“Welcome, Miss Paladino. I’ve been instructed to escort you to your table upon your arrival. If you’ll follow me, please.” He moves from behind the podium and leads me through the restaurant, taking a straight path to the back.
I keep my head down as we walk, my eyes glued to my shoes, avoiding eye contact with anyone. I seem to go unnoticed, and when I look up at where the host has stopped, he’s in front of a thick velvet curtain I didn’t notice the last time I was here, pulling it open so I can step inside.
The private dining area is no larger than a six by six room, with ornate sconces on the walls, flickering with soft candlelight that bounces off the soft cream color paint. There are no windows or alternate exit—aside from the curtain, the room is completely secluded.
A table for two is set with a maroon tablecloth and a beautiful candle centerpiece. A bouquet of red roses lays across one of the place settings.
“Grazie, Elijah. I’ll take it from here.” Sly steps out of the shadows on my left, his hands deep in the pockets of his black slacks, as he saunters toward me. His gaze is heated as it sweeps over my body appreciatively.
“Very well, sir. Your waiter will be in shortly. Enjoy.”
He walks out, letting the curtain fall from his hold as he leaves.
As soon as we’re alone, Sly’s lips fuse to mine, hishand cupping the nape of my neck as he deepens the kiss.
“I missed you, piccola ladra,” he groans, forcing himself away by taking a step back.
“I missed you too.” I grin, letting him take my clutch from my hands. He tucks it under his arm as I turn, then helps pull my coat from my shoulders. “I didn’t realize they had a private dining area.”
“They don’t,” he says simply, pulling out my chair so I can sit down.
“Then how?—”
“I told you I had a plan,” he explains, pushing me in once I’ve sat. “I frequent this restaurant often, so I simply spoke to the manager and asked him how I could rent a private space for us.”
Rounding the table, he wears an alluring smile. He sits down and I watch attentively as he pours us each a glass of wine from the uncorked bottle.
I try to hide my disbelief as I ask, “All this for dinner?”
He places my glass in front of me. “You deserve a proper date, Vincenza. This is the best I could do while still allowing our anonymity and privacy from the public eye. You look absolutely stunning tonight, by the way.”
“Thank you. You look handsome as well.” I subconsciously lick my lips and his eyes immediately lower.
Sly’s wearing his signature color—all black everything—but the button down he wears has a subtle off-black design, giving the shirt a visual texture and elevating it. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows and thetop has two buttons unhooked, leaving me wishing the entire shirt was unbuttoned instead.
He looks good, and the more I openly stare at him the more my core aches with longing.
“You must stop looking at me like that, piccola ladra, or I’ll lay you across this table and enjoy you as my meal instead.”
His words ignite the desire within me, setting fire to the gasoline trail leading straight to my panties. A rush of arousal floods me, and immediately I feel myself dampen, soaking through the thin fabrics I’m wearing.
“Damn it,” he groans, obviously sensing how much I want him. Something must have shown on my features—I’ve never had much of a poker face.
Squirming in my seat, I clear my throat and pick up my menu. “So, what are you having tonight?”
My eyes scan the words, but I’m not comprehending them. Nothing registers in my brain aside from the heaviness of Sly’s eyes on me.
“You,” he growls. My eyes rip from the menu and meet his. The tension in the air is palpable, practically crackling with electric bursts as we stare at one another.
Just as he pushes his chair back to stand, our waiter pulls open the curtain.
“Good evening, folks. My name is Edward. I’ll be your server tonight. May I start you off with an antipasto, or perhaps our delicious balsamic bruschetta?”
Sly never takes his eyes off me as he addresses our server. “We will take both, per favore.” His eyes slidedown to my lips again briefly. “What would you like to eat, piccola ladra?”
“Risotto, please.” I bite my lip to conceal a smile, and shift in my seat a little to ease the pressure building between my thighs. Sly notices.
“Risotto for the lady, and Bistecca Fiorentina for myself.”
