I didn’t know what to do with that statement, so I buried myself in the menu.
The first ten minutes were awkward. Stilted. I kept my answers short, my body language closed off. Every time he asked a question, I deflected. Every time he got too close to something real, I changed the subject.
I was being cold and I knew it. But cold was safe. Cold kept walls up. Cold meant I wouldn’t get hurt.
Prime finally set down his menu and leaned back, studying me with those impossibly blue eyes.
“Talk to me,” he said.
“About what?”
“About why you’re sitting next to me, acting like I’m a stranger when we both know better.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Zahara.” The way he said my name—full of patience and heat and something that felt dangerously close to affection—made my chest tight. “What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Liar.” But he said it gently. Like it was an endearment instead of an accusation. “You’ve been scared since the moment I picked you up. So tell me why. Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then why are you running from me?”
“I’m not running. I’m sitting right here.”
“Physically, yeah. But everywhere else?” He shook his head. “You’re miles away.”
Prime ordered a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, and within minutes the cork was popped. “Drink. Relax. And talk to me like I’m someone you trust instead of someone you’re trying to keep at arm’s length.”
“But I don’t trust you. I don’t even know why I’m here. You just barged into my life.”
“You needed me to.”
“What makes you so sure? Why do you think I need you?” I smirked.
He slid his hand up my thigh, rubbing right outside of my pussy. “Cuz, I needed someone like you.”
I pushed his hand away, even though I desperately wanted it here. I just couldn’t shake some of the feelings I had about him. And I wasn’t in a place in my life where I could date someone.
“The lipstick,” I said quietly. “On your collar. Who was she?”
“Farah. A friend of my mentor and my interior decorator. She hugged me when we met about my penthouse. That’s it. I’m not fucking her, Zahara, never have. I’m not fucking anyone. Haven’t been interested in anyone until you.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re real. Because you don’t want anything from me except for me to stay the hell away from you.” He smiled slightly. “And because when I look at you, I see someone fighting just as hard as I am to survive. Someone who’s been through hell and came out the other side still standing. That’s rare. That’s beautiful.”
My throat tightened. “Prime?—”
“I know you’re scared. I know you’ve got secrets you’re not ready to tell me. And that’s okay. I’m not asking for everything. Not yet. I’m just asking for a chance. A real one.”
I stared at our joined hands. At the contrast of his tattooed knuckles against my smooth skin. At how right it looked despite how wrong it should feel.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Okay?”
