Page 22 of Secret Twins for the Orc

“It’s on me. Eat.” Then he shifts his weight and lets out a sigh. “Please.”

My arms drop to my side. “Fine, since we’re already halfway through an abduction, I might as well get something out of it.” And that’s the onlyreason I agree. It has nothing to do with how soft his voice sounded when he said please.

Without missing a beat, his fingers settle against my lower back, and he steers me inside. “Thank you.”

He says it so quietly, I almost don’t hear it over the ambient noise of the restaurant, and I turn to stare at him as he speaks with a six-foot-tall blonde woman with tufted cat ears, who leads us to our table.

Thank you? For allowing him to buy me dinner?

The décor inside is wooden and rustic and makes me think of Vikings, but I hardly notice, finding my eyes instead glued to the big orc beside me.

He’s still frowning his signature Rhokar frown, but the warm glow of lights soften his features, and I find myself staring at the straight line of his jaw, and the faint hint of stubble I think I can see.

He hasn’t moved his fingers from my lower back. I wonder if he even realizes that.

We’re led to a table by a large window, and when the blonde lady leaves, I realize I’m still staring at Rhokar, my thoughts doing an odd flip-flop.

I mean he manhandled me and literally kidnapped me. The absolute height of bullying, not to mention illegal and just plain rude.

Definitely workplace harassment.

But he did it so he could take me to a lovely, small restaurant with a cute Nordic interior, and feed me after I admitted that I wasn’t eating well? This place doesn’t look cheap, either.

I don’t know how to feel right now.

“It’s not a date,” he repeats gruffly in response to my gaze, perhaps a little self-consciously.

“Right, so you often throw women over your shoulders and drag them into the night, do you?”

“Only the annoying ones.”

Before I can open my mouth to so much as hint at a response, a heavily bearded waiter with a cat’s tail approaches, and Rhokar immediately starts ordering for the both of us. I don’t have any idea what type of fae these wait staff are, maybe a species from Scandinavia?’ But where I might normally be curious, I find myself focusing only on Rhokar, as everything and everyone else fades into the background.

“Whatever your specialty draft is this month, and a Pinot noir for the lady,” he orders without hesitation. “One large meat platter to share, a bowl of roast potatoes, and a salad?” His eyes flick towards me. “Do you want a salad?” He looks away without waiting for an answer. “We’ll have a salad, whichever one you think is best. Bring each plate as it’s ready, no need to be fancy.”

“Rhokar,” I say as soon as the waiter leaves, and I have every intention of ripping him a new one for ordering without even asking me, despite the fact that his choices sound amazing and the way he took charge did something fluttery to my insides. But instead, for some reason, I murmur, “You remembered my drink.”

He looks at me as if he has no idea how to respond, before eventually shrugging one large shoulder. “Rhokar, now, am I?” His voice is gravelly, and he looks away quickly.

“Lady, now, am I?” I throw back, and he snorts but doesn’t look at me.

“Only in public, apparently,” he mutters, and I cross my arms and do everything in my power to stop my treacherous lips from tugging up in amusement.

Ishe flirting with me?

The waiter quickly returns with a huge stone mug of frothy beer, and a glass of red for me, and we both lift our drinks and sit in silence.

A few minutes later, there’s a rhubarb and beetroot salad on the table before us, and the sweet tang of balsamic vinegar curls over me and has my stomach growling again. I hesitate as I stare at the salad, suddenly keenly aware of my crackers-and-ham diet this past week, before I fold my hands in my lap and look away.

No need to be greedy. I’ll just wait for a few more items to get on the table.

Rhokar is watching me though, his dark eyes flicking from me to the salad and back. Then without a word, he lifts the bowl and quietly serves a generous portion onto the plate beside me, before nudging it closer.

I stare at him.

My chest warms. I feel touched by the gesture, despite how simple it is, and the flip-flop of my thoughts intensifies.

This is Rhokar, the man who has single-handedly ensured I’ve gone to bed annoyed every single night thinking about him since the moment I arrived in this town.

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