suppose you sounded…upset,” she finally said.
The elevator doors opened, and he took Taylor’s hand again. His was warm and strong and the tiny little tingles he provoked from the skin-on-skin contact made her tighten her grip.
Her heels clacked across the gleaming beige and black marble floors of the lobby as she jogged behind him, trying to keep up.
“Where are we going?” She’d thought they’d just be staying inside the hotel, but he headed for the doors.
“Somewhere quiet, without prying eyes and opportunistic chauffeurs.”
Oh. So he knew about the picture of them kissing. She would’ve commented, but she had zero desire to discuss the incident. Or think about that kiss.
He dragged her along for several blocks down a busy narrow street lined with tall light gray buildings lacking any real personality. It was difficult to articulate the architectural style in this part of Tokyo other than to call it functional and somewhat sterile. Nothing at all like San Francisco.
They turned right, down what looked to be a back alley, but was probably just a regular old residential road. Trees and a long iron fence lined one side, and more of those tall, skinny, industrial-style apartment buildings that had shops on the first floor lined the other. Off in the distance, peeking over one of the buildings, the glowing orange lights of the Tokyo tower pointed up at the sky, like a laser beam ready to blast Godzilla right from the clouds.
Or was it Mothra who always attacked? She couldn’t remember.
Walking at a brisk pace, her feet beginning to burn, they passed a 7-Eleven (yes, a 7-Eleven) and then came upon a quiet little hole-in-the wall restaurant. A lonely lamp hung over the open doorway where a long white and blue curtain blocked the interior from view.
The moment they entered, Bennett was greeted by a short, bald man wearing a kimono and hakama outfit. He bowed deeply with a warm smile. “Mr. Wade, so nice to see you again.” Bow, bow, bow.
Bennett bowed back.
Taylor offered a little half bow and half head dip sort of thing, feeling ridiculous the entire time. I suck at foreign diplomacy.
The quaint little establishment only had a few small wooden tables and a sushi bar on one side. Bennett gestured to the open spot next to them and then pulled Taylor’s chair out for her. As she sat, she realized she really hadn’t eaten enough because the three double vodkas were definitely making her head spin. She also had the munchies and began drooling over a delicious-looking platter of Kobe beef, pate, and cold cuts at the table next to them.
“So, French-Japanese fusion food, huh? Looks good.” It was a culinary combo she’d never tried before, though her favorites were Chinacan—Chinese Mexican (Peking duck burritos rocked)—or Italique—Italian-style BBQ (aka cooking pizzas on the grill).
“They serve sushi, too,” Bennett said, taking his seat and then loosening his tie and releasing the top few buttons of his dress shirt. “But only the rare stuff—the delicacies for the adventurous.”
Taylor hated to ask, but she did, if only to keep her mind off how good the man across from her looked undressing. “Please, please don’t tell me you’re going to eat that puffer fish stuff.”
He smiled, his blue eyes flickering with a devilish twinkle. It reminded her of the day of the plane crash when he got them all safely to the ground. “Fugu.”
Yep. The man loves his danger. Or was it the challenge? “Please. I really don’t want to watch you keel over.”
“Did you know that it numbs the lips and gives one the feeling of having done a few shots of tequila? That is, if you don’t die.”
Wow. Yum, she thought dryly.
The waiter returned with a white bottle of sake, two miniature ceramic sake mugs, and a square dish with an assortment of odd-looking raw things, one of them still moving on the plate.
Taylor covered her mouth.
“You must try this, Ms. Reed. It’s a flavor like no other,” Bennett said, unwrapping his chopsticks.
“No.” She shook her head. “Thank you. And what the hell is that?”
“It’s baby octopus—very fresh.” With his large yet surprisingly nimble hand—a hand that made her wonder about his adeptness at other activities requiring finger skills—God, you’re so naughty, Tay—he plucked a wriggling octopus tentacle from the plate, dipped it into the special “live suffering critter” sauce, and popped it into his mouth. He chewed before washing it down with the entire mug of sake.
Taylor took a sip of her drink, trying not to look at