Raid (Unfinished Hero #3)(15)

Okay, maybe I wasn’t an idiot, and at that moment I knew without a doubt that regardless of how expensive they were the dress and shoes were worth every penny.

“Don’t worry about dinner,” he stated.

“Okay,” I replied.

“Order what you want,” he went on.

“Righty ho.”

Raiden chuckled.

At the rumbling, masculine sound, the area between my legs got wet.

We lapsed into silence, which was both uncomfortable and oddly a relief, seeing as I would have been more uncomfortable if I had further opportunities to make a fool of myself.

We hit Chilton’s and the valet helped me out of the car. Raiden rounded the Jeep, gave the valet his keys and then claimed me by grabbing my hand

Holding hands, I walked into Chilton’s with Raiden Miller.

The date was twenty minutes old, if that, and it already had crazily veering ups and downs for me emotionally, but we hit an extreme up when we walked into Chilton’s.

Or, for me, it was walking into Chilton’s hand in hand with Raiden Miller.

The place, no matter how expensive, was packed. I saw two people I knew at whom I smiled.

But best of all, they saw me. They saw me hand in hand with Raiden.

My other three boyfriends, obviously, I’d liked. I thought they were attractive. I enjoyed spending time with them.

But never was I overwhelmingly proud to be at their side anywhere like I was right then with Raiden.

We were seated at a two top with Raiden at my side rather than across from me. We also ordered drinks, got them and ordered our meals, all this without incident.

So my nerves were again smoothing out as I took a sip of red wine and felt Raiden’s eyes on me.

I looked at him and the instant my eyes hit his, he asked, “You know my name?”

That was such a strange question, I felt my head give a slight jerk and I asked back, “Do I know your name?”

“Yeah, honey. Been around you now a few times, you’ve not once said my name.”

“You’re Raiden Miller, Rachelle’s big brother,” I told him and, for some bizarre reason, that made him burst out laughing.

It was gorgeous, lush. It warmed me through and through, and I smiled while he did it, but I didn’t understand it.

When it started waning, I said, “I don’t get it. Why are you laughing?”

He trained his amazing eyes on me. “Rache would love that. She’s always been Raiden’s little sister.”

My smile died and I leaned toward him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be offensive.”

He leaned toward me. “Me laughin’, baby, how could you mistake that for me takin’ offense?”

Again, I was an idiot.

“I can sometimes be an idiot,” I offered as an understatement.

“Don’t know about an idiot. Do know you can more than sometimes be all kinds of cute.”

I bit my lip.

I liked that.

His eyes dropped to my mouth and he rumbled, “Like now.”

I liked that, too.

I let my lip go.

“Girls prefer to be sexy and hot and, maybe, mysterious,” I informed him, and his eyes came back to mine.

“You got the first two down, Hanna. And I don’t know about other men, but I’ve played games, and in the end found out what I won wasn’t worth the trouble of winning. Prefer to be with a woman who’s cute and shy and obviously into me. Means I can save time and get straight to shit that matters.”

What he said was nice, way nice, especially the first part, but still, I felt heat hit my face. My head jerked down and I adjusted my napkin in my lap, murmuring, “This is kind of embarrassing.”

“What?” he asked, and I forced myself to look at him.

“You knowing I’m into you. That’s embarrassing. I suppose it’s obvious, but it’s still embarrassing.”

He reached toward my hand, engulfed it in his big one and brought them up to rest our clasped hands on the table.

“Honey, get me,” he said gently, his eyes moving over my face, my hair, my chest then back to mine when he finished, “I wouldn’t have said it if I thought you’d be embarrassed about it, but bottom line, you got not one thing to be embarrassed about.”

I hoped he was right.

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Afghans,” he stated and I blinked.

“Sorry?”

“Those things were gorgeous, I did not lie, but Hanna, how the f**k do you make a living outta knittin’ afghans?”

He was changing the subject.

That was nice.

Yes, he got better and better.

“I sell in two hundred and twenty-three shops all over the US and export to some boutiques in Canada.”

His brows went up before he asked, “No shit?”

I shook my head.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered.

I nodded my head and continued.

“It was less, but earlier this year I stepped things up. Now I have a girl. I think you might know her, Heather. She helps me out, packs them for shipping. I used to do it, but with the new shops I need more time to make them, so she does it for me. I have a kind of warehouse slash kitchen over the gift shop in town. My inventory is there, she does the packing there, and when fruit is in season I make my preserves there. She hasn’t been with me very long, but she says she’s going to help with the preserves when I do them. They’re kind of…” I struggled for a word that wouldn’t make me sound like I was bragging and settled on, “exclusive. I only do them when fruit is in season so they aren’t on the shelves all the time. It ratchets up the prices and they don’t stay in stock for long seeing as most people buy them in bulk so they have them all year.”