21
Isabelle
For the past half an hour, Cormack, Harlow and I have been seated at an elegant Italian steak restaurant. The restaurant is a hive of bustling activity, but with the hum of conversations, laughing and cutlery scraping against plates, it's difficult for me to participate in any discussions being held across the table. The conversation between Harlow and Cormack is engaging, but it doesn't seem appropriate for three, unless you're into that type of thing.
“Thank you,” I say in appreciation when the waiter hands me a black and gold embossed menu, grateful for the distraction.I should have listened to my intuition. I’ve always known being the third wheel on dates isn’t fun.
When my eyes scan the prices on the elegant menu, I nearly fall off my chair. Every entrée listed costs more than I make in an entire day. Gnawing on my bottom lip, I ignore the pang of hunger rumbling in my stomach and order the most inexpensive item I can find on the menu. A side serving of salad.
“E per il vostro corso principale?” the waitress questions.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Italian,” I reply, praying she can understand English.
“She is asking what you would like to order for your main course,” advises a ruggedly sexy voice.
Isaac’s scrumptious aroma engulfs my senses the instant he slides into the seat next to me. My breath hitches when he leans over and places a brief peck on my cheek.
“Sorry I’m late,” he whispers into my ear. “I had some business I had to take care of.”
This is the first time I’ve seen Isaac since our ride on the Wave Runner earlier today. I’m not sure if his meeting with Henry was for the entire afternoon or if he had other business matters to attend to. I tried to keep myself immersed in the world of Kellan Kyle, but my mind kept drifting to Isaac. My views on him have swayed significantly the past twenty-four hours. More so since I’ve yet to stumble on a shred of evidence that matches Isaac to the person his FBI file shows him to be.
“Do you know what you want?” he queries, interrupting me from my thoughts.
My hairs bristle when he runs his index finger down my arm.
“Umm. . . a side salad is fine.” My voice trembles from his close proximity.
"She will have the 16-ounce steak with a baked potato and a side salad.” Isaac hands her back my menu. "I'll have the same."
“I’m still full from lunch; that’s why I ordered a salad.”
He arches his perfect brow. “The half a salad sandwich and a few slices of pear you ate at lunch wasn't adequate enough to skip dinner.”
My heart rate doubles.I may not have seen him all day, but he’s clearly been watching me.
“I can’t afford two hundred dollars for a piece of steak.” My cheeks heat in embarrassment.
His lips form into his panty-clenching smirk before he leans in intimately close to my neck. I gulp, my thighs shaking when the warmth of his breath flutters along my neckline.
“How fast can you run in those heels?”
When my confused eyes dart to his, he winks before continuing, “We either run before the bill arrives, or wash dishes with Roberto for the next week.”
He gestures his head to a gentleman sauntering his way back into the restaurant from a side alley. Roberto’s white waiter’s apron barely covers his vast waistline and is covered with food and red wine stains.
“I’ll be sure to kick off these bad boys before our dessert arrives.” I click my black pump heels together. “Hold on, how do you know his name is Roberto?”
He drapes his arm behind the back of my chair. “This is pretty; did you do something different?” He tugs on the strands of hair cascading down my back, completely ignoring my question.
I smile while nodding. “Harlow curled the ends.”
My grin enlarges over the fact he noticed the humblest change in my hairstyle. Isaac’s eyes rake over my fitted white wrap dress before lifting to my face. His gaze is hungry. It isn’t a hunger for food.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
His voice causes a shiver to run through my body.
“Thank you,” I reply breathlessly.
