“I was curious about you,” I admit. “Curiosity is my worst trait.”
“I hope not.” His eyes flick down to my bare collarbones and back up to my face. “I can think of worse ones.”
There it is. The charm. The flirtation that should come with a warning label. I let it wash over me, but I don’t sink into it. Not yet.
Dinner arrives, looking flawless and plated like art. For a few minutes, we eat in silence.
Then he says, “You didn’t grow up without money.”
Again, it’s not a question.
I tilt my head. “What makes you so sure?”
“You hold your head high. You use the correct silverware for the course. You smell the wine, savor it, before you drink it. Those things are taught. Ingrained.”
I set my fork down. “You’re observant.”
He shrugs. “I am.”
We stare at each other across the candlelight.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” I admit, feeling off-balance.
“I don’t want anything,” he replies smoothly. “I just like the way you look at me. Like you know I’m bad news and still want to find out how bad.”
I hate that he’s right. I hate that I’m here, in this dress, eating this perfect meal, letting this dangerous man make me feel… wanted. Seen.
I drain the rest of my wine. “If you’re expecting sex, it’s not happening.”
He smirks. “If I were expecting sex, we’d be somewhere with fewer forks.”
God help me. I laugh.
He leans back, pleased with himself. Narcissist. But a charming one.
The rest of dinner passes in easy conversation. He tells me stories about travel, business, cars I’ll never afford. I ask about music, books, things he probably never gets asked about.
And when the check comes, he doesn’t even glance at it. Just slides a black card into the folder and shifts the conversation.
We leave the restaurant and step into the warm night air. His driver waits at the curb in a sleek black car.
Marcus opens the door for me, but I don’t get in. I look up at him instead.
“Why me?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away. “Because you look at me like you don’t want anything from me. You don’t expect anything from me. I have a feeling if I didn’t call tomorrow, you wouldn’t give two fucks, but Iwantyou to. And that scares the shit out of me.”
I swallow. Hard.
Then I slide into the car.
This is a bad idea.
But I’m not done with it yet.
Chapter 38
Aro
