Page 115 of You Make Me Feel
Zach’s hand moves higher up my thigh.
“I run a bookshop and an art gallery,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice even. “Though the bookshop is moreestablished. I’m working on getting the gallery up to speed.”
“Art? Is that how you two met?”
“Kind of,” I admit. “The first time we met he said my taste was mediocre.”
Jean bursts out laughing. “You too? We should form a club.”
“I was having a bad day,” Zach says. “And I was wrong.” He leans forward, brushing his lips against mine. “I think you have exquisite taste.”
The woman on Zach’s right says something to him. He leans in, talking to her, acting like the perfect host he can so obviously be. He pours wine, makes jokes, ensures everybody has what they need. And I sit back and watch, his hand still holding me possessively, wondering what this change in mood means.
As Zach calls the wait staff over to remind them that one of our guests has a shellfish allergy, Jean leans toward me, his voice low and conspiratorial. “For what it’s worth, if he screws things up between you, I’m available.”
I laugh, but he’s watching me with that same mischievous glint. “That’s very kind,” I murmur. “Thank you for the offer.”
“Chicago’s lovely in the spring. That’s all I’m saying.” He gives me a wink.
“Back off, Mauret,” Zach says, shaking his head.
Jean smiles like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Then he leans closer. “If you agree to dance with me, I’ll donate to the charity. A thousand dollars.”
“Oh, okay?—”
“Don’t take less than twenty thousand,” Zach says. “He’s fucking loaded.” He rolls his eyes at Jean.
They smile at each other, like two wolves in tuxedos,circling their prey. It’s all friendly rivalry, but there’s an edge beneath it. An understanding that while Jean might play the game, Zach intends to win it.
And I don’t hate that. Not even a little.
Zach turns back to the table, answering another question from the woman on his right, but his hand never leaves mine. It’s like he’s making a statement, silent but firm.
That I’m his.
He is mine.
I glance at him from under my lashes, my chest feeling way too tight. This version of him, the one who’s confident, charming, and in control, should feel like a million miles from the man who once dismissed me as not up to standard. But it doesn’t. This feels closer. Like he’s dropped the armor and let me in.
And it terrifies me how badly I want to stay there.
A quiet flurry of movement surrounds us as the waitstaff begins to deliver plates to each guest. Mine is set in front of me with a polite smile, the scent of lemon and herbs floating up from the shellfish nestled on a bed of salad.
Zach thanks the server, his fingers brushing mine under the table. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.
Because somehow, that single touch says it all.
I pick up my silverware as he leans close, his breath warm against my ear.
“Eat up,” he murmurs. “I have plans for you later.”
He leans back, looking smug as I spear a prawn and press it between my lips like I have no idea what those plans could possibly be.
thirty-one
ZACH
I stand and watch Jean and Sadie dance for five minutes, even though I’m dying to cut in. But I won’t because Sadie looks so damn happy that Jean’s donating twenty-thousand dollars for the privilege and I’m not about to do anything to take that smile off her face.
