The waiter chuckles at my joke as he leads me to a spare seat at the end of the long bar.
Dumping my clutch upon the glossy marble top, I smile at the bartender awaiting to take my order.
“Could I take a cosmopolitan, please.”
“Certainly.”
I hardly have time to fish my debit card out before my cocktail is being pushed in front of me, a pristine white napkin beneath it. I pay, declining the need for my receipt andtake a delicate sip, careful not to dislodge the slice of orange peel draped over the thin rim for decoration. While I wait for Blake to make his appearance, I spin on my barstool, taking in my surroundings.
No wonder Asado’s is such a social media hotspot, it’s decorated beautifully inside and out; with lightly stained oak tables and matching chairs, opaque tulle draped across the back and gorgeous copper light fixtures emanating streams of amber lowlight, making up for a very romantic feel.
A live band plays in the corner, creating a slow hum as the backdrop to the lively chatter of couples and friends alike. The breeze from the open doors of the restaurant caresses my skin, lifting the lightest strands of my hair to tickle my neck and bringing with it the delicious smell of freshly baked bread. My mouth waters, the tart lime from my cosmopolitan dancing across my tastebuds.
I swear, if I was to close my eyes now, I could believe myself to be tucked away in a little corner of Italy somewhere. Sun, sand, sea—
“I’m so sorry I’m late.”
I blink to find Blake towering above me – God, I’d forgotten how tall he is – an apologetic smile on his face.
My eyes track over the rest of him, the fresh cut of his chocolate brown hair, shorter on the sides, leaving the top longer with enough hair to pull to guide him between my legs—
Focus, Calla.
The starched white of his button-down shirt only serves to make his eyes even greener than normal, artfully paired with a pair of black slacks that mould to his muscular thighs and the slight bulge which reminds me, with a pulse of my pussy, exactly what he’s packing.
My mouth waters again, but this time for a more X-ratedreason, and who could blame me? Blake is the most attractive man I’ve seen in a long time, and I don’t even think he knows it. Which is fine by me. I’ll happily spend all day – and all night – showing him just how hot I think he is.
I must feel the waiter’s eyes on me, watching, a second before Blake does because he leans down to graze his lips across my cheek.
My pussy pulses again, dampening my underwear.
I so wish his lips were on mine, right this fucking minute.
“I really am sorry, Calla,” Blake repeats.
“It’s fine. You’re here now.”
“I—”
The waiter, damn him, interrupts before Blake can finish. “Would the two of you like to move to your table? Or perhaps another drink at the bar?”
“It’s up to you,” says Blake, never taking his eyes off me, as if nobody else exists. Which, they certainly do, seeing as Asado’s is almost packed to the rafters and past prime dinner time. I wonder if Thomas and his band of merry men are here yet.
“I don’t think another drink will hurt anyone, do you?” I raise my almost empty cocktail glass. “And then we can order food?”
Grinning in agreement, Blake hops up onto the free stool beside me. I think the waiter utters something about checking up on us in twenty minutes, but I’m hardly listening, everything around me, the music, the chatter, the people, fading out, leaving Blake sitting at the centre of my attention.
“Just a Peroni, mate. Please.” Blake pulls his gaze from me for a heartbeat, but it’s enough to notice the missing heat on my skin, to order his drink. “And another…”
I fill in the missing blank. “Cosmo, please.”
The bartender nods. “Coming right up.”
Like a cat preening beneath the hot sun, I bask in the warmth of Blake’s eyes as he returns his sight to me. “Have you been waiting long?”
I shake my head. “A couple of minutes or so.”
“I really am sorry. I planned on being here early, but then—”
