Enemy's Secret - Ashlee Price Page 0,28

wouldn't be able to stop.

I've heard all I need to get driving anyway.

As I cruise down the road, I'm probably smiling like an idiot.

I, Landon Storm, am the luckiest fucking man in the world.

Beside me in the car, dressed in a slightly tight black button-up crop t-shirt and blue jeans, as hot as any supermodel in a designer dress that I've ever taken out - hotter even - is Kyra.

Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, although she missed a strand. I want to tuck it in. I want to pepper the stripe of skin on her abdomen bared by her shirt with kisses.

Kyra, Kyra, Kyra.

I want to take her, right here, right now.

But first, dinner.

"I don't have anything to wear," Kyra blurts out as the skyscraper looms into view.

"Got you a little something," I say casually.

"Seriously, Landon?"

"Just stumbled on it the other day... Looked like your size."

Fuck. Why is it that those brown eyes are able to see right through me?

"What about you?" she asks.

"We can both change in the bathroom."

"I thought this was spontaneous, but... you planned this."

"It was just an idea. If the grocery shopping went well."

She holds my gaze, finally sighs. "Alright. But if it doesn't fit, I'm not wearing it."

"It'll fit, alright."

"Oh really? You're so sure, are you?"

I shrug. I'm not about to admit that I've just about memorized the shape of her.

When we hand over the car to the valet, I get out the bags of clothes, then we head into the bathrooms to change. I'm out of my old clothes and into my suit quickly enough, although I don't hurry out.

I want to see her and I don't. Every time I see her something happens to my brain. I get... 'stupid' isn't the word. But it isn't far off. Kyra always is one step ahead.

All I want to do is make her smile.

Fuck, I'm starting to sound like a fucking Hallmark card. Fuck that.

Outside, she's the first thing my eyes go to. Fucking hell.

What have I done?

"Hey," she says.

"So, it fit," I say, trying and failing not to let my eyes run all over her.

Wow. Fucking yeah.

The dress looked OK on the mannequin, but its bright red bands of material make her look like walking sex. Classy walking sex, but still.

A man with a stunner on his arm walks past, staring at Kyra. I glare at him.

That's my girl you're looking at, buddy.

"You look good," she says.

I take a breath. "Yeah, sorry. You too. Want to go in?"

She smiles, and then I have her hand in mine, and I can't tell if my pulse is racing because it's happening, we're going, or because she looks so damn happy.

That's my girl.

Inside is all red curved-ceiling, Art Deco, chandelier-filled splendor. Normally, I'd be admiring the decor, the Parisian style navy armchairs and hexagonal light wooden tables, but right now all I can admire is her.

I am a fucking idiot. I should've saved this dress for the bedroom.

I have a fucking boner and we haven't even kissed.

Right after we're seated, I order us some drinks.

"How do you know this place?" she asks.

"Dad used to have his Christmas parties here," I explain. "He'd spend as much as he could at the end of the year so he could write it off on his taxes."

"Sounds like your dad."

"Yeah," I say, eyeing her. "He always thought the world of you, though. Told me I was a damn fool when we broke up."

"Oh." She smiles a bit brokenly.

"Shouldn't have brought that up," I growl.

"No," she says.

"What about you, though?" I say.

"What about me?"

"I..." It's hard putting it into words. Especially with her looking so goddamn good across the table. "You've just changed so much. Feels like there must be a reason. A big one."

She sips her water, clearly even more uncomfortable. Looks like I'm on a fucking roll tonight. "Changed how?"

A shrug. "Sassier. Bolder."

She puts her cup down, eyeing me. "You know, I did a lot of growing up after you left me, Landon. There's... some things I should tell you."

"I know, and I was an idiot, a complete idiot." Am one now, seeing as I still can't bring my idiot ass to tell her the real reason, even as I'm seizing both her hands. "Really."

Her gaze drops to our clasped hands, just as the waitress putters up, at the worst time. "Here are your drinks."

"We're ready to order," Kyra blurts out, grabbing the menu, even though she didn't so much as glance at it earlier. "I'll