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didnā€™t still live with my parents. If I had a place of my own, Iā€™d be severely tempted to say forget the date and simply drag this gorgeous man into my bedroom.

ā€œWell, what are you two kids up to tonight?ā€ my dad butts in, effectively dumping cold water on my racing thoughts. Nothing like a parentā€™s presence to kill the moodā€¦

ā€œI made reservations at La Rose,ā€ Chuck says, and my dad nods his approval.

ā€œFancy place.ā€ He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. ā€œExpensive.ā€

Oh lordā€¦ weā€™ve got to get out of here before my dad asks Chuck how much he makes or what his intentions for me are. Itā€™s not his faultā€”with five daughters, heā€™s bound to be protectiveā€”but that doesnā€™t make his pre-date questions any less mortifying.

I step toward the door and Chuck surprises me by draping my hand over his arm. I can feel the muscles beneath that finely tailored suit, and his cologne is rich and intoxicating. I manage to squeak, ā€œShall we go?ā€

ā€œWhenever youā€™re ready,ā€ he says, his voice low and rumbly. Damn, everything about him is sexy. Charles should have lead with that informationā€¦ although I suppose it would have been weird if he did. Hey, my grandson is a real panty-dropperā€¦ what do you say, want to take a ride?

No, that wouldnā€™t have worked at all.

Chuck opens the door for me and weā€™ve nearly made our escape when Grace calls behind us, ā€œDonā€™t keep her out too lateā€”sheā€™s got work in the morning!ā€

My cheeks turn rosy but Chuck smiles as he opens my car door for me. ā€œYour family seems nice.ā€

ā€œIf by nice, you mean nosyā€¦ā€ I say, sliding into the luxury car with its black leather seats. Sheeshā€¦ Charles said that his grandson had a decent job, but between this and the fancy restaurant, it seems more than decent to me.

When he slides into the driverā€™s seat beside me, I ask, ā€œSo what do you do for work?ā€

ā€œLuxury real estate,ā€ he says. ā€œIā€™ve got my own brokerage.ā€

ā€œOh,ā€ I say. ā€œThat sounds like a lot of work.ā€

Okay, so Iā€™m fishing a bitā€”trying to figure out why this Adonis with great hair and a bigā€¦ bank accountā€¦ needs his grandfather to find him dates. And by the time weā€™re seated in the dim, candlelit dining room of the restaurant, I think I understand.

Chuck may be chiseled out of marble, but heā€™s as stiff as a statue tooā€¦ and not in the fun way.

Heā€™s perfectly polite, and those dark brown eyes rarely leave mine, but heā€™s proving incredibly difficult to draw into conversation. We talked about his real estate company in the car ride over, and I told him about why I wanted to follow in my older sisterā€™s footsteps and become a librarianā€”because my motherā€™s a writer, our house was always filled with books when I was a kid, and reading got me through some tough, shy times as a teenager.

But Chuck just stiffens even more at that, and Iā€™m starting to think that despite the obvious physical chemistry, this is turning out to be my worst date everā€”not that thereā€™s a large pool to choose from.

It takes a while for our drinks to arriveā€”Iā€™ve got the feeling this is one of those slow, leisurely expensive restaurantsā€”and by then, Iā€™m determined to find a way to salvage this date. I will not sit here awkwardly for an entire meal, and I doubt he wants to do that either.

So Chuck doesnā€™t want to talk about his work, or mine.

He seems uncomfortable with the topic of family for some reason.

How about something completely different?

Iā€™m just about to quiz him on his favorite bookā€”Charles said his grandson was a readerā€”when Chuck surprises me. He takes a sip of his whiskey and says bluntly, ā€œI know my grandfather twisted your arm into coming out with me tonight. To be honest, I wasnā€™t so crazy about being set up, either. Datingā€™s not really a priority for me right now.ā€

I quirk a smile at him. ā€œTrust me, Iā€™m not in a rush to settle down. Iā€™m twenty-three, Iā€™ve spent my whole life in school, and Iā€™ve barely even dated. Iā€™m not sure I know what I want yet.ā€

But I wouldnā€™t be at all surprised if what I want ends up looking exactly like Chuck. Smoldering eyes and all.

ā€œThis place was perhaps too romantic for a blind date,ā€ he confesses, looking discreetly around at the other tables. ā€œLook at all these lovebirds.ā€

ā€œCompletely head over heels,ā€ I agree, taking in the many couples seated around us. I have to admit, if only to myself, that itā€™s sweet how absorbed in each other they all seem to be.

ā€œWhat do you think theyā€™re talking about?ā€ Chuck asks, nodding in the direction of a nicely dressed couple a few tables over who seem seconds away from lunging across the table and swallowing each otherā€™s tongues.

I laugh, and realize this is as animated as Chuck has been since we left my house. I decide to take a risk.

I lean forward and lower my voice as I say, ā€œI think heā€™s saying heā€™d like to eat her pussy for dessert.ā€

4

Chuck

Iā€™m damn near a spit-take and itā€™s all I can do to swallow the whiskey in my mouth instead of spraying it across the nice linen tablecloth.

Cassidy must have noticed because sheā€™s grinning at me, and I manage to regain my composure. Iā€™ve got this girl all wrong.

When I picked her up at her parentsā€™ house tonight, my first thought was, holy shit, this woman is gorgeous. In a fifties-style dress that hugs all her luscious curves, with red lipstick Iā€™d love to see smeared on my cheekā€¦ among other placesā€¦ I immediately took back my assumption that sheā€™d be frumpy or in any way a stereotypical librarian.

But sheā€™s so youngā€”five years younger than meā€”and she still lives with her parents. I have to confess I instantly got this picture of her in my mind, prim, properā€¦ innocent.

To hear her talk like that, thoughā€¦ well, sheā€™s got my

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