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“When’s the last time you had one?” I challenge.
He lips pull into a grim line like he’s figured out what I’m about to request and he’s already unhappy about it.
“If it’s been longer than seven years, you should try one. Your taste buds can change, you know.”
His dark expression remains. I happily offer my glass.
He sighs and it sounds like it comes from the depths. For a moment I think he’ll refuse. To my delight he takes the plastic skewer from my glass and eyes the bulging, dripping olives with disdain. I watch as he licks his lips and his throat moves reluctantly. Then he takes an olive with his teeth, rolls it on his tongue, and bites into it.
Convincing him to do what he doesn’t want to do is oddly erotic. I imagine him doing what he wants will be even more erotic. He chews, his expression carefully neutral. An involuntary shift of his shoulders betrays him.
He takes a long sip of bourbon to wash down the olive. He coughs and clears his throat. “God, Vivian. How can you put something like that in your mouth?”
I lift the skewer and pluck an olive with my teeth before chewing merrily. “I’ve had worse.”
Heat engulfs the space between us. Yes, the attraction hasn’t gone anywhere since our shared dinner—hell, since I first met him. He’s the last person I should entertain any kind of relationship with, but my body isn’t interested in heeding my brain’s warnings.
Somehow I know sex with him would be an unbelievably satisfying experience.
We move to the next painting. A dragon is being stabbed in the heart. The mournful look on the creature’s face makes me feel sorry for it. It’s cornered, unfairly, so the knight can have his fifteen minutes of fame.
Definitely, I relate to the dragon.
“What do you think it means?” Nate asks.
I blink out of my musings. “I’m not an art critic.”
He steps closer to me, but his eyes are on the painting. “You don’t have to be an art critic to appreciate art.”
“No, I suppose not.” I take a breath and sift through my thoughts. “The dragon lives a peaceful life in a cave but there are men who hunt it. They want the beast unearthed, exposed. They believe the dragon to be evil when its only desire is peace.” I feel Nate’s eyes on me. When I look up at him he’s wincing.
“That’s dark.”
“Death is dark.”
He nods and then says something I didn’t expect. “At dinner, you mentioned you were orphaned as an adult. Was it long ago?”
When I’m silent for a beat, he shrugs. “Just curious.”
“Mom passed about six years ago and Dad died last year,” I answer. Just the facts.
“Were you close to them?”
I shake my head automatically. “Not in the end. Not like your family. What about your birth parents? Were you young when they died?”
He nods. “And in juvie.”
“Why?”
“Stealing from a convenience store a handful of times. My parents didn’t exactly keep the cupboards stocked.” He watches his shoes, his thoughts elsewhere. “They weren’t good people.”
“Are you?” I tilt my chin to take him in. Even with his bulky features and UFC body, he seems like good people. And the speech he gave at the restaurant suggests his work is about more than money.
“I’m trying to be,” he says. “But there’s a lot of ground to cover.”
“I know what you mean.” I look back at the dragon, frozen in time mere moments from death.
“We’re all lonely sometimes, Viv.” His voice is low and kind. When I face him his expression is raw with sincerity. My instincts tell me he’s more than a cardboard-cutout billionaire. Is he lonely too?
