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I honestly hadn’t thought he would look me up. For all I knew, he did things like this—fucked women with cigars and then smoked them afterward—all the time.
So when I walked into the upscale, Italian restaurant at noon on the dot, my heart was racing, my palms were sweaty, and I was pretty sure my chaotic breathing was visible to anyone who looked my way.
I gave the company name to the hostess, who promptly led me to one of the booths in the rear of the restaurant. It was secluded, private, reminding me of that alcove in the cigar lounge just two nights before.
I didn’t see anyone at the booth, but there were two glasses of red wine already placed across from each other. I took a seat, my skirt having ridden up, so the leather seat felt cool beneath the back of my thighs that were now only covered with a sheer layer of pantyhose.
And then I waited with my heart in my throat.
I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly before inhaling. My hands were shaking, so I clasped them together and placed them on my lap.
God, I’d never been so nervous.
It was when I lifted my head and opened my eyes, staring at my wine glass, that I knew I wasn’t alone. I could see out of my peripheral vision a large body standing right beside me. He was shrouded in dark clothing and smelled of expensive cologne… one I was familiar with as if it were now a core memory.
It was a scent that had every part of my body igniting instantly. It was an aroma my body recognized very intimately from Saturday.
I didn’t know why I was frozen. Why I didn’t look over at him right away. But nerves had every cell in me stalling, tripping over each other.
“It’s good to see you again, Pyper.”
I swallowed, but it felt like my heart was literally in the center of my throat, and I choked a little. I reached for my wine glass, taking a long drink from the crystal before setting it back down.
Could he see my fingers were shaking? Could he smell the adrenaline and anxiety that poured off me?
I did look at him then, starting at the buttons of his expensively tailored suit, traveling up the massive expanse of his chest, and continuing upward to his broad shoulders. I knew the material hid a strong, masculine, and muscular body.
And then I went farther up his corded, tan neck and stared right into a face I had only seen partially, since a mask had been covering it the sole time we were in each other’s presence.
The website photo, the video he left on my phone—neither did him any justice; nothing compared to laying eyes on this man’s handsome face in person.
I recognized his full lips, and the trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard was familiar. My body sure as hell remembered the way he felt when he spit on my pussy, and then licked me off his fingers and the cigar.
And the way he’d growl those obscene things to me.
Heat consumed me.
I swore I still felt the abrasion of those whiskers on my neck, and my muscles clenched internally, feeling the remembrance of how warm his breath had been when whispered in my ear.
“Hi,” I whispered, and my cheeks went hot.
I didn’t know what else to say. How did you address the masked man who fucked the hell out of you just two days before? I certainly hadn’t thought I’d see Anthony again, not unless we ran into each other by happenstance.
He didn’t respond, just took a seat in the booth right across from me. God, did he look good, fill the leather seat because he was so large that, even if I wanted to be beside him, there wouldn’t be nearly enough room for us to sit comfortably together.
He reached out with that big hand, his long, thick fingers curling around the stem of the wine glass. Because they were so large, it appeared as if he’d snap the crystal in half like a toothpick in his grasp.
I watched as he brought the glass to his lips, ones that were full and masculine and had kissed me so thoroughly I thought I’d lose my mind.
Anthony took a long drink, his gaze never leaving mine. His eyes were dark, the lighting in the restaurant showing the flecks of amber woven through the almost ebony-colored depths.
His short, salt-and-pepper hair was styled elegantly yet slightly disheveled across his forehead, as if he’d been running his fingers through it as he sat in a board meeting all morning.
After setting his wine back down, neither one of us said anything for what felt like ages. He must’ve ordered for us already, because instead of asking what we wanted, the server came by and set down a family-style platter of spaghetti and meatballs, a plate of garlic bread, and two side salads, then we were once again left in private.
I looked at the meal and then at him. “You took liberties, I see.” My voice was soft, void of any real heat.
He gave me a little smirk that set my insides on fire. “You ever been here before?”
