AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I swallow what I have, and the taste lingers on my tongue. Wow, I didn’t expect it to be as wonderful as it is. I was expecting chewier. Saltier. Octopussier. Maybe it’s best that I do not know what I am eating until it is too late.
“What do you think?” he prods.
I clear my throat. “It is very agreeable to my taste.” I bring my finger up to my lips to clean more sauce from them.
“We are in public, Angie. Please.” His moan is animalistic, full of carnal need. He hands me a spare linen napkin, making it clear that licking my finger is not suitable five-star restaurant etiquette.
“What?” I look up in shock, moving my head around the open space to see if anyone sees what apparently he finds inappropriate. He did it before. Why the double standards? I dab my finger with the fresh cloth. “Sorry if I embarrass you.” I bite my tongue to refrain from attaching the word asshole at the end. A diluted taste of rust fills my mouth.
Graham leans across the table on his elbows. He looks relaxed and in his element—gaining the upper hand by inducing my embarrassment. “Don’t be ridiculous. It is just that every man here is eye-fucking you right now, and giving them a free show is not in your best interest.” His sapphire eyes bore into me, causing my insides to melt into a puddle.
Heat rushes to my cheeks as the blush spreads. I sweep my hair across my shoulder and reach for another morsel of food. This time I settle for what appears to be chicken and a colorful salsa on a decorative spoon server.
“That is called Croquetas De Puerco. It is a pork dish.”
I smile as I chew, savoring every bite. The food is second to none. Despite being small portions, Graham had to have ordered one of everything from the menu, making sure we both had a taste of all the signature items.
“So tell me something about yourself, Angie. Something that a simple Internet search can’t tell me.”
The open-endedness of the question makes it difficult to answer. I have no idea what he wants to know. Is he admitting to Googling me? A lot of the information about me can be found on my Entice profile. “Um. What do you want to know?”
“Whatever you want to share.”
I shift in my seat, not knowing what to say. I shove another bite of food into my mouth. I silently wish that he would go on some tangent about describing each organic ingredient, forgetting that he wants information about me. Graham pours from the second decanter of sangria, the berry. I snicker to myself about his intuition about me needing to be tipsy to talk.
“Tell me more about this type of sangria,” I say with a smile.
“It’s berry.” He is on to me.
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Hoffman?” I ask boldly, taking a big sip from the fruity drink. “Hmm, this is very good.”
“You don’t like to talk about yourself, do you, Miss McFee?”
“I like to do it as much as you do.”
He snorts. “Accurate observation.” After a long pause, he sighs. “I dabble in real estate. Have a few side projects. Play with the stock market a bit. Own and run a company. Just your average businessman.”
“For someone as cocky as you are, I’m surprised that you are describing yourself as average.”
My use of the word cocky has Graham amused. He leans across the table, and whispers, “I’m not average in every aspect.” His wink sends the message of the sexual innuendo straight down to the crotch of my panties. I have indirectly felt his erection. He is definitely above average—not that I have much hands-on data to compare it to. I squirm in my seat, trying to scratch the itch that is now causing havoc between my thighs. What is wrong with me? I never act like this.
“Ma’am, this was sent over for you, compliments of the gentleman,” Waiter One interrupts my dirty thoughts, warranting a murderous glare from Graham. The waiter places the tall blue beverage down in front of me. The ice is shaped like perfect spheres and the liquid reminds me of pictures I have seen of the Caribbean.
“Oh,” I breathe.
“Courtesy of whom exactly?” Graham is fuming, anger radiating from his muscles. His eyes search the area coming up empty.
“I”—the waiter swallows hard—“I’m not sure.”
“Find out then,” Graham snaps.
He scurries off to the other side of the restaurant.
I stare down at the concoction and touch the dewy moisture along the outside of the glass.
Graham’s hand grabs it and pushes it off to the side, liquid sloshing over the rim. “Don’t you dare take a sip of that, Angie.”
“I’m not.” I hold my palms up in surrender. I never planned on drinking it, despite being curious about the taste.
