Page 69 of Captivated By Him

“No.” She raises her chin a fraction, but I can see the defiance glowing in her eyes. She’s uncomfortable, but she won’t admit it. Well, she will, but she thinks she won’t.

It makes this game all the more fun.

“You keep squirming in your chair. Is the cushion not good? Should I ask for a new chair?” I make a point of raising my hand.

We’re at the best Polish bistro in the city. Everything here is homemade. The dishes remind me of spending my weekends at my grandparents’ house when I was little. No one cooks as well as my grandmother did, but the chef here comes in a close second.

“No!” She reaches across the table and grabs hold of my arm, slamming it to the table. “Stop trying to embarrass me,” she warns before letting me go.

I raise my eyebrow. “Why would you be embarrassed?” I lean across the table and spread my lips with all the eagerness of a child given free rein of the candy store. “Could it be because you have a large butt plug in your ass right now?”

Her eyes go wide, mortification radiates from her expression, and she grabs hold of the side of the table.

“If you run off, I’ll have to call you back here,” I warn her. She really makes this too easy for me.

Her face might actually burst into flames, so I take some pity on her.

“Sit back and relax.” I pat her hand. “I won’t mention your situation again. But you really should stop wiggling. It’s only making it worse for yourself.”

Her lips scrunch together like they are getting ready to let loose a barrage of insults, but the waiter saves me from her temper. He places a bowl of red borscht in front of her and a bowl of mushroom barley in front of me.

Once he’s gone, Nicole eases back a bit and smiles down at the soup.

“You mentioned you had a taste for it,” I say when she looks up at me.

“I was going to make it for us,” she says, picking up her spoon.

“Do you like to cook?” I ask, grabbing a warmed bun from the basket and tearing it in half.

“No, not really, but there are a few dishes I’m pretty good at. This is one of them.” She sinks her spoon into the red soup and drags it across the bowl then brings it up to her lips. With the first taste, she closes her eyes. “This is really good.” She points to the soup with her spoon.

“I told you, this place has the best Polish food in the city.”

It’s not a fancy high-end restaurant, but Nicole is more at home in a family restaurant like this. The look of reprieve that washed over her face when I told her she didn’t have to get dressed up for dinner told me I’d chosen the right place.

Nicole is gorgeous when she gets all done up with her hair pinned up away from her neck, and when she drapes her curvy body with a fashionable dress. But when she’s like this—her natural wavy, dark hair loose around her shoulders, small traces of mascara, and comfortable shirt and jeans—she steals my breath. The woman has a natural pull I can’t fight, and since she’s my wife now, I don’t have to.

She seems to forget all about the plug in her ass and dives into her soup. I recalled she wanted to make the borscht for us, but she never got around to it. The opening of the new restaurant and cigar room is only a few nights away, and she’s been working herself too hard to get last-minute publicity underway.

Aside from the marketing she’s been dealing with, I’ve been overseeing the new hires and training of the staff. Thankfully, Nora took over the tastings and menu issues, so I didn’t have to worry about all of that. But in two nights, all of our hard work is going to come to fruition. And then we can relax.

“That was amazing.” Nicole sits back from her empty bowl and wipes her mouth with a napkin. “So good.”

I push away what’s left of my soup.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“You didn’t finish yours.”

“I’m saving myself for the Golabki.”

She screws up her lips and shakes her head.

“No?”

“Cabbage isn’t my thing. When I was little, I unrolled the cabbage until the meat and rice came out. I’d eat that and give the cabbage leaf to my dad.” She takes a sip of her water. “Did you order anything else?”

I let my hands drop to my lap under the table. If we were seated closer, I’d be able to touch her, to tease her.

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