Page 12 of His Dark Pact

“Does it bother you?” His gaze bored into her.

“Your intensity?” She laughed, though the sound was nervous. “No, not at all.”

“That’s good. I have strong opinions about a lot of things, but it wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

Was that an apology? Her attention trailed over his strong, stubble-covered jawline, trying to decide.

“Your Armand de Brignac, sir.” The server returned, brandishing the no-doubt incredibly expensive bottle in her hands. She rid the bottle top of its dark covering and started work on the cork as she spoke. “Would you like to taste?”

“I’m sure the Armand de Brignac is fine.” Kyle’s chin rose. “If it’s not, we’ll let you know.”

The server smiled as the cork burst from the bottle, and she poured the golden liquid into Amy’s glass. “Madam.”

“Thank you.” Amy reached for the stem of her flute, drawing it closer while Kyle’s glass was filled. Lifting her gaze, she met his eyes as the server concluded and left them in peace.

“To you.” He lifted the flute toward her.

Mirroring the act, she allowed their glasses to touch.

“To tonight,” she corrected, content to shift his focus from her. A part of her relished his consideration, but another, more intuitive facet wondered if she could surviveallof his attention. “To enjoying ourselves.”

“I’ll drink to that.” His concentration pierced her as they both sipped at the fizz.

“I have a question,” she murmured, feeling the liquid slide down her throat. Her burning desire to know if she should call him William, Will, or Billy was peaking. She knew so little about the man. How he liked to be referred to would be a decent starting point.

“Then, ask your question.” His hand rose to gesture for her to go ahead. “I’ll do my best to answer.”

“I wondered what I should call you.” Suddenly, her query seemed downright pathetic. Of all the things she could ask, why was she pursuing this flimsy line of inquiry? “Do you like to be called William, Will, or maybe Billy?”

“I like Mr. Kyle.” His deep chuckle whipped around the table. “Or, sir. Especially if you say it.”

Her fingers tightened around the flute’s stem.Sir.He wanted her to call him sir? What the hell did that mean?

“Very formal.” She forced the words out, aware, yet again, that her cheeks were reddening. “Calling you Mr. Kyle seems strange, but I’ll comply if that’s your choice.”

The idea rankled her, but as she sipped the champagne, she supposed it didn’t matter. Tonight, she was just like Cinderella, and as soon as her carriage left the restaurant, she’d end up in rags. Let him insist on formalities. It wasn’t what she’d anticipated, but he was the one paying for the meal. It was his prerogative.

“You don’t like sir, then?” His leer should have irritated, but it only seemed to heighten his attractive features, highlighting the depth of his blue gaze.

“I don’t call anyone sir.” She grazed her thumb over the intricate cut glass and took a long swig of her drink. The bubbles danced directly to her head as she settled the flute on the table. “Why would I?”

She drank so little anymore that even a few sips seemed to affect her, especially where bubbles were concerned. The low thrum of polite conversation around the restaurant muted as she swirled the drink around the glass, her confidence buoyed by its impact. The fizz tasted good as it warmed the back of her throat, and she wondered how much each mouthful was costing him.

“Tell me about your marriage to Graham.”

Wait, what? She blinked at him, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. “What does my marriage have to do with anything?”

“I’m just curious.” He placed down his flute. “Of course, don’t feel you have to share if you don’t want to.”

“Curious?” She laughed out loud, vaguely cognizant of her inhibitions falling away. That was what alcohol did to her. Along with her finances, it was the reason why she rarely touched the stuff anymore. “More like nosy.”

His brow rose at her mocking response. “Nosy?”

“Yes.” She eyed his response, abruptly concerned that she might have gone too far. Kyle didn’t know her. He might not understand her wacky sense of humor and that she meant no offense. “I mean, my marriage is really none of your business.”

“True.” His tone was curter, as though he had indeed been put out by her accusation. “But I thought we liked each other, thought we were being honest with each other.”

Were we?

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