“Now get your ass dressed so we can go.”
He opened my car door for me before he got behind the wheel and started the engine. It was a loud roar, so it was obvious he had some kind of special engine inside the vehicle. With one hand on the wheel, he drove down the dirt path, his high beams coming on automatically.
And then he reached his big arm over the center console, and his hand moved to the part of my thigh exposed by my dress, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His large fingers took up my entire thigh, Roman numerals inked on his knuckles. He gave my inner thigh a masculine squeeze as he kept his eyes on the road, maniacally possessive with just his touch.
We made it to the main road, and he headed to the center of the village just a few miles away. It was quiet in the car because he didn’t play music. He didn’t make conversation either, unaffected by the silence between us.
A few minutes later, we arrived at the village, and he pulled over on one of the narrow streets, pretty much parking on the sidewalk, like he didn’t give a damn if he got a ticket or was towed.
Or maybe because he knew no one would do either of those things.
He came around the car and helped me out.
I wore a black dress with a slanted cut across my legs, exposing one thigh more than the other, and had added a gold bracelet.
His big arm wrapped around my waist, and he pulled me close as he walked me to the restaurant entrance. “You look hot as fuck in that dress,” he said in my ear before he approached the host. “For two.”
The host led us to our table inside, a quiet spot in the corner.
Wolfe pulled out the chair for me and scooted it into me when I sat down before he took the seat across from me, an enormous man in a small chair. “Let me know if you’re cold. I’ll give you my shirt.”
“I’m okay, but thanks.” The same man who’d cut his arm just to talk to me, who’d stolen a truckload of guns from our enemies, who’d told me this date was happening rather than asking for my consent, was also a perfect gentleman.
The waiter came over, and Wolfe immediately ordered a bottle of wine for the table and a bottle of still water.
Then we looked at the menus that were presented to us. Lots of pasta and fresh seafood and pizza.
He glanced at it and seemed to already know what he wanted. Then he stared at me, stared me down like wewere in the midst of a business meeting where he wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. Predatory and obsessive and intimate. Didn’t seem to notice when the waiter uncorked the wine, poured the glasses, and left.
“What are you having?”
“Bistecca. You?”
“Thinking about getting the pistachio mortadella pizza.”
“Good choice.” He didn’t blink as he looked at me.
“Okay, we definitely aren’t friends. I get your point.”
A slight smirk moved across his lips. A small break in his intensity. “You look so damn fine tonight.”
“You always look fine.”
The smirk stretched.
“How’s your arm doing?”
“Which one?” he teased.
“The one that got shot.”
He shrugged. “It’s fine. Forgot about it already.”
“You must be in a lot of pain.”
“I don’t feel pain.”
“You sound like my father, stubborn as hell.”
