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Without a word, I slide onto the leather seat.
The drive is spent in silence, which confuses me. I struggle to find something to say, but every thought that pops into my head is distinctly in the small talk category, and that’s not something I see myself having with Kay.
Or is this also part of his game? To makemenervous, throw me offmygame?
We arrive at the restaurant, which is a small, warmly lit French bistro with outdoor seating and lots of candlelight. That throws me off my guardeven more. I would have expected Kay to take me to a BDSM club, or just a club, somewhere with drinking, loud music, some place sweaty and drenched in sex.Nota classy, expensive French bistro.
Before I can open the door to get out, he says, “No.” His voice is firm, commanding enough for me to place my hand back in my lap as he gets out and makes his way over to my door, where he opens it. As I get out, he stops me with a look and says, “When you’re with me,Iopen your doors.”
I blink, brain stuttering at the sudden intensity of his chivalry. “Okay.” I nearly stutter the word out.
“Good.” He offers me his arm again. “Shall we?”
The soft sound of a woman singing comes from somewhere inside as he leads me up to the bistro, mixed with the soft tinkling of cutlery on ceramic plates and idle chatter. Twinkling lights are strung up above the outdoor seating on the patio, and with the beautiful night, I hope we might be sitting outside.
Of course, that’s not what we’re doing at all. Kay gives his name to the hostess and she leads us to thebackof the restaurant. She leads us down a hall lined with doors with curtained windows and opens one for us, exposing a strictly candlelit room. Inside there’s one table with a red velvet booth, no physical space from each other even possible in the intimate setting.
“Your server will be right with you, Mr. Beckett,” the hostess says.
He gives her a placid smile. “Thank you.”
Suddenly, I’m overcome with irritation. I pull my arm from his and whirl to face him. “What is all this? Are you really doing all thisjustto have sex with me? Putting on this show?”
All Kay does is laugh as he moves to stand behind me, grabbing the collar of my jacket to pull it off my shoulders. For some reason, I go along with this, and he hangs my coat on a hook on the wall.
“Are you really being so self-deprecating to think your company is so awful I wouldn’t want more than sex with you?” I turn to face him, and he gestures for me to slide into the booth. “We had an agreement. Once you’re in, you’re in. You’re mine for the evening, Talia.”
When I don’t move, he rolls his eyes and slides his hands into his pockets.
“Or you can walk out that door right now. I’m not going to stop you. I’m already on the cop’s shit list.” He shoots me a grin.
I debate leaving. He doesn’t miss my hesitation, the glance at the door, but something in his expression, some crushing of hope, makes me head for the table instead. He slides in next to me until our legs nearly touch, close enough for me to feel his warmth on my bare leg. It takes everything in me not to just close the space, to admit to myself that there’s a part of me that desires so strongly to be here it terrifies me.
“You really do look lovely tonight, you know,” he says lowly. He sits casually back in the booth, a lazy smile on his lips, and I stare at him. “Why do you look at me like that, Talia?”
“Like what?” I ask in a biting tone.
“Like you’d rather swallow a branding iron than be in my presence even though you clearly want to. Your body language says otherwise.”
I don’t understand what he’s referencing until I realize I’ve leaned my leg against the length of his. Turning away from him, I stare into the candlelight, only to feel a finger at my chin, turning my gaze back to him, his face close to mine.
“Allow yourself to enjoy this evening with me. I promise to be on my best behavior.”
But what if I don’t want you to be?I think.What if I want the misbehaved Kay who infuriates me to the point of utter arousal?
He keeps my eyes locked with his until the sound of the door opening interrupts our moment. Our server walks in, introducing himself, but I’m feeling so dizzy from Kay’s proximity that I miss his name entirely. I almost miss the fact that Kay is speakingFrenchand ordering for us already.
I hate that it’s so sexy—what I catch of the French speaking, that is.
“Now, where were we?” He leans forward, elbow resting on the table, amusement in his tone. When I don’t answer, he asks, “So what made you want to work at Midnights with us?”
“I don’t want to make small talk with you,” I say quickly, my heartbeat crashing in my chest as I turn my shoulders to face him.
“Then what do you want, Talia? Tell me, and it’s yours.”
At this point, that’s close enough to begging for me.
“I want you,” I breathe.
