truly that thoughtless? Regardless, he’d take the easy win. “I love this restaurant. I know their specialties. But it’d be a dick move to assume you want to eat whatever I order.”
“Well, there are a lot of self-centered dicks out there. They’re ridiculously easy to find. Hard to avoid. More or less like cockroaches.”
“I’d like to think my countrymen are better than that.”
“I’m sure you would.” Mallory scooped up some beef with her leaf and moaned as she tasted the mouthful. “This is exactly the kind of thing I wanted to try in Manhattan.”
Odd. When Christian thought of New York, he thought of steak and Italian. “Vietnamese food?”
“All food. Midwestern small towns aren’t known for their vast array of world cuisine. Or availability of ingredients to make it yourself. This is so yummy.” Then she giggled as drips ran down her fingers. “But messy.”
“Let me.” Christian swiftly wrapped her hand in his napkin. Blotted. And licked each of her fingertips clean. Sucked on them, really.
Squirming a bit, Mallory asked, “Oh, so you’re already trying to get me into bed? Before the main course?”
“Wasn’t that your plan when you put on that outfit?” he countered.
It’d been impossible to not glance at her legs on the ten-minute drive here from the palace. Mallory wore knee-high brown leather boots. The bottom of her dress hit several inches above that. The exposed section of thigh and knee had captivated him. Somehow, only having that small part visible made it twice as alluring. Christian was positive Mallory knew the effect it would have on him.
October—when women pulled out their boots—might just be his favorite month.
Mallory inhaled another bite. “Nope. Skipping straight to sex is too fast. Too easy. Amateur hour.”
Amateur? The woman was calling his moves amateur? Or…no, she was simply baiting him again? He’d almost fallen for it, too. “You really don’t pull any punches, do you?”
“My plan was to drive you crazy all night long. Look.” With a tiny shrug, the scooped-out neck of her dress slid down her shoulder. “Wish you could kiss it? That bare spot right there?”
So much so that Christian’s mouth dried up. He barely managed to get out a half strangled, “Yes.”
“Dinner before dessert.” A twitch of her fingers pulled the garment back up into more modest territory.
Which was unfortunate. In the extreme.
Christian took a swig of his water. He also ignored the table two over trying to get his attention. “Come on. It’s important that we do this first real date the right way.”
A single, skeptical eyebrow arched upward. “I thought you told me that you don’t so much date as hook up.”
“Precisely. This—what we’re trying tonight—is uncharted territory that I intend to conquer properly. We already know that we’re great at sex together. Incendiary, even.”
“Agreed.” She slanted another smoldering look across the table. “Although I wouldn’t object to further testing.”
“So noted.” Christian sampled the calamari. The red peppers in the dipping sauce flashed over his tongue. “Damn. I should’ve checked before ordering. Can you handle heat?”
Mallory froze, bunched fingers at her mouth. Then she locked eyes with him while she oh-so-slowly licked each fingertip, swirling with her tongue over the very ends. “I thought we’d already established I can handle however much heat you bring to the table.”
Choking on a mix of laughter, peppers, and raw desire, Christian said, “Holy hell, woman. Dial back the seduction before you set the plants on fire. I meant, do you enjoy spicy food? The calamari’s got a kick to it.”
“Oh. Ha. Sorry. I was kind of in a groove there.”
“One which, believe me, I appreciate.”
“Spicy’s good. Everything’s good. I love all the new things I’ve sampled since coming to Moncriano. You know which one’s my favorite?”
“Kelsey told me that you two sought out the palace chef to offer kudos on the apricot buns. That’s my guess.”
“Ludovico,” she said dreamily. “The only man in the kingdom who might be able to turn my attention away from you. He’s a magician.”
And just like that, their dinner conversation was off the rails again. Christian was damned if he’d play second fiddle in her eyes to a staff member. “I can cook.”
The look she threw him was purely patronizing. Probably the same look she’d give a six-year-old who insisted he could reach the pedals and drive a Ferrari. “Putting a pod in a Keurig doesn’t count.”
“I was in the navy, remember?”
This time she almost did a spit take of her cocktail. “As a cook?”
“Not specifically. But we all had to pull our weight