One that was alive and, oh, so dangerous.

“What about you?” she managed, proud her voice was even, that it didn’t betray her emotions or her weakening knees.

“Are you going to give me a fair chance?” he asked, his voice low, his gaze hooded. “Or are you going to keep disliking me based on my family’s name? My money?”

She smirked. “News flash, cowboy, I don’t dislike you based on those reasons. I dislike you because of your personality.”

“Maybe,” he said, not seeming the least bit offended by the idea. “Though you seemed to like me just fine before you knew how much I’m worth.”

It was true. But she didn’t want him to see her that clearly. She needed to keep some parts of herself hidden from him so he couldn’t use them against her. “Now, that’s the difference between us. You base worth on a number. I base it on how people live their lives. What they do.”

“Not on what they say?”

“Hardly. Words are too easy to twist, to manipulate.”

“Fair enough.” He reached back, picked up the envelope and held it out to her. “This is for you.”

She eyed it warily, felt herself shrinking back from it, sensing whatever was inside, she didn’t want to see. “What’s that?”

“It’s the report from the private investigator. The report on you.”

“When did you get it?” she asked, refusing to ask what he’d found out about her.

“Yesterday.”

Yesterday. The thought of him knowing about her past, about looking into her life, chilled her. “I’m sure it made for a riveting read.”

“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t read it. I didn’t even open it.”

She snorted. “Right.”

“I didn’t open it,” he repeated, his voice low and intense. “I didn’t read it and I’m not going to. I’ve never lied to you, Ivy.”

“Everyone lies.”

He nodded slowly. “They do. But I won’t lie to you. Ever.”

It was pathetic how badly she wanted to believe him. How much she wanted to make him the same promise.

But she didn’t make promises she couldn’t keep.

She took the envelope, flipped it over to find it was still sealed. Maybe he was telling the truth after all. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“Whatever you want. Burn it. Rip it to shreds.”

“I suppose now you’re going to tell me this is the only copy.”

Disappointment flashed across his features. She wanted to take her words back, but she couldn’t. “You don’t trust anyone, do you?”

“Not without a reason.”

He tossed up his hands. “What the hell do you think I’m trying to do?”

She knew. He was giving up a piece of his power—information he could have about her, about who she was—in exchange for her trust.

The least she could do was give him a small measure of it.

“Thank you,” she said grudgingly. “And...thank you...for not reading it.”

He smiled but it wasn’t cocky as much as...relieved. “You’re welcome,” he told her, his solemn tone mimicking hers. He reached out and touched her hair. Her breath caught. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

Oh, how she wanted to agree. When he spoke to her in that low tone, when he touched her so sweetly, she wanted to agree to anything he asked. Give him everything.

And that made him dangerous.

“Why?” she asked, when she’d meant to just say no.

“Let’s call it a fresh start. No preconceived notions, nothing but you and me getting to know each other.”

That was the problem. She didn’t want to get to know him. But she couldn’t show that sort of weakness. Not when she worried he already suspected she was nervous around him. “Fine. A fresh start.”

“And dinner?”

She swallowed. “And dinner. But not tonight.” She’d picked up an extra shift at the River View. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, then.” Lifting her free hand, he turned it and pressed a warm kiss to her palm. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

She wanted to curl her fingers, wanted to hold on to the feel of his lips against her skin. She wiped her palm down the side of her shorts. Licked her lips. “You might regret this,” she told him as he walked away. “I might still dislike you.”

He smiled at her over his shoulder, a confident smile that did nothing for her nerves or her equilibrium. “Or you might just find out you like me, after all.”

That was what she was afraid of.

CHAPTER TWELVE

C.J. HELPED IVY out of his rental car. He wasn’t thrilled she’d picked his brother’s bar as the scene for their dinner date, but he didn’t want to argue. Not when he’d gotten her to agree to dinner in the first place.

A major feat, that. One he wasn’t about to ruin by picking a fight.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her husky voice washing over him as she took his hand and straightened.

“You look amazing,” he told her.

She grinned. “So you mentioned when you picked me up.”

“That dress warrants a repeat.”

It was light purple and strapless, the material hugging every curve, showcasing the slight bump of her belly, the hem ending way above her knees. The dress, her smoky eye makeup and glossed lips, her loose hair—they all deserved a dozen compliments. Even pregnant, she was a goddess. Maybe more so, now that she was with child; there was an ethereal quality about her. One of fertility and sex and female power.

With a hand at her lower back, he led her to O’Riley’s door. The parking lot was full—not bad for a Thursday night—and when they stepped inside, he wondered if he’d made a mistake in assuming they didn’t need a reservation. The tables he could see were all filled, the air carrying the unmistakable aroma of tangy tomato sauce.

Did one even make reservations at a bar?

“Good thing you know the owner,” Ivy murmured so innocently he was sure she was being a smart-ass.

“I’ll find Kane. See about getting us a table.”

He hated leaving her there. For one thing, a short, thirty-something man was already making his way toward her. Not that he worried she couldn’t handle herself. He knew firsthand how well she could put a man in his place.

No, the real reason he didn’t want to leave her side, even for a second, was because he was scared she’d take off.

Spotting the top of Kane’s head at the far end of the bar, he made his way through a surprisingly thick crowd of people. “I need a table,” he told his brother. “For two.”

“Do you have a reservation?” Kane asked, exchanging a bottle of beer for cash.

“We’re in a bar.”

“A bar that serves lunch and dinner six days a week.” Kane stepped away to take another order. When he came back he sent C.J. a smug grin. “Tonight’s pasta night.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Kane shrugged a shoulder, poured tequila into a blender. “Means you’ll be waiting a good hour for a table.”

C.J. pushed away from the bar and stormed back over to Ivy. Ignoring the guy trying to chat her up, he leaned close to her ear so she could hear him over the music, the noise. “Let’s go into Pittsburgh.”

“I like it here,” she said. “Why else would I pick it?”

He knew damned well the reason she picked O’Riley’s was because Kane owned it. Because it was completely different from the type of place C.J. wanted to take her. Someplace pricey and classy and as far away from any member of his family as possible.

“Besides,” she added, “I’m craving pasta.”

And she laid her hand on her stomach.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who can test people,” he said. She inclined her head in agreement, not looking the least bit guilty about using her pregnancy to get him to stay. To get him to beg his brother to find them a table.

To see how far he’d go to make her happy.

Shit.

He whirled around, narrowly missing running into a guy carrying three drinks. “Sorry,” C.J. muttered.

He could insist on going somewhere else, he thought as he marched toward Kane, but that might give her the excuse she’d been looking for to cancel the whole night.