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“Yeah, yeah.” He rests his hand on the small of my back, guiding me forward. My skin pebbles under his touch as he traces a line down my spine.
“That feels so nice.” I look up at him.
His curls are slicked back, the patch of black-dyed strands tucked behind his ear. A dress shirt stretches across his chest, the top two buttons undone. He’s even wearing the new pair of sneakers I bought for him at Harrods yesterday, despite his protests. It was the least I could do after he practically outfitted me with a capsule wardrobe. Nico insisted London’s cooler weather was the perfect excuse for him to swipe his credit card for both of us all afternoon.
“I’m glad you took my advice and chose this dress and not the other one you insisted was moreyou.” Nico eyes the Merlot-red fabric hugging my body. “I love the whole venomous cobra look, but this suits you just as well.”
“Deep down, I bet you wish I was wearing one of the skimpy bikinis.”
“You in your new heels and a bikini will be my dessert tonight.” Nico winks at me, his hand still possessively glued to my back.
We reach the hostess after fighting through a crowd of people trying to bribe their way into her reservation book.
Fuck, I don’t miss my job at the bar at all.
“Welcome to the Wild Cherry. Do you two have a reservation?”
Nico angles me closer. “Yes, it’s under Zoe Mona.”
I whip my head to him. “What did you—”
His expression is neutral, unreadable, and entirely not what I expected.
“This way.” The hostess waves us inside with a menu.
Nico grabs my sweaty palm, and pulls me deeper into the restaurant. “Better keep up, Zoe.” His signature grin dances nefariously across his face. “We don’t want to get lost.”
Every neuron in my body shouts,Run!Danger! Run!
I try to yank out of his grasp, but he tightens his fingers around my hand. I stumble toward the table in my four-inch heels. There’s no way I heard him correctly.
Right?
At our table, he pulls my seat out for me, and I slide in. A loud ringing vibrates in my ears.
Nico sits opposite me, the same unrevealing look on his face as he orders us drinks from the waiter. Afterward, Nico glances up at me expectantly.
A long stillness simmers between us.
He’s kidding himself if he thinks I’ll break. I can sit here all night. I’ve done it before on a date with a guy who’d taken a vow of silence. I can do it again.
My leg shakes under the table.Everything’s okay.A situation like this was bound to occur eventually. I’ll play this right, and it’ll be like nothing ever happened.
A waiter sets down my drink. I examine it because what the hell else am I supposed to do when Nico’s staring at me like that?
I pick up the absinthe-rinsed coupe filled with cognac, equal parts lemon juice and raspberry syrup, and a splash of rose water topped off with champagne. A pair of pink and red rose petals serve as a garnish. A twist on the classic French 75 I fell in love with during my mixology classes. My barkeeps at the Mademoiselle called it Lily’s French Kiss.
Damn him for knowing me like the back of one of his gorgeous hands.
Nico clears his throat and raises his own tequila on the rocks in a noiseless toast. We sip, set the drinks down, and repeat. Time languidly beats past us as if we’re back in Rio, lounging underneath the sun with nothing better to do.
Fine. Maybe, I can’t keep sitting here.
“You never told me you were into role-playing.” I give him a serpentine smile. “If you’re making up names, what should I call you?”
“Sherlock Holmes.”
Of course.
