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“We’ll have the tapas sampler for the table.”
The music drew me into this place, not the food.
“What did Stephen have to say?” I ask her.
Her jaw drops. “How did you know who that was?”
I answer with a head tilting.
“I’ve known him for a few years, but he says he didn’t work the Borgia case.”
“Have you been out with him?”
Thick lashes coated with black-as-fuck mascara lift to me. “He’s asked me out before.” She fidgets. “He’s married now.”
That fucking enrages me, her sitting with a man who once wanted her. Not to mention he would probably cheat on his wife to get into my woman’s bed. What a disgusting betrayal.
Keeping my focus on her face, I ask, “You thought you’d ask him about why Borgia dumped his firm?”
“Yes.” She smiles. “I figured if he didn’t work on the case, he might be willing to talk.”
Fuck, I like her.
“And?”
“He said he didn’t know anything, and I’m glad you rescued me.”
“Rescued,” I laugh. “I like that.”
“Why did you say no to meeting me later and then drag me away from dinner?”
I smile at her. “Repeat that in your head and see if you can figure it out.”
She looks down at the table and laughs. “You didn’t want to be seconds.”
“Nope. Never.”
“Then why didn’t you say something?” She throws her hands up.
“I have a flare for the dramatic. I’d rather show you what I’m capable of, than just warning you.” I glare. “You have to start taking my threats seriously, sparkles.”
“Noted.” Glancing around, she says, “This place is nice.”
“A lot classier on the inside than the outside.”
“That’s on purpose. Keeps tourists out.”
“I didn’t fall for it.”
The server returns with the bottle and pours two glasses. A burning desire to lick the sides of her glass eats at me.
“Your sample platter is coming right up.”
“You didn’t ask if I’m allergic to shellfish.” Jillian sips her wine.
“I know you’re not.”
“How?” She wrinkles her nose.
