. “What idea?”

Max gazed at her mouth, his eyes darkening with obvious desire. “Hmm?”

Emma snapped her fingers at him. “What idea?”

He looked up, the heat in them nearly scorching her. “I have several ideas,” he purred. “Which would you like to hear first?”

Emma opened her mouth, but nothing came out. With a startled snap, she shut it, turning her attention once again to her dinner to avoid the satisfied male smirk across the table.

After a few minutes of silence, Emma felt like she once again had the power of speech. “So, what’s your idea?” When he looked at her like he wanted to devour her, Emma quickly clarified, “For the masquerade!”

“Becky goes as a female Zorro. If Becky’s uncomfortable with that, we can have Simon change his costume so the two of them match.”

Emma sat back in her chair, frowning in thought. “Becky’s been talking about doing a lady pirate—”

“No.”

Emma blinked slowly, unsure whether or not to be pissed or amused at the firm order. “Okay,” she drawled, “and your suggestion would be?”

“How about a saloon girl?”

Emma choked on her wine. “Um, saloon girl?”

“Yes. Simon can dress as a cowboy. Is there a problem with that?”

Emma bit her lip. “Maybe.” She latched onto the first thing she could think off to change his mind; Becky would never wear the saloon girl outfit in public! She kept the picture of herself in that outfit all the way in the back on the mantelpiece. “Becky’s self-conscious about her lack of…attributes.”