Maybe it would be easier to hold onto my anger and indignation if I didn’t know how good it can be when I let myself give into him. Or maybe I just don’t want him to stop.
But he does, and I can’t help but whimper at the loss. He smirks and rests his forehead against mine, his minty breath wrapping around me like a physical embrace while his hands caress my hips.
“I don’t want to leave,” he murmurs against my lips. “But if we don’t, I’ll end up tearing this dress off you. And I want to show you off first.”
My thighs clench.
“Is it still an option later?”
He gives me a wicked smirk as he reaches around me to open the door. “If tonight goes well, you can plan on it.”
“Oh, well, in that case,” I chuckle, “let’s go.”
I’m still smiling when he guides me into the passenger seat of his car, his hand on my knee for the whole drive, making it hard to think of anything except for that singular point of contact.
It’s like he has a blueprint that tells him exactly how to get under my skin, and I don’t know how to get him out.
It’ll only end up hurting me, I know that, but I can’t figure out how to stop feeling like this. Ilikethat he consumes so much space in my thoughts, not giving me room to worry about anything else. Ilikethat there are little signs of him around the house everywhere I look.
A pair of shoes next to the front door. A jacket thrown carelessly over the back of a chair. A notepad with his messy handwriting discarded when he’s forgotten about it. They’re alllittle things, but they make me think he’s planning on sticking around for a while. And that’s a dangerous thought to have.
Because when he leaves—and he will, it’s inevitable with a man like him—I’ll never recover.
He parks the car and circles around the front to open my door, waving off the valet. With my hand in his, he reluctantly tosses his keys to the kid, face looming with unspoken threats that have the valet looking like he’s going to piss his pants.
His hand scorches against my back as he guides me into the restaurant.
“Mr. Voronov,” the hostess greets with a polite smile before he can announce himself. “Right this way.” Wordlessly, she guides us through the dining room, toward a private table softly lit by a trio of votive candles.
He surprises me once more, and like the gentleman I know he isn’t, Andrei pulls out my seat for me. I can’t keep my smile to myself. As he takes the seat across from me, I seize the opportunity to take him in.
He’s wearing a finely tailored suit with a crisp gray shirt that stretches tight across his chest as he settles into his own seat. It’s a welcome sight, but I find myself missing the casual outfits he usually wears around the house.
I look at the fine art in gilded frames hanging on walls, then at the delicately folded napkins decorating the table. Maybe his jeans would be frowned upon here.
Well, that’s their loss. They don’t even know what they’re missing.
Still, he manages to look right at home among all the luxurious details.
How often does he come to places like this? It must be pretty regularly if the hostess knows who he is by sight alone.
For all I know, maybe he owns this place. He’s never struck me as someone who’s bothered with running a legitimate business for the guise of respectability, but maybe he does. Or maybe he just happens to frequent a place that seems perfectly designed to woo a date.
God, I hope he’s secretly a business owner.
A moment later, a waiter appears, and Andrei takes the liberty of ordering for us both. I could be offended, but I feel so frazzled I don’t think I’d be able to pick something for myself if I tried.
The way he’s looking at me makes my cheeks heat, and I self-consciously fiddle with my rings as we wait.
“You know, you really didn’t have to take me out,” I eventually blurt, if only to deflect from the look in his eyes that I can’t begin to describe. I cringe, hating how ungrateful I sound. “Not that I don’t appreciate it! I do. I really do, actually, I just…” I bite my lip to force myself to shut up, but Andrei leans back, looking amused. “I guess I’m trying to say thank you. That’s all.”
“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” He smirks, looking exactly like the smug asshole I should have known was lurking under his polished veneer.
“You kind of suck, you know that?” I mutter, but I’m smiling
He tilts his head from side to side like he’s considering it, then shrugs.
“Maybe, but I still got you worked up, didn’t I?” He smiles, and it softens the sharp angles of his face. The way the candlelightdances along the shadows of his brows and the scruff on his cheeks momentarily stuns me.
