“Well, yes. But that’s rather deep. I meant like, my panties are red, my favorite band is Smashing Pumpkins, and my last boyfriend had a thing for toes. Silly stuff like that.”

I hum, filing the information away. The red panties I might be able to confirm or deny, but it’s more fodder for my fantasy again. Her favorite band is interesting but not ground-breaking information. And I prefer to not think about her past lovers lest my jealousy get a bitter hold on my mood.

“I think I prefer my way. I want to know more about you than superficial things, Elle.” She blinks, looking confused as if no one has ever actually taken the time to know the Elle beneath the silly antics. “And I think you’d rather know the real me than know that I prefer boxer briefs, black, Calvin Klein.”

She smirks slightly, and I know she’s imagining me in nothing but my Calvins.

But she acquiesces. “Are you really the black sheep? Are you not close to your family?”

“We’re . . . well, an ocean apart,” I reply with a very false feeling smile. “Of course, I ring home when I can, and my sister visits as frequently as she can. I think you’d like her. Lizzie’s a bit of a handful.”

“How old is she?”

“Fourteen now. I know, I know, that’s a big age gap. After me, my parents decided that two boys were enough until one Christmas party, a bit too much schnapps, a bit too much fun, and Bob’s your uncle.”

Elle nods, chuckling. “Sorry. I’m going to be laughing at some of your sayings for awhile, I guess. Do I sound that silly to you?”

“Not really,” I reassure her. “Growing up, we watched so many American shows on the telly, and of course, most of the films in the cinema were Hollywood productions. Even on the BBC. Meanwhile you’ve had to make do with the occasional side character and Masterpiece Theatre.”

Elle laughs, relaxing even more, and we cross the line from two foreigners to just two people learning about each other. Our appetizers arrive, and Elle lets me feed her a piece of tuna sashimi with my chopsticks, her pink lips wrapping around the succulent fish that’s almost the exact same color and making my mouth go dry.

I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be a fish before, but right now, I wish my name were Charlie the Tuna, Chicken of the Sea, because I’m jealous as hell of the bite she just took.

“Mmm . . . Sophie’s going to be so mad at me if she finds out,” Elle says as she chews her bite thoughtfully. “She’s my cat, and she’s the real owner of my apartment. She’s laid claim to everything, whether by claw or hairball.”

“Sounds a lot like Mr. Scruggles,” I tell her, thinking of my family’s old cat. “He’s at least twelve years old by now and fancies himself the right lord of the manor. Woe to those who dare to deny Mr. Scruggles anything he wishes. In fact, the only one of us who can control that Siamese terror is Lizzie.”

Elle tilts her head, smiling. “You really love your little sister, don’t you?”

“That obvious, huh?”

Elle nods. “What about your brother?”

A sour mood washes through me. “What’s the word you used today? About Tom?” I rack my brain for a moment, searching for the odd term. “Douche canoe. That’s it. My brother’s a douche canoe. We’re not close.”

She laughs but hears the request to drop it. “What about you?”

“Just me and my dad,” she answers automatically, though I see her slight freeze when talking about him. She has fierce loyalty to him, something I can appreciate.

Which is the problem. As Elle tells me about the way she grew up, with Daniel first mourning his shattered marriage before committing himself to the twin goals of becoming the world’s best father as well as a powerful executive, I’m torn.

The man’s had a lot of shite rained down on his head by the world. But the whole time, he’s been an outstanding father when far too many others would have lost themselves in the nearest pint or even blamed their child.

Daniel didn’t. Which just makes it harder in my mind to know that I’m using Elle to my advantage, to knock him off balance. I’d rather him be some over-the-top villainous type, allowing me to cast myself the hero in this battle. But perhaps we’re both heroes in our rights? Or does the current situation, with Elle my assistant and my date, make me the villain?

Shit, that thought stings sharply.

“Colton?” Elle asks, making me shake my head. “You looked lost there for a sec.”

“Sorry, this stuff is hot,” I lie. “Maybe too much wasabi on the sushi.”

We finish up dinner, and the whole time I want to pull her close and taste the last whispers of ginger ice cream off her lips. It’s not until the valet closes the door that I lay a hand on her thigh. Even through the fabric of her dress and her stockings, it feels taboo in a way I can’t place. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.” The words are mere breaths, her eyes locked on my fingers.

“I’m a little torn,” I admit. “Half of me wants to pull you into my arms and give you a good snogging. The other half of me wants to be more gentlemanly and take you home. And there’s a third half who feels like a shite bloke for basically tricking you into coming out with me tonight.”

Elle blushes and leans in. “You are a gentleman. I’m not quite sure what snogging is . . . but it sounds like I wouldn’t mind it. And you really suck at math, which worries the fuck out of me, considering your job.”

I lean into her, cupping the back of her head. I move slowly toward her, giving her ample time and space to stop me, but she leans in too. I have hint of a thought that the air between us is superheated, and then our lips touch, electricity crackling from her mouth to mine.

Her lips part as I tease along the seam with my tongue, demanding entrance, and she moans as I deepen the kiss. I explore her mouth while my hand kneads her thigh, both of us clamoring to get closer to the other.

I’m on the verge of pulling her into my lap and fucking her right here in my car . . .

HONK! Honk, honk, honk!

Startled, we break apart and I become aware that we’re still sitting in front of Yamashiro. The valet holds up a finger, not his middle, unfortunately, telling the honking patron behind us to wait a moment. I roll the window down and give him an extra tip.

“Sorry about that. Got a bit carried away.”

“No worries, dude. I’d get carried away by her any chance I could too.” He grins like we’re friends but has smarts enough to not lay so much as a glance at Elle, who’s giggling and fixing her lipstick in the mirror.

I pull out of the drive of Yamashiro, not sure where I’m going next.

Home. Take her home and fuck her senseless, my cock chants.

My home, her home, it matters not, as long as there’s a flat surface.

Can’t wait that long, just pull over somewhere dark.

I wish I could say that my brain prevailed, but it’s Elle who interrupts my body’s woeful decision-making process.

“My turn now. You dared me for dinner, so I dare you . . .”

I chuckle. “No. That’s not how this works. I do the daring.”

Her glare is fiery and fierce again. I hate pissing her off, but fuck, is she stunning with that flush on her cheeks and the glint of defiance in her eyes. “It is how it works. You asked me to help you have fun, and this is how I do it. So I dare you . . .” She stalls for a moment, her fingertip tapping her lip in thought. “Let’s play putt-putt!”