Free In the Zone (Portland Storm 5) by Catherine Gayle

because of the dim candlelight. “I wouldn’t say we’re dating .”
    “This,” he said, indicating the pair of us, “is definitely a date. At least where I’m from. Maybe things are different in Providence. Still, one more, and…”
    She took another sip from her wineglass, scowling. “You don’t give up, do you?”
    “I know what I want, and I go for it,” I said, mimicking what I’d said about her cat earlier.
    The waiter came back with our check, and Brie used that as an excuse to duck her head away from me, to try to back away from the candlelight and hide in the shadows. It was no use, though. There was no chance I could see anything but her.
    I took out my credit card and paid the bill. When the waiter walked away to run the transaction, I reached across the table and trapped her fingers in my hand. “It feels good to touch you again. Even though this isn’t anything like how I want to be touching you.”
    “Why?” she asked, her voice a breathless purr.
    “Why what?” I let my gaze settle on one of the rare places on her body not fully covered—the alternatingly tensing and relaxing spot where her jaw met her neck. Each time she tensed, it tugged her earlobe down a bit. Just enough to draw my notice, as her small hoop earring swayed gently.
    “Why do you want to touch me? Why did you want to take me out tonight? Why are you trying so hard to convince me we should be together?”
    “Because in the nearly six months since that night, I’ve hardly been able to look at another woman without thinking about you, let alone touch one. Because all I have to do is see how you dress and the way you try to hide yourself away from the world to know that the one night we spent together wasn’t enough. For you. For me. You still think the bullshit he told you is the truth. You think you’re fat. You don’t believe that I could find you sexy when all I have to do is take one look into your eyes or hear your voice or get a single finger on your skin, and I’m hard as a fucking brick wall.”
    There were tears welling in her eyes—big fat ones, building up right in the corners—but she didn’t pull her hand away from me. I traced the lines on the inside of her palm, easing my fingers up to tickle her wrist.
    “You were going to tell me you’re fat, weren’t you?” I said after a moment.
    “I am fat.”
    “No, you’re not. You’re curvy and beautiful. You’re one of the most stunning women I’ve ever known, but you’ve got a head full of lies. I want to help you see the truth. That’s why I want to touch you and be with you.”
    The waiter came back with my credit card and the receipt, and I had to drop her hand to sign the check. When I set the pen down and closed the leather folio, she’d already crossed her arms over her chest—attempting to hide herself again—and she looked off into the distance. A wet streak on her cheek shimmered in the candlelight.
    “Did you meet him when you moved to Providence?” I asked.
    She shot those midnight eyes over to stare at me but stayed quiet.
    “The asshole who told you that you were fat,” I clarified. “The one who convinced you that you weren’t good enough.”
    Brie sniffled and reached for her napkin to dab at her eyes. “He was my partner. Val.”
    Her partner. Her dance partner. The man she’d followed halfway across the country, away from her family and her home. She’d given up everything for him. I’d barely comprehended it before she was pushing back from the table and pulling on her coat.
    “Can we go? I want to go home now.” Without waiting for me, she made her way through the other tables toward the restaurant’s main entry.
    I grabbed my coat from the back of my chair and hurried after her. As soon as I caught up to her, I put my arm around her—gently, but it was definitely there. She stiffened under my touch.
    “There was something else I wanted to take you to do tonight,” I said once we got out into the parking lot,