Page 12 of The Monster’s Weakness

“It’s not.”

She caught him staring again. Not the casual sort of looking people did across restaurant tables—the wandering glance that came and went between sips of wine and half-finished conversations. He was watching her.

His forearms rested on the table, sleeves pushed back, his glass untouched near one hand. The restaurant moved around them in a blur of candlelight and low voices, but his attention hadn’t shifted from her in what felt like minutes. Heat crept slowly up her neck.

“What?”

His mouth barely moved. “Nothing.”

“That is absolutely not a nothing face.”

“What kind of face is it, Gemma?”

“The kind that makes me wonder if I’ve got something between my teeth.”

That earned her a quiet laugh. It was unfair how much she liked that sound. He didn’t laugh often—not properly. Usually she got a crooked smile, something restrained and private.

She ran her tongue discreetly over her teeth.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. Something changed in his expression, and he leaned back in his chair. “Tell me, then. What am I thinking?”

The candlelight made his eyes look darker than they had any right to be. Unreadable.

“Like you’re thinking something you shouldn’t be,” she said.

His gaze held hers.

“I usually am.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “And are you going to tell me what it is?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is our first official date,” he said.

She blinked. He’d said it out loud making it feel more real. “And?”

“And I’m trying to behave.”

The words were delivered so calmly that it took a second for them to land. When they did, warmth grew low in her belly. This beast of a man was attracted to her to the point he had to control himself. It was all surreal.

She glanced down at her cloth napkin, feeling nervous but daring. “Maybe I don't want you to behave.”

Silence.

Oh, God. Why had she said that? She reached immediately for her water, feeling like an idiot.

His hand moved at the same time. Their fingers touched, and neither of them pulled away. Her breath caught. His hand was warm. Larger than hers. His thumb rested lightly against the side of her finger, not quite a caress, but close enough that every nerve in her hand seemed to notice.

She looked up and he wasn’t smiling anymore. The softness had vanished from his face, leaving something quieter. Hungrier.

“Careful,” he said.

It came out low enough that she almost didn’t hear it. Her heart began thudding.

There were people three feet away. A waiter passed behind him carrying plates. Somewhere near the bar, somebody laughed too loudly. Yet the little bubble of space around them felt sealed off from all of it.