Page 24 of Mine to Tease

“Is that really what you want, Anastasia? For me to be nicer?” I look up at him then, reminded of our first night together. It only makes me realize how far we’ve come and how much more we have to discover about each other and as a couple. My lips draw up into a smile then, my heart finally at ease.

“No. I just want you—all of you.”

25

Anastasia, Brinkley, and I make our way into Brennan’s and are met with a gorgeous entry adorned with crystal chandeliers and gold damask-printed wallpaper. She asked for something nearby and I got to hand it to Mr. Irrelevant, Brennan’s is a perfect choice for a romantic dinner. A romantic dinner? Hmm, of all the missions I’ve been on, this might be the most unexpected and the one I’m the least prepared for. I’ve never taken a woman out like this, nor have I ever come close to feeling for someone what I do for Anastasia.

Love is a strange feeling—a sensation that hurts and heals all at once. It hurts because my heart is no longer my own. It has melded with hers, and if anything happens to her, I shall die too. And yet, having her stand next to me, arm in arm, it heals the part of me that’s been empty, the part of me that shut down after my mother’s death. She fills me up with a warmth that I never want to lose. Still, despite the happiness I feel being with her here tonight, I know the hardest parts of our story are still to come. I’ve promised Anastasia no more secrets, no more distance. I won’t go back on my word, I just…have no idea how to do this—be someone worthy of her love, reveal my position in the Mafia, and the secret her brother and I have been keeping from her. I just pray she forgives me when I tell her the truth. I just pray?—

“Table for three,” I say to the maître d’, his brown eyes drawing me from my thoughts.

“Unfortunately, there are no animals allowed on the premises.” He looks at Brinkley then, snuggled in Anastasia’s arms, with disapproval. Ana lowers her gaze to Brink and pulls him closer to her chest as if to protect him from the verbal blow. I nod and take a step toward the desk behind which the man stands. My movement draws his stern gaze back to me.

“He’s an emotional support dog,” I say, though it’s not my words that get the message across to the man with gray hair. It’s the ring I flash as I lift my hand to my chest, cracking my knuckles for dramatic effect. He recognizes the Amato crest instantly, as most in the finer establishments do, and his demeanor quickly changes. Yeah, that’s what I thought. Although, I never have figured out if those who recognize the crest are aware of the Mafia tie or simply the connection to the wealthy, well-respected, philanthropic Amato family. Perhaps it’s a bit of both. Either way, it’s never failed me.

“Of course, sir,” he says, his tone chipper. Grabbing two menus, he gives Ana and me both a smile before leading us from the entry, up the white-painted staircase to the main dining room. Ana links her arm once more around mine, and I place my hand over hers as she grips on to my biceps.

“That was easier than I thought,” she whispers to me. “I’ve run into trouble a couple of times with Brink. It seems it’s more acceptable to walk the streets drunk and naked down here than it is to dine with a dog.”

I let out a soft laugh. “New Orleans is a world of its own, that’s for sure,” I say to her. “But anytime you have a problem, you let me know. I have a way of convincing people to do things they don’t really want to.” I give her a little wink, and she grips my arm tighter as her cheeks blush. That color might be the only shade of pink I enjoy.

As we move through the dining room, many turn to stare, surprised by Brinkley. Though I catch a few men more intrigued by Ana, their eyes drifting up and down her body in that dress that slips over her skin like water. My jaw tightens as I pin them with a look of warning, and they quickly return their attention to their wine. One nearly chokes on his steak. Though, as Ana slides into the pea-green sweetheart booth, I can’t help but steal a glance of my own. Her ass looks perfect, so perfect I wish we could just get the food to-go. I place my hand on her hip to steady her, allowing it to slip lower as she finishes maneuvering into the booth.

She offers me a coy smile as I slide in on the other side. “Careful, Mr. Dupont. Haven’t you heard of waiting to have your dessert until after dinner? Otherwise, you’ll ruin your appetite.”

“My only appetite is for you, Ms. Cross. But, as you wish,” I say, bowing my head in defeat. I know she’s right. We have much to discuss before we reintroduce anything physical. Still, I won’t lie and say it’s not on my mind. Though, as Brinkley, positioned between the two of us, comes over to lick my leg, the desire boiling inside me is reduced to a simmer. I rub him behind his ears since I know he likes it. “Perfect timing, little buddy. I think he likes me,” I say, lifting my gaze to Ana once more.

“I think you like him,” Ana says, raising her brow. I smile.

“Let’s just say the feeling is mutual.”

“Would you like to hear the wine selections?” It’s then that our attention is drawn back to the old, gray man.

* * *

Dinner was amazing. We spent most of it laughing and admiring Brinkley as he ate his filet mignon. Ana made sure to tie a napkin around his neck and feed him off a fork to protect his white coat, which only made the already on-edge patrons even more disgruntled. I found the entire thing amusing and yet, perhaps the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. She doesn’t censor herself or pay mind to other’s opinions of her, which is refreshing. And, seeing how much she loves Brinkley, I guess, somehow, that makes me love him too. More than that, it makes me realize that if I could have even an ounce of the love she has for him, then I’d be the luckiest man to walk the French Quarter.

After dinner, I made my way over to her. With Brinkley in her arms and her head on my shoulder, we listened to the pianist as the candles on our table flickered. It was a perfect, cozy night and our stroll through the French Quarter has been equally as enjoyable. As the sign for Only Black Ink comes into view, I pray the rest is just as perfect.

While at the restaurant, I kept the majority of the conversation on Ana, getting her to tell me all the things I already know from her file. That way I don’t have to pretend to not know something. She told me about her parents’ passing, her brother’s relocation to New Orleans for work—swiftly avoiding any descriptions of what he does for a living—what her life was like in Boston, a few college anecdotes, a quick mention of her two best friends, and some funny Brinkley stories. And now it’s my turn.

As we reach the parlor entrance, I slow my pace, bringing Ana to a stop with me. “Did you forget something inside?” she asks.

“No,” I say. I wrap my arms around her waist and rest my hands on her lower back, and she places her palms on my chest. Her sweet scent fills me as her body presses against mine. I squeeze her tighter, desperate to feel more of her. And there it is. The thud of her heartbeat taps against me as if we are one. I close my eyes for only a second to savor the sensation. Returning my gaze to her, I say, “I just want to show you something.”

“Show me something? Hmm, I’m intrigued.” She looks up at me with bright eyes.

“You should be. No one’s ever seen my sketchbook before.” I lift her hand to my lips then, planting a soft kiss on her knuckles.

“Sketchbook? Like for tattoos?”

“Not exactly. That’s more of a portfolio and I can show you that too. But…you said you wanted to get to know me, and this is the best way I know how to let you in. I don’t always have the best words, Anastasia, but my drawings will bring you closer to me than anyone else has ever been. They represent the darkest parts of me, my hardest moments, and my brightest.” With that, I take a deep breath, knowing there’s no going back from this.

26

As Damon heads to his office to grab his sketchbook, I start a fire in the fireplace at the front of the parlor. Even though tomorrow is the first of May, the leather couch can be a bit cold, and what’s more cozy and romantic than a crackling fire? Brinkley hops up on one of the chairs opposite the coffee table and sofa and quickly closes his eyes. I imagine he’ll be out for the next two hours after his huge dinner and extra walk. I give him a little pat on the head and then make my way to the couch just as Damon reappears from his office with a black hardcover spiral book in one hand and a crystal glass and bottle of something amber—and no doubt, alcoholic—in the other.

“Are you trying to get me drunk so that you can have your way with me, Mr. Dupont? I’ve already had two glasses of wine.”

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