“I’d be happy to help if you want.” He laid out a basket of bread and grabbed a bowl of salad from the fridge.
“When did you make that?” she asked.
“I didn’t.”
The oven dinged, and Dane went to check up on the meat. Soon he came back with two plates of steak.
He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to her mouth. The feel of his lips on hers sent a zing through her body. Before she could do more than gasp, he pulled back. “Happy birthday, Sophia.”
He placed a plate in front of her, and she shook herself mentally. “How did you know?” she asked, her voice scratchy.
“The HR file. Surprised you haven’t said anything about it.”
“I didn’t even realize.”
He gave her a skeptical look. “You’re still young enough for birthdays to be special. You just don’t want to remember.”
Wow. Talk about hitting the bull’s eye. “What’s so special about it?” she said, trying to act nonchalant. “Today’s just like any other day.”
The only person who’d ever bothered to remember had been Chad. She’d preferred to focus on her training or something—anything to distract herself on the day that reminded her how insignificant she was to her parents. Competitions always came first, of course, but other skaters at the rink had still gotten presents from their parents or spent time with them. Not her.
She didn’t have to turn on the phone to know Betsy hadn’t bothered with a text.
“Still. Thank you.” She cut into her steak. There wasn’t any fancy sauce, and the seasoning consisted of simple salt and pepper. But the meat was tender and juicy, and nothing got in the way of its natural flavor. “This is excellent.”
“It’s one of the few things I can make well.”
“You don’t strike me as the domestic type.”
“I’m not, but there are times I want to eat alone, and I absolutely despise birthday meals in restaurants.”
She watched him over the rim of her glass. “You don’t like the production. The waiters all singing.”
“If I want to hear people sing something they don’t believe, I prefer to spend my money on people who can sing well.”
“I don’t like it either.”
“Not for the same reasons,” he mused. “I’d say you don’t like the attention.”
Another point for Dane. “You’re right.”
“It’s a bit surprising, actually.”
“Why?”
“Most women love being in the spotlight. At least for a day.”
“Spotlights are hot. And overrated. Might as well tattoo ‘stalk me’ on my forehead.” She knew the price of fame all too well. She took a slow sip of her drink. “It’s interesting how nice and charming you can be.”
“Nice and charming? Oh, good.” Dane actually looked slightly gratified. “I wasn’t sure if I was pulling it off. I never had to be either. Men only care about what I can do for their careers, and women are only interested in what I can buy them. I could look like a cross between Quasimodo and a rabid hyena, and women would still want me.”
His words were flat, almost factual, like he was reading the label of an aspirin bottle. But a corner of his mouth curled, his eyes hooded.
She reached over and held his hand. “I’d treat you the same even if you didn’t have any money at all.”
* * *
Dane looked down. Sophia’s hand was much smaller than his, and much more delicate, but somehow it seemed to be more powerful. “I know.”
What was it about this woman that made him believe? If anybody else had said it, he would’ve laughed in their face for the obvious lie.
He’d never felt any compulsion to go out of his way to care for someone. He’d watched over his siblings because that had been Shirley’s wish. He’d made sure Salazar didn’t kill himself with booze over the divorce because, again, Shirley had wanted it. But he’d never, ever felt the innate need to think of someone until Sophia. Maybe that was the reason he hadn’t been able to shrug it off when Salazar had acted like he and Sophia were an item.
And Dane still didn’t know what to do about the fact that she made him want to be sweeter and gentler, two things he considered pointless and had sworn he’d never be. But when Sophia softened her gaze or held his hand or smiled at him, everything inside him warmed. It wasn’t just sexual—he knew how he felt when he wanted sex. This was far more complex.
He shook himself mentally.
Life was far simpler and easier to compartmentalize when he dealt with facts and numbers. Seeking approval and acceptance from others was the surest way to living in a kind of hell. He’d wasted the first six years of his life on that sort of thing, and he didn’t plan on repeating the mistake.