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Dillon
Her expression freezes. I hear the little whoosh of breath that gets caught at the back of her throat.
“But kiss me like that again, and you can call me anything you want. Our father's name was Duke. Want to give that one a go? It’s all the same to me.”
“Oh, oh… this was a total mistake — I'm so sorry!” she begins to babble as she pulls away. Automatically I reach out and circle her delicate wrist in my fingers.
“It’s not a mistake, it's fate,” I tell her, leaning forward so she can hear me over the cute little guinea pig noises that she's making. I love this dismay she's got on her features. It is the first real expression I've seen among all the others she’s been trying out. It’s sort of nice to watch the façade crumble.
“I'm not supposed to be with you!” she yelps.
“Fate would seem to have other ideas.”
She keeps trying to pull back, but it takes almost no effort to keep her here. I'm not even squeezing or anything, I promise. She's just not strong enough to break away. I'm not sure she's really even trying very hard.
“Mr. Riordan? Your Yamazakis. Neat,” the waiter says, politely ignoring Bella’s escape attempt as he slides the glasses onto the table.
“You’re in for a treat,” I confide. “If you’re accustomed to American whiskeys, I think you’ll find this much more complex, more like a scotch. Tell me what you think.”
“No!” she objects, her dark eyelashes fluttering wildly. “You don't understand, I'm not supposed to be with you!”
“What are we drinking?” Emmet asks, appearing suddenly between us. He pulls out a chair and unbuttons his coat before dropping into the third seat.
“Yamazaki for you also, Mr. Riordan?” asks the waiter, almost hiding his smirk.
He nods, distracted by Bella. His eyes slide up and down her bare arms, circling the pit of her throat where her pulse is vibrating.
“She just kissed me,” I shrug.
I feel her kick me under the table, but her shoe barely grazes my trousers.
“You're not very good at trying to damage my possessions,” I smile at her. “First the car, now the shoes? Maybe you should quit it.”
“Any good?” Emmet asks. “The kiss, I mean.”
“Oh, quite all right, for a first one.” I can’t keep the grin off of my face.
“Oh my God, stop it!” she hisses, trying to keep her voice low. I watch her eyes dart to every corner of the room as she tries to figure out how many people can see this. It's a lot.
Slowly I let my tongue drift over my bottom lip and then rake it with my upper teeth. I can still taste her. It’s sort of a vanilla flavor, like a piece of cake. Or a cookie.
“You know what, pretty good!” I have to admit. “I’ll need to try again to know for sure.”
“I didn't mean to!” she whispers urgently. “It was a mistake!”
“Actually, she practically sat in my lap,” I shrug.
“Stop it!” she snarls at me. Her eyes flash dangerously under those perfectly arched eyebrows. “I didn't… I mean, I thought he was you!”
“It's not a big deal,” Emmet shrugs. “Kiss him all you want. We like to share.”
“No!” she pushes herself back from the table.
I release her wrist since I figure I'll get it back again in a little while, and it's going to feel great. Her eyes dart back and forth between us. It looks like she's figuring out which one of us she wants to yell at. Her composure is wilting, dissolving around her like she’s becoming disrobed, layer by layer. I can’t look away.
“You were late!” she accuses Emmet.
“Hannah said eight o'clock.”
