Page 17 of Vicious Temptation

It feels easy to relax, talking to her. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a conversation like this over dinner with someone. It would be nice to do it again, I think, and then I catch myself, stiffening a little in my chair as I realize the direction my thoughts were taking. This is a business dinner, not a date. It was never meant to be a date, and no matter how pleasant Bella is to talk to, this has nothing to do with pleasure. Only business.

I feel a little guilty for how much I’m enjoying her company, as the meal winds down, how much I’d like for it to continue on. I haven’t enjoyed spending time with anyone like this in a long time, and each time I feel myself starting to sink into the rhythm of conversation that has nothing to do with the job I asked her here to offer her, I feel that flicker of guilt again.

She’s an intriguing woman. Her clear interest in doing something besides marrying—even though she doesn’t seem sure what that might be, and I can hardly blame her. The way she seems to veer between poise and nervousness, confidence and uncertainty. Her intelligence, which shines through when we talk about a recent art display at the museum, and as she describes an exhibit at the botanical gardens, telling me about the region one of the types of imported flowers is from.

There are things that confuse me a little, too—like how she dresses in the summer. I recall seeing her wearing a hoodie the morning she ran into me in the hallway. I’d just assumed she got chilly easily. But her thickly embroidered shawl seems too heavy for the temperature outside, and it’s warm in the restaurant, too. But she hasn’t taken it off all night.

My assumption is that she’s just very modest. It’s understandable, especially since she thought she was here on a date—I’m sure she’s tired of men ogling her, particularly ones who probably think they have a right to, since they could all but buy her from her father if they wanted to badly enough. But still, there’s something about the way she wears it that feels off to me, and I can’t quite put my finger on why.

Dessert is the last course that’s brought out, a bowl of sweet sticky rice for each of us with fresh mango and a thick coconut syrup on top. Bella daintily dips her teaspoon into it, taking a small bite, and lets out a hum of pleasure. The sound unexpectedly sends a jolt through me, a spark shivering up the base of my spine, and I flinch.

Business, I remind myself sharply. It’s unsurprising, after how long it’s been, that a small moan from a beautiful woman would make me react that way—but it shouldn’t, when it comes to her. For a number of reasons.

Bella offers me a small smile as we finish dessert and I set my heavy black credit card down on the table for the server to collect. She tucks her shawl around her arms, and I think I catch a tremor in her fingers, but I can’t be sure. “Thank you for dinner,” she says softly. “And the offer of a job. I can’t begin to tell you how much I’m looking forward to it.”

I smile back, scrawling my signature on the receipt before standing up. “I’m looking forward to it as well. This will be good for all of us, I think.”

She waits for me before starting to walk towards the exit, a good six inches of space between us. There’s no reason for us to touch, but I remember the way she avoided taking my hand when I offered it to her earlier, to help her out of the car. I wonder if she was trying not to give me the wrong impression, since she always knew she was going to tell me she wasn’t interested in the engagement she thought I wanted.

It also makes me wonder why she agreed to the dinner in the first place, knowing she didn’t want that. Maybe she just wanted to get out of the house, which I couldn’t blame her for, but I can’t help thinking there’s some deeper reason for it. Bella seems to have layers to her, and I don’t think her reasoning for accepting is anything so simple.

She took the job, so it doesn’t really matter, I tell myself as I wait for the valet to bring the car around. I open the door for her, letting her slide in, and then walk around to the driver’s side. I remember how impressed she was with the Ferrari when she first saw it, and I feel a sudden flush of recklessness, an urge to do something that once wouldn’t have been unusual for me, but now is very out of character for the man I’ve been over the last four years.

I should take her straight home. Our business is finished, until she moves in and starts the job I’ve now hired her to do. I should be getting home, too. But instead, I look over at her, wanting to prolong the evening a little longer. I want to feel good for a little longer, and I want to follow up on her curiosity about my favorite car.

“Do you want to see what she can do?” I pat the dashboard, and Bella’s eyes widen.

“What—here?”

“No.” I laugh. “Once we get out of the city, onto a quieter road. I can really open her up there. What do you say?”

She bites her lip nervously. “I mean—I don’t want to keep you out. I’m sure you want to get home.”

“I haven’t had a chance to take this car for a spin in a while. I’m up for it if you are. You’ve never felt a rush like driving over a hundred miles an hour in a car like this.”

I don’t want to push too far. But I see her eyes light up, a mixture of nervousness and curiosity, and she swallows.

I should just take her home. I know I should. But I can see that she wants to, and all I can think is how rarely this girl has probably been allowed to do anything she really wants to do.

“It’ll be fun.” I raise an eyebrow, and Bella’s teeth sink a little deeper into her lip before she nods.

“Okay,” she says hesitantly, and I smile.

“You’re going to love it.”

Once we get out of the city, the night closing in around us as we leave the bright lights behind, I follow a road that I know has a long, empty, straight stretch that’s not often traveled this time of night. There’s no chance of an unexpected curve or unusual traffic—the only obstacle might be if there’s a cop watching this road tonight, but money can take care of that, if I get pulled over. I’ve never worried about that.

I glance over at Bella. “You ready?”

She lets out a small, stifled giggle that reminds me of that hiccuping sob that spilled out of her in the hallway. A sound that comes out without her meaning for it to, but this time happy instead of sad. She nods, biting her lip again. “You’re sure this is safe?”

“I’ve done it before. Out here. It’s just been a while.”

I don’t finish that thought, because I don’t want to follow it to its conclusion right now. I don’t want to think about the nights when I came out here desperate to feel anything other than grief, tearing down this road as fast as the Ferrari would go, Danny and Cecelia the only things that kept me from wrapping it around a tree instead of finally slowing down and going home.

I want to think about the fact that tonight, I’ve felt like a person again for the first time in a long time. A person who can have a meal with someone else, hold a conversation and laugh, and enjoy themselves. I’ve been immersed in work and fatherhood and nothing else for four years, ignoring every personal need I’ve had. I didn’t realize how far a friendly conversation over dinner could go.

I glance over to make sure she’s still wearing her seatbelt, and then I press down on the gas.

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