“Come with me!” I exclaim far too loudly.
Grabbing his hand, I tow him behind me before he can think about resisting or hesitating. As we near my office. I push him in front of me, cover his eyes with my hands and guide him into the room.
“Ta Da!” I cry dramatically as I remove my hands. Then I quickly move beside him so I can see his reaction.
He stands there looking shell-shocked for a moment, as he takes it all in.
“What the hell, Kit?” he hisses. “I’m wearing pajamas!”
“Not a problem,” I grin. “All the easier to get you undressed afterwards.”
Mackenzie flushes and looks away. I want to punch the air in excitement. His reaction didn’t look like a no. He’s not turning me down on my proposed after dinner activities.
“Why?” he nearly stammers and I know he is not asking my reason for wanting to undress him.
I shrug, as if it’s no big deal. “To celebrate season three getting renewed. And just because I want to wine and dine you like you deserve, but you don’t like going out.”
His blue eyes fix on me. I wonder if he is going to deny his hatred of being in public, or be pissed that I’ve called him out on it. He hides it really well. But I know.
He stares at me for a moment longer, then he changes the subject. “You cooked?”
“Hell no! I burn baked beans! I ordered in.”
While he is digesting that piece of information, I waltz over to the table and pull a chair out for him. “Have a seat and I’ll go grab the food from the kitchen.”
He gives me a very unconvinced look, but he gracefully sits in the chair I have offered him. After practically dashing to the kitchen, I return in a few short moments. A bit of faff later and our food is on our plates.
He sees his steak and my salad, and he laughs. “Our first date.”
He remembers. I stand there gormlessly as my heart explodes into a thousand pieces. Finally, I remember to sit. Luckily for my utterly blank mind, he launches into conversation about his predictions for what direction season three is going to take, and soon we are chatting away happily.
As we finish the meal, my nerves come back with a vengeance. Which is ridiculous because I’ve rehearsed my lines a thousand times, I’ve got this. I know I do. It was only two years ago I played a Bratva sidekick and half my lines were in Russian. My excellent language coach taught me how to deliver words in languages I don’t understand, and I haven’t forgotten how to do it.
I wait until he is taking a sip of his white wine and then I take his hand into both of mine. He looks at me in surprise and I open my mouth and let my lines fall out. There are four paragraphs so it takes a while.
When I’m finished, the silence is deafening. He is staring deep into my eyes, but I can’t read his expression. I’ve just laid my heart bare, and he is saying nothing.
“Was that Serbian?” he whispers.
I nod. Was my pronunciation really so terrible it was hard to recognize what language I was speaking? Was the human translator I hired no better than Google Translate?
“I… I,” he begins, before blushing and starting again. “I know I was three or four, old enough to remember the adoption. But… I don’t remember the language.”
My guts turn to lead. So much for my big romantic gesture. I’m such an ass. I should have checked, now I’ve only succeeded in bringing up trauma and pain.
“We can learn together?” he asks tentatively. “No, sorry…” he begins but I stop him by tightening my grip on his hand.
“I’d love to.”
His eyes widen. “Really?”
I nod and hold my grin until he smiles back at me.
“I’m sure it will come back to you in no time at all.”
His smile turns into a grin and my heart skips a beat. He really is the most precious thing in the entire universe.
“What did you say?” he asks, and it’s my turn to blush and squirm.
