“Maybe I should go back to my friends.” I scoot from the booth, and he catches my hand.
“I don’t want you to.” He pulls me closer to him, almost into his lap. “I want you to stay.”
“I won’t be the reason someone goes to bed with a broken heart tonight.”
His thumb runs over my knuckles. “No one’s heart has broken over me. I can promise that.”
I don’t think he’s being honest about that, but if I were a betting woman I’d bet everything he believes it.
“No names. Nothing too personal. One night. Just us, remember? One night just for us.”
I glance back at the bar. She’s turned her back to us and is talking to the man sitting to her left.
“And if I see you here next weekend, you’ll give me the cold shoulder as well.” It’s a non-issue, but still, I’ve spent nights comforting Rosa after men have loved her and left her.
I can’t be the source of that sort of pain.
“No. If I see you next weekend and you give a polite hello, I’ll acknowledge you.” He turns to glance toward the bar. “But if you send me a note telling me to ditch the woman I’m having a conversation with so you can blow me in the bathroom, I’ll give you the same response I gave her.”
I freeze. “Is that what the note said?”
“It was more explicit than that.” He squeezes my hand. “I can have the waiter bring it back if you want to read it.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s all right.”
“You believe me?” He tilts his head. “Even though we’ve just met?”
I let him pull me into him until my legs are pressed against his.
“Sometimes you have to choose to believe something even if you aren’t presented with an overwhelming amount of evidence,” I say.
“I think that’s called faith,” he responds.
“I suppose it is.” I pause to lift my gaze to the woman in question. “Besides, I think she’s gotten over her broken heart.”
Discreetly, he follows my line of sight and chuckles. “It would seem so.”
“Does it bruise your ego to be easily cast aside?”
He scoots over in the booth, making room for me before pulling me into the bench with him. Letting go of my hand, he moves to rest his elbow on the back of the bench. His fingertips lightly push my hair away from my face and he tucks it behind my ear.
“You think my ego is so fragile?”
I grin.
“It’s been my experience, although I will admit I don’t have all that much, that men with as much confidence as you seem to often have easily bruised egos when they don’t get what they want.”
Many of the deranged things my brothers did happened in reaction to being denied some superficial desire. A wrong look, a denied contract, being told no had dire consequences for those daring to utter the word.
When I was ten, Marco wanted my dessert. When I said no, he cut the hair off of every one of my dolls.
Dmitri traces the shell of my ear, which sends electricity coursing through my body. My skin seems to come alive beneath his touch.
“I think you’re confusing confidence with arrogance. A confident man can accept a rejection. He might not like it, but he accepts it and doesn’t resort to silly games. A man full of arrogance will puff up his chest and pretend it’s her loss completely. Insult her. Or worse.”
“So if I got up and walked away now, you wouldn’t pursue me.”
“No.” He drops his touch from my face but leaves his hand close enough that the warmth of him remains.
