He handed me the glass of champagne, and when I took it, his hand brushed against mine. I still felt the heat of his skin as he pulled back.
“Cheers,” he said, his face poker-straight, like he’d felt it too and feared his face might give it away.
Or maybe I was just imagining things.
“Cheers.” I took a sip, not bothering to wait for him to clink his glass against mine. I’d had enough civility with Arko Pavlov for one car ride.
***
The closer we got to our destination, the more nervous I felt. I knew I had agreed to this dinner, but the thought of being seen with Arko in public felt like I was betraying my family.
I still hadn’t had a chance to speak to them and tell them what happened. I disappeared from the club that night, and as far as they knew, I could be anywhere.
If they were to hear that I was out and about by Arko Pavlov’s side, I didn’t even want to imagine how worried they’d be. Of course, they were smart enough to guess I’d been taken against my will, but they were also reckless enough to start a war.
And the thought of Arko retaliating and hurting them terrified the hell out of me.
I felt the fear rising in my chest, but it was too late to back off now. I only prayed Arko hadn’t brought me out to make a point to my family.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled up behind his restaurant to a private entrance of some sort. I sighed with relief. If he didn’t bring me up front, he probably wanted to keep tonight private.
That made it easier for me to digest this evening.
He helped me out of the car and, to my surprise, gave me his arm.
I stared at it, frozen.
“My arm doesn’t have any secret knives.” He leaned down and stage whispered, his breath hot on my ear, causing me to shiver. “But those heels look pretty damn hard to walk in.”
I glowered, but took his arm.
We walked up to the red velvet barricade, and the security immediately let us pass. It was just then that I realized I knew this place.
“You own Il Tesoro?” I asked quietly, keeping my voice even so as not to sound too impressed.
It was one of the most exclusive spots in the city. My family had connections everywhere, but even we sometimes had to wait for a table there.
“Of course I own it,” he muttered, like there was nothing in this city he didn’t have fingers in.
“Maybe you should write a book on humility,” I hissed back.
When he looked at me, his eyes were crinkled in the corners. The gaze made my skin tingle, like he was assessing me for memory. I turned away to look around at the restaurant, refusing to let him see how he affected me.
We walked in deeper, and he kept my arm tucked through his like we were a real couple, leading me through a door held open by a suited man who nodded deferentially.
“Mr. Pavlov, we’ve been expecting you.”
Inside, the restaurant was filled with soft lighting and beautiful wooden wall paneling, with tables spaced far enough apart for privacy.
The hostess practically tripped over herself when she saw Arko.
“Mr. Pavlov! Your table is ready, sir.”
Every head turned as we walked through the restaurant. I felt their stares and ducked my head low, not wanting to be recognized.
I would have done anything to get through that evening without my family finding out Arko had me.
Our table was in a secluded corner, with views of both the restaurant and the street beyond. Arko pulled out my chair, his hand brushing against my bare shoulder as I sat.
