What He Wants by Tawny Taylor Page B

parked. Out of habit, I glanced at it.
    The door opened and a man stepped out.
    A man I recognized.
    Oh God, please tell me he isn’t having buyer’s remorse already.
    I smiled, though it probably wasn’t one of my brightest.
    “I was hoping I’d catch you,” he said as he strolled toward me.
    “Is there a problem?”
    “No, no. Nothing like that.” He leaned against my car’s trunk, and immediately I regretted not having washed the car in weeks. Those impeccable black pants weren’t going to look so impeccable in a minute. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to dinner?”
    “When?”
    “Tonight? Now?”
    “Oh, I…” Have plans. But what the hell? “I think that’ll be okay. But I need to make a call first.”
    “Sure. You can do that while we’re driving.” He reached around me, pushing my car door closed. My nerves buzzed at his nearness. Wow, was there some serious chemistry there.
    I hit the button on my key fob, locking the doors and followed him to his car. Nice car. Black. Sleek. BMW. And it smelled really nice inside. Like leather and expensive cologne and man. He got the engine purring while I buckled in. And within moments, we were backing out of the parking spot.
    “I hope you enjoy the house,” I said as I fished in my purse for my phone. “It really is a wonderful old building. With some TLC, it could be spectacular.”
    “I have big plans for the place.” He smiled as he steered the car through the parking lot. “I hope you’ll come see it when the renovations are finished.” At the driveway, he hit his turn signal, waiting for a break in traffic.
    “I’d love to. I’m just glad the house has gone to someone who could see its full potential.”
    “That’s one thing I’ve always been good at—seeing the full potential of things…and people.” He turned his attention to me. “But in your case, I vastly underestimated you. I knew you’d grow up to be a beautiful woman. But I had no idea you’d be so stunning.”
    My cheeks warmed. “Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome.” Turning his focus back on the road, Shane hit the gas and we zoomed out onto the clogged street.
    “You know—this is embarrassing, and I don’t know why I’m telling you, but what the hell?—I had a crush on you when I was a kid.”
    His grin was charming and genuine. “Really?”
    “Really.”
    “But I was an old man.”
    “Older but not old. And charming. And nice. And you talked to me like I was an adult.”
    We pulled up to a light, and he glanced at me. “You were always mature for your age.”
    “Being the only child of my mother, it would be impossible for me to be otherwise.”
    He chuckled. The light turned green, and once again, we were humming along, zigging and zagging through traffic. “I could see that. The truth was, I respected you.”
    “Respected?” A twelve year old? That surprised me.
    “And now that we’ve reconnected, I respect you even more.” He turned the car into a parking lot. Maggiano’s. I’d eaten there before. “Is this okay?”
    “Absolutely.”
    He parked and we headed inside. We shared a plate of spinach dip and drank wine and exchanged compliments. He told me about the wife he’d lost while he’d been living in Spain (Spain!), and the children he’d never had. The joys of his life and regrets. And I told him about losing Mom, finishing school, and the bumpy start to my career. The chemistry kept building and building with each minute we spent together. By the time our stomachs were full and our wine glasses empty, I was hoping I’d get a kiss, a real one with hands grasping and tongues twining.
    Shane Trant was a hundred times more the man than my juvenile mind could have comprehended. He was intelligent, successful, charming. And he emanated a certain male power, charisma, confidence. I was mesmerized. And a little nervous, too.
    At the end of the meal, he paid the bill then led me back to the car, placing a hand on the small of my back. That