“Yup. Bryan Raine. Creep extraordinaire.”
“And the third?”
I look at him, but I don’t answer. Instead I just smile and sip my wine.
I think he understands, but his expression is almost sad when he says, “You burn through men like you’re on a quest, kitten. What is it you expect to find?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know,” I say. What I want to say is you.
A waitress arrives with a bottle of wine, and after Ryan samples it, she pours us each a glass. I desperately want a sip, but before I can take one, Ryan twines his fingers with mine. “Maybe you don’t need Texas or your plan. Maybe you just need to find a man who grounds you.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “I don’t know. I make bad choices.”
“In the past, yes,” he says. “But how long are you going to keep using that excuse as a Band-Aid on your fear?”
My head snaps up. “I’m not afraid.”
“The hell you’re not. You’re afraid of me. You’re afraid of staying.”
I look away because he is right. “That’s different.”
He doesn’t answer, probably because he knows that he’s right, and my excuse is just bullshit.
I tug my hand free and then sip my wine.
“My looks are the thing that scare me the most,” I say. It’s not the kind of thing I usually share, but I want so much to be close to this man. Foolish, since I’m about to leave him, but I can’t argue with what I want.
His smile is sweet and genuine. “There’s nothing scary about your looks, kitten.”
I return the smile because I know he’s just putting me at ease. “I know you think I’m pretty,” I say.
“Beautiful,” he corrects.
“All right. I don’t mind that either because I really do believe you see me. But most people...” I trail off with a shrug. “I used to be afraid that no one saw me at all. They just saw the trappings.” I take another sip of wine. “I got hurt by a lot of guys once I realized they didn’t give a crap about what was in my head. They only wanted my face and my tits and my body on their arm.”
He reaches for my hand, then squeezes.
I shrug. “It’s okay. I figured it out fast enough. And then I turned it around. Turned it into a tool. They never saw the real me anyway, so I finally decided that if I had it, I might as well use it.” My smile is thin. “I believe in being pragmatic.”
“Maybe so, but there is no escaping reality. And the reality is that you are beautiful. It’s not a curse. It’s not a tool. I’ve seen some of the pictures Nikki has taken of you. And captured on camera, you are truly exceptional. But it’s not because you have those incredible cheekbones or the kind of mouth a guy wants to see wrapped around his cock,” Ryan says, making me smirk. “You have a light, Jamie. You shine. You walk into a room and—”
“How do you do that?” I ask.
“What?”
“Make me feel special.”
His smile is so gentle it makes my heart swell. “Maybe you are special.”
He lifts his hand, and Stephen comes over, this time carrying a flat, square box wrapped in silver paper. “I bought you something,” Ryan says to me. He takes the box from Stephen and sets it in front of me. “Open it.”
“Ryan.” I can’t seem to stop grinning, and I reach for the box and pull it close. It is a jewelry store box, so the top is wrapped separately from the bottom. All I have to do is untie the bow and lift the lid. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, is the stunning silver collar. And on the center loop, there now hangs a lovely silver lock.
Ryan brushes his fingertip against the lock. “Because I want to lock you up and keep you. Because I will always keep you locked tight within my heart. Take your pick, Jamie. Both are equally true.”
His words make tears prick at my eyes, so I focus only on the gift. “It’s incredible. Thank you.”
“Will you put it on?”
I remember what we said in the store. That wearing it would mean that I belong to him. “Yes,” I say. “I will.”
He helps me fasten it. It feels odd at first—I own a few chokers, but I don’t wear them often, but I know that I will get used to it. More than that, I kind of like the fact that I feel it there against my skin. It is a reminder of what I am. Of whose I am.
“Do you like it?”
I don’t have a mirror—I left my purse in the room—but I reach up and feel it, and I can imagine how it looks. That isn’t what is important anyway, and when I turn to him, I am smiling. “Of course I do,” I say. “It makes me yours.”
I see the heat banked in his eyes as he brushes his hand over my cheek. “Yes,” he says. “It does.”
I lean over to kiss him, but am interrupted by the arrival of the waitress with our oysters. Ryan looks at me, and the gleam in his eye can only be described as devilish. “I didn’t think to ask,” he says. “Do you like oysters?”
“I’ve never actually had any,” I admit. “Not on the half shell, anyway.”
“Really?”
“Sad, isn’t it?” I say with a woe-is-me tone to my voice. “I’ve lived such a sheltered and unadventurous life.”
“Very pure,” he says. “Very sheltered.”
I grin.
“At any rate, it’s time to add some adventure, and I do think you’ll like them. Do you trust me?”
“You know I do.” And now my tone is all serious.
He meets my eyes, and what I see in that brilliant blue warms me. “I’m very glad to hear it,” he says.
The dozen oysters are arranged artfully on a plate surrounding a half shell full of red sauce. “Open your mouth,” he says as he dips a small spoon into the sauce, then dabs it onto an oyster. “There are stories that Casanova ate fifty of these for breakfast every day,” he adds, his voice low and steady.
I do as he says, opening my mouth, though I truly don’t know what to expect. I trust him though. More than that, I want this moment.
His eyes never leave mine as he raises the shell to my parted lips. “That’s it. Now suck, and just let it slide down your throat. Oh, Jesus, Jamie, you’re killing me,” he adds when I do as he demands, then use the tip of my tongue to catch the last bit of sauce.