“You don’t eat?” I asked, tapping at my mouth with a napkin while eyeing his untouched plate. I had a tavë kosi—a traditional Albanian dish of yogurt-baked lamb, I was told—and it was unexpectedly delicious. Rich and tangy, comforting in a way that made me wish I could eat like this every night.
Kian took a slow sip of his drink, eyes glinting in the soft candlelight. “I’m used to eating much later in the day.”
During dinner, I switched from rum to water. The liquid was crisp, sliding down easily and leaving a cooling trail.
“Oh. Why did you order, then? And why so late?”
He shrugged, glancing toward the open window and the view. “By typical American dinnertime, the heat hasn’t let go yet, and it’s too hot for a heavy meal. My plate is merely to keep you company.”
“Oh, well, that’s thoughtful of you.” I thought of the lines of muscle hiding beneath his shirt, the easy strength in his posture. “I honestly don’t know how you stay in shape if you eat so late,” I said,half teasing, half genuinely curious. “Food right before bedtime would go straight to my hips.”
And my boobs, but I kept that to myself.
Kian raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Is that your first question, then?” he asked.
I reached for my glass.
“Absolutely not,” I said, swirling the water, watching the light play along the surface. “I’m going to ask something more meaningful than your workout routine. So we’ll start now?”
“Yes.” He tilted his head, dark hair threaded with streaks of silver catching the soft glow, and offered me a polite nod. “Ladies first.”
I let the moment hang between us, the clink of cutlery and distant chatter of the restaurant fading to a hum. Then, I took a careful sip of my water and leaned in slightly.
“What do you do for a living?” I asked, my gaze drifting to where his holster outline was beneath his vest. I didn’t linger too long before meeting his gaze again.
He leaned back in his chair, considering me for a moment, as though deciding how much to reveal.
“I’m in the import-export business,” he said at last. “I used to be in security, too. Private contracts, but that was before I took over family business.”
“Hmm, that explains the gun.” And even maybe why I felt so safe with him, but then I frowned. Why wasn’t I freaking out about the gun part? I’d never been a girl comfortable around weapons.
“That’s still kind of vague,” I added, searching for a flaw in him. Or maybe in the unfamiliar sense of comfort and security, I felt in his presence.
A corner of his mouth lifted.
“Do you want to ask what I’m exporting and importing?” His tone was amused, as if he already knew the answer.
“Yes.”
He chuckled softly.
“That can be your next question, but you’ll have to wait for your turn,” he drawled.
I exhaled in frustration, leaning back in my chair. “That’s not fair.”
His deep laugh filled the space between us.
“Rules are rules.”
“Fine. Hurry up and ask your question so we can get to mine.”
His expression shifted, turning thoughtful as he brought his long fingers to his chin and tapped once, twice.
“Okay,” he said, eyes locking on to mine. Something in his gaze sharpened. “What are you running from?”
The question landed heavier than I expected, lingering in the air between us long after he’d spoken. Although, it didn’t surprise me, not after our little incident on the beach and what I’d already shared. I actually anticipated it.
