‘Woah, what do you think you’re doing?’ Harrison snarls, righting himself as Archie swings the car round a corner at high speed.
‘Where are we going?’ Archie barks, avoiding glancing in the rear-view mirror to where Harrison’s attempting to slide a little closer than I’m comfortable with.
‘The Witchery.’ Harrison’s superior tone makes my skin crawl.
Archie stares straight ahead, clasping the steering wheel tight enough to crush it.
Harrison straightens his back, puffing out his chest like a pigeon.
‘The Witchery?’ I smooth a hand over my dress and try to feign some enthusiasm. ‘Don’t you have to book like a year in advance to get a table?’ It’s hard to be enthusiastic when I’m hyperaware of Archie’s proximity. Of the sheer masculinity he radiates. Of the chemistry swirling in the air between us.
I’m supposed to be torturing the man, like he tortured me with that vibrator, getting me off, then blowing me off. My cheeks sting at the memory, still so fresh and raw.
Harrison’s lips curl into a victorious smile. ‘Most people do.’
Ugh, that ego. It probably needs a reservation of its own. I take a deep breath, trying to focus on anything other than the tantalising scent of bergamot.
It’s just a crying shame it’s wafting from the thick, powerful neck of my bodyguard, and not the guy I’m on a date with.
The Witchery is notoriouslythe most spectacular and atmospheric dining destination in Edinburgh. The food is legendary. The décor is rich, baroque and screams romance with a capital R. I’ve never been here before. I’ve never had anyone to go with.
A waitress wearing a crisp, brilliant white shirt and black pencil skirt shows us to a table tucked away in a private alcove. Chunky church candles cast little light on the original oak wood panelling tracking across the dining room walls and on Archie’s stoic expression as he perches on a stool in the corner.
He hasn’t uttered a word since we arrived. Not even a flicker of emotion has crossed his deadpan face.
A wave of sadness washes over me.
He’s prepared to put up with this. With me dating someone else. Which means he can’t have even a fraction of the feelings I have for him. I’m not a violent person, but if the roles were reversed, and he was sitting across from a woman who looked as though all she wanted for dinner was him, I’d gouge her eyes out with my spoon.
‘Would you like to order something to drink? Perhaps some champagne to start?’ The waitress suggests, draping my napkin across my lap.
‘Yes, please. And bring the bottle.’I’m going to need it.
Harrison grins at me. ‘That’s the way to do it.’
Throughout dinner, Harrison drones on about his family’s estate. How much it’s worth. His trust fund. The influence of his family on their community. He’s every bit as egotistical and lacklustre as I suspected.
Thankfully, the food is every bit as sumptuous as the restaurant’s reputation claims.
To start, we order Pacific oysters to share. They’re drowning deliciously in mignonette sauce, tabasco and lemon.
Harrison leans across the table, squeezing my hand roughly. ‘You know, oysters are an aphrodisiac.’
So is the sight of my surly, silent bodyguard in that indecently tailored suit, even if he’s refusing to look at me again. Whatever he’s looking at on his phone has to be more interesting than listening to how many tries Harrison scored for the college rugby team last season.
I knock back another two glasses of champagne and force my attention on my date, and not my defender.
For my main, I order lemon sole meuniere with cucumber and caviar butter sauce, each mouth-watering morsel like a religious experience. At least the food means the night’s not going to be a complete write off.
Archie isn’t prepared to step up. He’d rather see me with someone he hates than risk his job. It’s not as though he even needs the damn job. Chloe told me Archie is comfortable enough. Being a bodyguard isn’t about the money for him. It’s about honour. How the heck can I compete with that?
To dull the throbbing ache in my chest, I drink too much champagne.
‘Would you like dessert?’ Harrison leans across the table, his question dripping with subtext as his hand grazes my skin.
Archie stiffens, mid scroll in my periphery. Boom! It’s not over ‘til it’s over.
‘I’ve been known to be tempted, now and again.’
