The maître d’ greeted him with a deep bow. “Mr. Jesse, your private table is ready.”
Private table? Didn’t he just decide to bring me here? I wondered when he was able to make the reservation.
As we walked toward the secluded corner near the floor-to-ceiling windows, I couldn’t help but admire the breathtaking view.
Jesse pulled out my chair, his fingers brushing my back as I sat. A shiver ran down my spine, but I quickly masked it.
A waiter approached carrying a tray, then he poured us wine as Jesse instructed before disappearing.
I picked up my glass, swirling the liquid inside. “You do realize I’m capable of pouring it myself, right?”
Jesse leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, watching me with sharp amusement. “I do. But I prefer spoiling you.”
Spoiling me.
I almost
