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I let out a laugh and reach again for the bottle, but he jerks it away, making the wine slosh inside. “What makes you think I’d want to be seen in public with you?”
“Not in public. My suite.”
“Your suite?”
His eyes don’t leave mine. “Yes.”
There’s an intense fluttering in my belly. Is he asking me to share a meal with him? Or is this more?
Do I want it to be more?
“I…”
“It’s just dinner, Cora,” he says. “It’s the least I can do, after...” He gestures around. “It’s the least I can do.”
* * *
What am I doing?
What are we doing?
That’s what I keep asking myself as I leave my apartment and lock the door behind me. Tristan went to wait downstairs while I changed my clothes. Now I’m wearing a sweater too, with a pair of cream pants. Casual. Just like him.
Outside, there’s a black sports car across the street. The door to the driver’s side opens, and Tristan uncoils himself from inside the car.
He’s looking at me, his handsome face carved without emotion. What is he thinking? Where is this leading? I should run screaming back to the solitude of my apartment.
But I don’t, instead my mind wanders to thoughts that make my blood warm and my insides kick.
God, what am I doing?
Still, I cross the street and with a quick smile at him, I walk around to the other side of the car, slipping into the passenger seat.
Beside me, in the glow from the streetlights, he looks beautiful and mysterious, with a savage sensuality that envelopes me and renders me almost speechless with its potency.
He inclines his head to study me, then turns to start the car.
“What?” I ask.
His eyes swing back to mine. “Nothing.”
“You were thinking something.”
He makes a sound. “Just that you look better than you did earlier.”
I’d brushed my hair again and applied tinted lip balm. Not that I’d ever admit that I didn’t want to spend more time with him while looking like a lost puppy.
“Are you surprised?” I shrug. “Nowadays, I don’t break down permanently into an inconsolable pool of misery when my relationships end. I recover quickly.”
He chuckles but says nothing. He starts to drive, his fingers curving around the wheel in a way that’s almost sensual.
I swallow.
“Did you?” he asks.
“Did I what?”
“Break down into an inconsolable pool of misery?”
