“You read a lot.” His eyes meet mine. “Do you read anything besides romance?”

“I read a lot of different genres. My favorite books usually have a little romance mixed into the stories, but I read a lot of mysteries and I love paranormal. The series I’m reading right now is actually fantasy, and it’s amazing. It’s about a girl who’s grown up as a servant, and she doesn’t know she carries royal blood that has magic in it…” My words taper off when I notice he’s smiling.

“And what happens with her?” he asks, and I can’t tell if he’s really curious or just messing with me. Either way, I need to get this done and get him out of here. I don’t like that he seems to have some kind of power over me, even after experiencing his dismissal a couple of times.

“Can you just tell me why you’re here?”

“You know why I’m here.”

Yeah, I do. Unfortunately, the chemistry we have is something I’ve only read about in books and he’d have to be a dunce not to recognize it for what it was. That said, I don’t want to play the game he seems to be interested in playing. “In that case, you can go.” I wave my hand toward the door. “Because like you once said, I don’t have time for games or high school bull manure, so we have nothing to talk about and you have no reason to be here.”

“Bull manure?”

My cheeks warm with embarrassment. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, and it’s adorable that you can’t say the word shit.”

“I’m glad you think so. Now please go,” I say once more, wondering how many times I’m going to have to ask him to leave before he actually does.

“I think you know I’m not going anywhere.” He takes a seat on my sofa making himself comfortable with his long legs spread wide and his arms engulfing the back of it, making my couch that’s much too large for my apartment look minuscule.

I stare at him in disbelief, wondering exactly how unhappy my neighbors will be if I start screaming at the top of my lungs.

“We need to talk.”

“We don’t need to talk,” I deny, shaking my head, feeling like an idiot standing in my own damn house wearing a jacket over my nightgown with him sitting a few feet away like he has the right to be here. “You need to leave.”

“I’ve been single a long fucking time.”

“I’d like to say that’s shocking, but it isn’t,” I say, expecting him to react, but instead he continues speaking.

“There aren’t many women I’d trust around my boys, or trust to stick with me if shit got hard, but I swear to God the moment I saw you I thought, She’s the type of woman you should take a chance on.”

Why the hell is he telling me this, and why is my stomach all of a sudden starting to hurt?

“Then I spoke to you and got a dose of your funny and sweet, and I thought for sure I was right about taking that chance. But then I watched you sneak out of my room and out of my house without a word,” he tells me, and I wrap my arms around my stomach, trying to control the pain there as he continues. “I know it was unfair of me to paint you with the same brush as my ex, but I can’t even begin to tell you the number of times I watched her sneak out. I can’t count how many times I watched her walk away from my boys, or how I had to try to explain to them why their mom took off after she was there for a few days then suddenly gone.”

“You don’t have to tell me this,” I say, thinking I might get sick.

“I do. I fucked up. I’ve fucked up a couple of times since we met, and I hate that you’ve been the one who’s taken the brunt of that shit. I hate that my reservations about starting something up with a gorgeous, smart woman have nothing to do with her but with my own personal baggage.”

“Gareth,” I whisper, fighting back tears.

“I want to get to know you, Ember,” he says solemnly. “I want to spend time with you. I want to take you out to dinner and listen to you talk about weird scientific facts and the books you’re reading. I want to kiss you, and fuck you, and understand that tattoo you now carry around, after you tell me your reason for getting it.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” I confess, because I don’t.

“Say you’ll give me a shot.” He sits forward, placing his elbows to his knees and looking me in the eye. “Tell me you’re willing to get to know me. Tell me I’m not the only one who feels this fucking”—he shakes his head—“whatever the fuck this is between us.”

“I feel it,” I admit without thinking, and he sits forward.

“That’s good.” He pushes up off the couch and walks toward me. No, scratch that; he prowls like a predator who’s zeroed in on its prey. “I just need a shot. I just need you to tell me you’re open to the idea of getting to know me.”

God, can I do this? Can I put myself out there with him? A guy with two kids—one of whom I already know—and as he put it, an ex who likes to mess with him. I stare into his eyes as he comes closer, and that pull in my belly that exists when he’s around comes to life. My pulse starts to pound so hard I hear it in my ears, giving me my answer.

“One date,” I say, sounding breathless, and his hand comes up like he’s going to touch me.

Before he makes contact, he drops it to his side. “Do you have plans tomorrow evening?”

I never have plans unless one of my family members drags me away from my Kindle and out of the house, so I shake my head then say, “No.”

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 5:30 and take you to dinner.”

“I can meet you.”

His eyes light with humor at my offer and he takes another step closer to me, so close my chest meets his each and every time I take a breath. “It wouldn’t be a date if I didn’t pick you up, so after dinner I can walk you to the door and kiss you good night.” Before I can respond to his statement, he leans in and places his lips to my cheek then leans back to catch my eye. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening, Ember.”

I swear I hear a hint of warning in his tone as I feel the phantom trace of his fingers brush against mine while he steps around me.

I stand in the middle of my living room with my head turned over my shoulder, wearing my goofy nightgown under my coat and watch the door open then shut behind him. “Well.” I let out the breath I was holding. “It seems I’m going on a date tomorrow night,” I mumble to myself while I take off my jacket and walk toward the door.

I start to hang my coat on its hook, when the door opens and Gareth pokes his head inside, ordering “Make sure you lock this.”

Panting with my hand against my chest, I glare at him and hiss, “You just scared me to death.”

He grins then sweeps his eyes over me. “Seriously, that shit is too fucking cute for words.”

“Go home, Gareth.” I walk to the door, putting pressure on it as I place myself behind it, and I hear him laugh as I push it closed and hit the three locks.

With my mind filled with fear and excitement, I head for my bedroom. I don’t know why I do it, but I call April and tell her what happened. I tell her about Gareth cornering me at the restaurant, our argument, him kissing me, and me running off. Then I tell her about him showing up and laying things out about his ex—something that makes my stomach turn even just thinking about.