I straighten slightly. Let my knuckles graze her bare shoulder. She shivers.
"But you need your three months." I say it like a concession. Like I'm being generous. "Time to test me. To decide if I'm worthy of you."
I lean close again. Let my breath ghost across her skin.
"I'll give you that time,solnyshko. Even though we both know the truth."
"Which is?"
The question comes out breathless. Barely audible.
I smile against her ear. "You'll beg me to fuck you long before those three months are up."
Silence.
I can feel the heat radiating off her skin. Can see the way her thighs press together under the table. The way her chest rises and falls too fast.
She's wet. I know it as certainly as I know my own name. Wet and aching and fighting every instinct telling her to turn her head and let me kiss her.
But Vittoria Sartori doesn't fold that easily.
She picks up her wine glass. Takes a long, deliberate sip. Sets it down with careful precision.
Then she looks at me.
Her eyes are steady. Clear. Not a trace of the trembling I can feel under her skin.
"You have a very high opinion of yourself, Dmitri."
I raise an eyebrow. Wait.
"I won't beg you for anything." She tilts her chin up. Defiant. Beautiful. "Not now. Not in three months. Not ever."
The corner of my mouth twitches.
There she is.
I straighten. Step back. Give her space to breathe.
"We'll see."
"We will." She smooths her napkin across her lap. Picks up her fork. Cuts another precise piece of her filet.
I glance around the restaurant. Every eye that had been carefully averted is now fixed on us.
Dante's hand is still inside his jacket. His jaw could cut glass.
I return to my seat. Settle into the leather. Watch her eat with the same careful precision as before, as if I didn't just threaten to fuck her in public.
"Your bodyguard looks like he wants to kill me," I observe.
"He does." She doesn't look up. "Dante doesn't like you."
"Most people don't."
"I can't imagine why."
Her voice drips sarcasm. I find myself smiling.
