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“Stop fidgeting,” he murmured.
I tried to relax my hand in his, the ring heavy on my dainty finger.
He traced the stone with his finger, watching me like a hawk. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s not really my style of jewellery,” I said bluntly.
“I can see that.” He noted, glancing at my earrings. “My mother does like to show her money around. Yuliya liked it too.”
What did that have to do with me?
I didn’t like it. It was loud. The damn thing was also heavy and cumbersome, hindering me in my daily tasks with Cora. “I don’t want to wear it.”
“You’ll have to. It’s just a ring. You’d get over it.”
I didn’t like the way he brushed it off. Like I didn’t have a choice in the matter.
“It’s in the way when I am busy with Cora. I don’t want to break it.” I really didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his mother’s anger. At least not more than usual.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s stronger than you think.”
A laugh spilt out of me. “Probably more than our marriage.” I regretted the words the instant they left my lips. The anger simmering in him was no good for my heart.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” I said hurriedly. Surprise flicked through his face. For a moment, he looked like he was about to say something but swallowed it back when they arrived with the food.
We ate and spoke of everything that Cora did or will do. Even though the conversation was light, the air between us was heavy. I was having my gelato, and he, an amber-coloured liqueur, when the owner came over and whispered something in his ear. Nodding, he let him leave. Leaning closer, inches from my face, he whispered, “He is leaving. Give me a peck.”
I looked nervously at the devil in front of me. He was in a dark mood, and I was playing with fire. But the temptation was too big for me to ignore.
I put my hands on his scruff, tilted my head, and touched his lips with mine. His hand came up to hold on to the back of my neck while his other rested on my thigh. Coaxing my lips open, he waded in like a thirsty traveller seeking a river. The mixed taste of my pistachio gelato and the spice of his drink exploded in my mouth. His other hand travelled leisurely up my skirt.
Anticipation and lust washed through me.
He groaned gruffly when his hand slid through the slit in my skirt, travelling slowly inch by inch, nearing its target. When his full palm enclosed my soaking, lace-clad core, I swear I saw sparks fly high even though my eyes were closed.
Shit.
My aching core had a mind of its own and was inching itself closer, subtly encouraging him to continue. My upper thighs trembled, thrill and dread fighting next to each other. When he slipped a finger inside my slip, I bit back a moan. My muscles clenched and dripped.
What am I doing? In a public place —
I jerked violently away and fought my way out of the daze.
What have we done?
Flushed, I tried to calm my ragged breathing. We were in a restaurant. Where anyone could and did pass by. I looked around me. The judge was long gone.
What was he thinking? He should have known better.
How had that been a good representation of our damn stable relationship?
“You said just a peck,” I spat out.
“I lied.”
The audacity of his arrogance splashed me faster than cold water on my face.
“I need the loo.” I battled my way through the tables, the loud thumping of my heart overbearing above the noises of the restaurant.
