“I hope so.”
I squeezed his hand. “Well, I know so.”
He looked at me. “You’re amazing, do you know that?”
“What do you mean?”
He gestured at his food. “I mean, the guy who stood you up shows up on your doorstep out of the blue, and you end up fixing him the best damn burger he’s ever had. Are you sure that your name is Gin? Maybe it should be something else, something like . . . like . . . Genevieve.” He snapped his fingers together. “There’s a Saint Genevieve, you know.”
My breath caught in my throat in surprise and wonderment. If only he knew that Genevieve was my real name. If only he knew who I really was, a girl who’d lost her family. If only he knew how much I could relate to his pain.
If only he knew that I’d killed his father.
That last thought squashed the yearning in my chest. “I’m no saint,” I muttered. “More like a sinner.”
Understatement of the century.
But Sebastian didn’t seem to notice the dark murmur in my voice. He stood up, his hand still on mine. He hesitated, then drew his hand away and walked around the counter, coming to a stop beside the cash register so that we were standing face-to-face. He was several inches taller than I was, so I had to tip my head back to meet his gaze, my heart pounding in my chest in a way that it never had before. He stared back at me, his eyes smoldering like hot coals in his face, his features tight, and his body tense with need, want, guilt, grief, and desire.
Sebastian hesitated a moment longer, then pulled me into his arms and lowered his lips to mine.
The kiss was everything that I’d thought it would be, everything that I’d secretly dreamed it would be—soft, sweet, and utterly breathtaking. Sebastian Vaughn might be a rich guy who could have his pick of girls, but he was surprisingly gentle with me. His lips skimmed mine, his tongue slowly delving into my mouth before retreating. His fingers trailed down my arms before his hands settled on my waist, pulling me a little closer, but that was as far as he went.
His kiss and touch might have been sweet, but hot, liquid desire thrummed through my body in response, more electric than any I’d ever felt before. Sebastian was hurting because of me, and I wanted to do whatever I could to ease that hurt, to take away that pain, if only for a few moments.
But more than that, I wanted him.
Oh, I’d tried to deny it, tried to ignore and forget about it, about him, but the truth was that I was desperately attracted to Sebastian. His wit, his charm, his smile, the easy way he teased me, but most important, the way he actually seemed to respond to me. For some reason, it seemed like Sebastian could see the real me, the real Gin Blanco, lurking beneath all the many masks that I presented to the world. I’d never had that sort of intense, immediate connection with someone before.
Finally, the kiss ended, although my heart continued to pound, its quick tempo matching the emotions surging through me. Desire. Attraction. Hope. Longing.
Sebastian dropped his hands from my waist. “I’m sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair and mussing the smooth locks, making him look even sexier. “I had no right to do that. It’s just . . . the way you were looking at me . . . I couldn’t help but kiss you.”
“Don’t worry about it. What girl wouldn’t want to be kissed by a gorgeous guy?”
He smiled. “So I’m gorgeous again, huh?”
“After that kiss? Definitely.”
We stared at each other. Sebastian’s face clouded over, as if he was going to apologize again, but I cut him off by moving forward, standing on my tiptoes, and lightly pressing my lips to his again. He hesitated, then kissed me back.
I didn’t want to, but this time, I broke it off. Because if I didn’t, I knew that I was in danger of leading him into the back of the restaurant and making out with him until the sun came up, along with other, more intimate things—things that would rock me far more than a few lip-locks had.
I smoothed down his tie, hoping that he wouldn’t notice my trembling fingers and all of the emotions that he stirred in me. Finally, I raised my eyes to his again.
“Come on, now,” I said, making my voice light and teasing once more. “Your food’s getting cold. Go sit down and finish the rest of your burger.”
Sebastian grinned, then gave me a mock salute with his hand. “Yes, ma’am.”
13
Sebastian finished his food, seeming a little happier than before.
As he ate, I finished shutting down the restaurant, forcing myself to calm down and rein in my racing heart and raging hormones. I’d never considered myself the kind of person to be swept away by either pure emotion or physical attraction, much less give in to either one of them—unlike Finn and his constant, endless, shameless parade of girls—but I’d been in real danger of doing that with Sebastian. It was a bit troubling, how much he affected me. And how much I longed to just give in and enjoy everything he could offer me.
When he was done, I gathered up the dirty plates and stuck them into one of the sinks to wash in the morning. Sebastian insisted on paying me for the meal, and I tucked his money into a slot under the cash register.
Then we stood by the counter, not sure what to do.
“Thank you,” Sebastian said. “For everything, but especially for listening.” He ran his hand through his hair again. “With my dad and everything that’s been going on, I’ve just felt . . . numb the last few days. Lost, alone, adrift. I wanted to feel, I needed to feel something tonight. Like somebody cared about me and what I was going through.”
“And you came here? Why?”
He looked at me. “Because I had more fun talking with you at that dinner and then here again at the restaurant than I can remember having with anyone in a long time. I think it’s your smile. When you look at me, it feels like . . . your smile just lights up something inside me.”
My heart swelled with pleasure at his words—even as my stomach clenched with guilt.
“I know tonight wasn’t what either one of us had in mind—” he began.
“It was perfect,” I cut in. “Absolutely perfect.”
Sebastian’s eyes crinkled with warmth and gratitude. He nodded at me, then dropped his gaze from mine and cleared his throat, as if he was feeling all of the same emotions that I was.
Well, all of them except the guilt.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I’d still like to take you out on that date. If you’ll have me.”