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His jaw flexed. "Any kids, husband, exes?"
"No. None of those. I'm very particular about who shares my space. While I haven't ruled out the idea of children, a husband is a far harder choice, and I won't have one without the other. I'm a traditionalist that way. You?"
"No." He scoffed, taking a swallow of his water. She tilted her head. "Do I seem like the type of guy interested in offering anything to a woman other than my dick? And a guy they call 'Rabid' isn't at the top of a list to play father to a kid."
"I'd argue just the opposite. I think you're very interested in offering your heart and life to a woman. You just have a lot of crap piled on top of the desire. And you'd use those 'rabid' instincts of yours to tear apart anyone who hurt her or any of your children."
She'd hit a serious nerve. His gaze flicked to her, showing her an odd flash of vulnerability before something far harder replaced it.
"Give the floor to Dr. Phil," he said. "Turning something that isn't a problem into one. What I want from a woman is an even shorter list. Want to hear it?"
She pinned him with a cold expression. "Resort to crudeness, and I'll slap your ear through your head. If you think Mommy won't spank your ass in front of everyone in this restaurant, I'd think again."
His lips parted, a baring of teeth. While his eyes fired in challenge, she let him see nothing in her own but resolve. After a weighted moment, he shut his mouth, his jaw flexing before he spoke.
"I only want one thing from a woman. That she doesn't ask for more than I'm willing to give. It's only when she does she gets herself into trouble."
"Kind of like the person who sticks their hand into a tiger's cage and then gets outraged that she gets bitten?"
"Got it in one." He attempted a casual shrug with tense shoulders. "Maybe we should stick with talking about you."
She extended her palm. "Let me see your hand."
His visage turned wary, but he put his hand palm-to-palm with hers and then deliberately moved farther up to clasp her wrist in a firm hold. It allowed her to do the same with his, so she ignored the impertinence for now.
"You're as mercurial as a bulb with a short," she observed. She stroked her fingertips over his pulse. It was pounding, a hard current. "But you know what I could be for you, Marius? The sun. Doesn't matter what kind of clouds your bullshit kicks up. My job is to bring light. Make things grow, keep you warm, tell you there's something more than darkness."
Her gaze held his. "You're not quite being the asshole you think you are, because most of what's coming out of your mouth is honest. And that's what I want. But if you want to keep pushing toward the asshole side to make this date be over, you can save the effort and say so."
"What about the concert?" he asked.
"You'll let me keep the tickets so I can find someone else to go with me tonight. I know that, because you want to be good to me. You just can't get out of your own head. So what about it? You want it to be over?"
She didn't bring up The Zone ultimatum. He wanted back into The Zone, but that night in Tyler's office, he'd shown he would set fire to his own interests to protect deeper things. While him getting back into The Zone wasn't the main reason she was doing this, she knew whatever they were confronting now was one of the big hurdles to it.
The waiter arrived as the decision hung in the balance. From the picture hanging at the entrance, she identified the handsome Lebanese man as one of the owner's sons. In the way of a well-run family restaurant, he was proprietary and proud of the food he arranged between her and Marius. Spinach puffs and spicy potatoes, a bowl of soup, a basket of fresh pita and a trio of shawarma meats on small steel spits.
"If anything isn't excellent," he declared, "you let us know and we'll fix it."
"Thank you." As she smiled at him, her focus lingered for an extra second on olive skin, broad shoulders and dark, dark eyes.
The waiter hesitated but then nodded, backing away. He bumped the table behind him, fortunately empty, before he recovered his balance and strode away.
She brought her gaze to their food. "So where do I start?" she asked. "And do we ask for a to-go bag for you?"
"Maybe you'd like to take him to the concert?" Marius asked in a tone that brou
ght to mind an ill-tempered wolf.
Regina propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. "Would you like to know what I saw when I was looking at him?"
"No."
She ignored him. "When a man catches my eye outside the club scene, it's rarely because I'm interested in pursuing him. He's another page in a book of inspirations when I imagine what I want to do to my subs. For instance, in that blink of contact with him, I imagined myself stretched out on a white sand beach on Cyprus. You're one of my slaves captured from foreign lands. You come to me and kneel beside my lounge chair, holding a tray of dried fruits, nuts and candies over your head so I can pick what I want to eat. I enjoy all your bare skin, because my slaves wear only a short tunic. Nothing under it, of course."
Reaching out, she slid a fingertip along Marius's neck. "I take my time making my choices, and your arms start to quiver. You say nothing, so determined to please your Mistress. But I know when enough is enough and tell you to put it down beside you. I tie your hands behind your back and order you to pick up each piece of food I want in your mouth. You must come and drop it into my hand, or place it between my lips, without getting yourself in trouble by trying to make that close contact into an actual kiss." Her gaze coursed over him. "I expect you'd try very hard to get into trouble, though."
Those eyes of his were like a mood barometer. Silver for anger, defiance, confusion. When he was aroused, like now, the blue in his eyes became more pronounced, the pupils even more dark in contrast. His lips firmed. She sensed something in him had both relaxed and become more tense at once.
