of her backside I’d wanted. But I keep my face neutral, not letting her have the victory.
Grant steps forward, taking her wrap and purse, disappearing silently like the ghost he’s trained to be.
With the soft click of a brass door latch, we’re alone, our eyes on one another, and it feels like lines have been drawn. But we’re both toeing the chalk, washing it away with every glance, every sigh, every concession as we pull together, orbiting ever closer even as we fight the magnetism.
That she is so easily able to play me startles me, and I knowingly break the connection. Giving her my back, I walk into the living room where I awaited her, gesturing toward the wet bar.
“Would you like a drink before dinner?”
She follows but answers negatively. “No, thank you. Can we just get this over with? Tell me your game plan, I’ll get on board, and we can go back to our regular lives until dinner with Nikolai. Then nobody has to die, especially not me, and you save face with the scary mobster.”
It’s not a bad plan. In fact, it’s the one Caleb told me was my best bet if I was going through with this, and rationally, I agree with him. And with Kitty. But nothing about the way she makes me feel could be described as rational.
I meet her gaze, my voice dropping to a commanding growl. “This will take however long it takes. You’re playing a dangerous game, kitten, and impatience will do you no favors.” She bites her lip, looking scolded, and it softens my anger, but only slightly. “But if you want to get this show on the road, let’s eat.”
I pass through to the formal dining room, seeing the large table is set for two, my place at the head of the table and Kitty’s to my right. Soft candlelight already glows from the tall candles in the middle of the settings.
“Sit,” I offer, pulling out her chair for her and then pushing it in once she sits.
Her awe as she looks around the room is obvious, her jaw dropping and her manicured finger running along the heavy handle of the knife on her right.
If it were anyone else, I’d take it as a threat, and perhaps I should consider that Kitty might be the most dangerous person I’ve ever dined with, not because I think she’ll stab me with a knife more suited to butter than gutting someone, but because she brings things to life inside me that I do not have the time or inclination to pursue, but here I am, regardless of any choices I might have rationally made.
“Let me get our dinners,” I say, not waiting for an answer. In the kitchen, I pull two plates from the warming drawer, thankful for the kitchen staff’s stellar service. My chef could work in a three-star restaurant in town, but I pay her well enough to stay here, cooking for the occasional party but more frequently, for me and the other staff. And of course, the hours beat the hell out of anything she can do in a restaurant in NYC.
Using a white linen cloth, I carry the plates back to the dining room and set one before Kitty and one in front of my own chair, laying the protective cloth aside.
“Should be warm still. Chef doesn’t believe in microwaving things so she left them in the warming drawer, though that was nearly thirty minutes ago.” It’s an accusation, sharp and biting.
Kitty’s lashes flutter at the dig, her eyes searching the plate and then lifting boldly to meet mine. The air is charged, and I wonder if she’s going to sass back again at being called out on her tardiness.
I can see the argument ramping up in my mind, already planning my words and wondering if she fights fair or hurls barbed insults.
Her narrowed eyes search mine, the fire in their depths hot with fury, and her intake of breath makes me think she’s preparing to yell, but then she blinks and it’s washed away so completely I almost think I imagined it.
Instead, she quietly says, “I’m sorry I was late. I should probably lie and say I got held up in traffic, but the truth is, I wasn’t sure about coming. You’re not exactly my normal dinner date type. But I should’ve called. I’m sorry.”
The words suck the air out of the room, changing everything from adversarial to cooperative. I think we might actually get out