Promise

Chapter 12: Lunch

He laughed, loud and clear, making my heart squeeze. Then, he clasped his hand over both my thighs and pulled me back to face him. The warmth of his hand seeped through my skin.

"There has never been a single day that you do not look breathtakingly beautiful, Robyn," he said sincerely. "Will you relax? It's our first lunch date, after all. Gotta make it count."

"First?"

"First of many, Ms. Hale."

"Is that a promise?"

His gaze burned through me. "It is."

His hand didn't leave my thighs the entire way there.

I made no effort to move it.

Christian's idea of a casual lunch was one of the top three most expensive restaurants in New York. In his defense, he did pick the second one.

I calculated the chances of a massive sinkhole swallowing us whole as I watched women in designer dresses and men in tailored suits breeze out of their cars in front of us. I wasn't dressed like that. I wasn't built like that. I wasn't the kind of girl who was supposed to be in a place like this with a guy like Christian Ryder.

"Christian, dio mio, I am not leaving this car," I told him, horrified.

"Well, you should have told me that before we got in line for the valet. I would have just left you in here to watch my car," Christian drawled, unbothered at my mini-meltdown.

"I am not kidding. I am not dressed for this," I said nervously, looking at my reflection in the mirror of his car.

His hand moved from my thighs to my cheek and brushed across the freckles there. "You have no idea how much I've missed these," he murmured.

"You're just trying to distract me," I whispered, my skin buzzing.

In a low, husky voice, he said, "Now you know how I feel. You distract me all the time."

Christian stepped out, tossed the keys to a valet, and rounded the car to open the door for me. He extended his arm out for me, the perfect gentleman.

Pressing a possessive palm on my lower back, he guided me through the blue-gray marble decorated revolving door. Christian ignored the group of people who were waiting in the lobby–and were now all staring at him–and walked right up to the hostess.

Still not removing his hand from my back, he leaned on the podium, clearing his throat.

"Um, hi," she greeted and flushed bright red.

Christian wasn't even really looking at her, just scanning the restaurant behind. She hadn't even had a chance to see his stunning smile, his dazzling eyes, and yet she was weak at the knees. I understood the feeling.

"Do you have a reservation?"

"Christian Ryder," he said simply. I crossed my legs. I was used to my dad and brother dropping our name all around town. But seeing Christian do it... that was a weird turn-on.

Then, dread filled me momentarily. Did he have a standing reservation here? Is this where he took the Lydia Aldine's of the world?

"Oh, of course," she blinked rapidly between us, trying to piece together our relationship. If Christian Ryder was dating someone, it would be all over the newspapers already.

Christian guided me to my seat with a hand firmly on my waist and didn't let go until he'd pulled my chair out and let me sit down.

"If there's anything I can do for you, please let me know," the hostess all but got on her knees and begged Christian, ignoring me completely.