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As soon as she’s gone, I duck my head. “I didn’t see her walk over.”
“It’s hard to see anything when you’re busy shamelessly eye-fucking me.”
My face burns, but I pray the soft candlelight hides the evidence. “I was not… doing that. Someone sure thinks a lot of himself.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.” Yakov is pure amusement. I haven’t seen him this breezy in… well, since our first date.
When we first walked into the restaurant, he kept a hand on my lower back. His head swiveled from side to side, searching every shadowy corner for threats. I could feel the tension rippling off of him like a force field.
The longer we’ve sat here, though, the more relaxed he’s become. It could be because of the wine, but I don’t think so. Yakov can hold his liquor just fine. This is something else.
“Is this what you’re like when you’re off-duty?” I ask.
“I’m never off-duty.”
“But this is the way you were the night we met. I’m remembering all over again why I agreed to go home with a stranger.” I note the way he’s leaned back in his chair, an elbow resting on the table. “You seem relaxed.”
“It’s easy to be relaxed when I know you’re safe.”
My heart squeezes. “I’m safe here?”
He nods once. “You’re with me, Luna. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
This isn’t a real date. I repeat the words to myself over and over again, but they just won’t take. Not when he’s looking at me like I’m his favorite thing on the menu.
I clear my throat. “So are things with you and Mariya better than they were this afternoon?”
“If you think her not talking to me is better than yelling, then sure. Much better.”
It could be my imagination, but it almost seems like he had to blink back to reality. Like he was in the same good-date haze that I was just lost in.
“What did she say when you told her we were going out?”
He frowns. “I didn’t tell her anything. Mariya doesn’t need to know about my dating life.”
“But… I thought…” My chest tightens. I have to swallow around the pesky hope lodged there. “We’re here because she suggested it, right? She wanted you to take me out of the house.”
Yakov’s brow knits for just a second. It’s one fleeting peek at what’s going on under his surface. “I can tell her about it later.”
I want things to get better between Yakov and Mariya. They both need each other, whether they realize it or not. I want them to build some bridges and get over them, all of that.
But I find myself hoping Yakov won’t tell Mariya about tonight.
I want this to be for us and us alone.
Yakov climbs out of the car and walks around to open my door. He holds out his hand and I place my fingers against his palm.
“Thank you.” I dip my head regally as he helps me out and he pulls my fingers to his lips for a quick kiss.
I feel the brush of his lips all the way down in my toes. The only reason I move out of the way of the closing door is because Yakov pulls me forward. I stumble against his muscled chest.
“Too much wine,” I mumble, balancing on my heels.
“Are you drunk, solnyshka?” He cups my cheek in his hand.
I shake my head slowly. “No. Not at all.”
His eyes burn into mine and it’s this intoxicating thing between us more than any wine in my system that has me spouting every thought in my head with no filter in sight.
