I clutched the edges of my cardigan tighter. “Because I’m cold.”
“Liar.” The word wasn’t accusatory; it was a statement of fact. “You’re hiding.”
“Fine.” I spread my hands over the bright white tablecloth. “I figured it might be chilly,andI’m not comfortable in this dress.”
I couldn’t look away from his dark gaze as he studied me with an intensity that made my skin flush.
“Why did you really bring me here?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why bother at all?”
Ivan leaned forward, his forearms resting on the pristine tablecloth. “Because I wanted to see you in that dress, sitting across from me, knowing that you’re mine for the evening.”
“I’m not yours,” I countered, but the protest sounded weak even to my own ears. He held all the power. A fact that we both knew.
“Aren’t you?” His lips curved into a dangerous smile. “Your body says otherwise.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “My body doesn’t know anything.”
“I think it does.” Ivan reached across the table, his fingers brushing against mine. It was an innocent whisper of a touch. And yet fire shot through my veins, heating my body by a half-dozen degrees. “You’re squirming.”
“I am not.”
He arched a brow, calling my bluff. “I can feel your pulse fluttering.” He pressed his index finger on the inside of my wrist.
“That doesn’t mean anything.” I bit my lip to keep from uttering another lie.
“They way you’re shifting makes your thighs rub together,” he murmured, voice dripping with darkness. The tone did things to me, twisting and confusing my thoughts. “But they can’t quite relieve the needy little ache where they meet, can they?”
The ability to speak deserted me.
Who said that? In public!
I swallowed hard and fought to keep still. There was no way I was proving this man right.
But, unfortunately, he was right.
I snatched my hands back. “I don’t trust my body to make important, life altering decisions. Especially with a man who thinks love is a myth.”
“Those books put such silly ideas in your head.” Ivan chuckled. He leaned back, rubbing his chin, as he smiled over at me. “Let me give you an example. My son is my world. I would die for him—I will live for him. I’ve already quit junk food and heavy drinking to be healthier. To live to see him grown. And what would you call this?”
My heart pattered. “That’s a type of love.”
Ivan shook his head. “No, it’s responsibility. When you grow as old as I am, you’ll see that there’s no such thing as love. There are alwaysotherreasons, and people just choose to think it’s love.”
Not only did he make me feel impossibly young, but he insulted the hell out of me.
“Screw you!” I slapped my napkin on the table.
The waiter chose that moment to bring the wine.
The ruby liquid swirled in the glass as the waiter poured with practiced precision. Ivan’s eyes never left mine, even as he nodded his thanks to the server. I felt caught in his gaze, like a butterfly pinned to velvet.
“Will you be dining from our tasting menu this evening?” the waiter asked.
“Yes,” Ivan answered without consulting me. “And we’ll need privacy.”
The waiter nodded knowingly and retreated, leaving us alone in our bubble of tension.
I took a sip of wine to steady myself, the rich flavor coating my tongue. “You can’t just make decisions for me.”
