Page 56 of Reckless King

I go back to stroking her neck. It feels a little too good under my fingertips to want to stop. “Since when has that stopped you?”

Her brows pull together, and she gnaws on her lower lip, but the waiter appears next to us before she can tell me what’s obviously bothering her.

He cradles a bottle of wine in his hands, presenting it to me.

Once I’ve given him a nod of approval, he expertly uncorks the bottle and pours a small amount into my glass. With my spare hand, I pick it up and take a sip.

“Perfect, thank you.”

With a polite smile, he fills both glasses, then sets the bottle on the table. “Are you ready to order now, or would you like some more time?”

Violet squeaks and picks up her menu again. She barely had a chance to look at it before I distracted her. With her lip caught between her teeth, she scans the page, no doubt searching for what she hopes is the least expensive option.

“Can you give us a few more minutes?” I ask the waiter. When he’s gone, I resume the small circles I’ve been rubbing on Violet’s neck but will myself not to be distracted by my growing obsession with touching her. “Butterfly,” I say softly. “Get whatever you want. I promise I can afford anything on that menu.”

She arches a brow at me. “Just because you can afford it doesn’t mean you should have to. You’re already paying me to be here. Not to mention buying me gifts you absolutely don’t have to.”

“Turns out, I quite like buying my girlfriend gifts. I’d like to buy you a meal you’ll remember.”

Confusion is written all over her face. “Why?”

Does she really not understand that I like spending time with her? That I want to make the experience special? “So that maybe after this agreement is over, when you’re happily married to some lucky guy, you’ll think back to this night with me. Even if it’s just because the meal was the best you’ve ever had.”

Violet stares at me, and once again, something shimmers in the air between us. Something fragile but almost tangible. A connection that tugs at my chest. That urges me to close the distance between us.

She wets her lips, then looks down at the menu. With a soft exhale, she closes it and smiles up at me. “Okay. I’ll have the house-made black truffle ravioli with the brown butter and sage sauce.”

“Good choice.”

“And Tate?” She places her hand on my thigh. “Thank you. I doubt I’ll forget this night. Or any of the other things you’ve done for me and True Brew.” She takes a deep breath. “I… I’m sorry I wasn’t very nice to you when you and Mark were in college.” Sincerity shines from her eyes.

Is that what’s been worrying her? “Don’t apologize for that,” I say. “I didn’t exactly put my best foot forward when we met. And after that first visit, it might have even been on purpose.”

“Are you saying you were deliberately provoking me?” She’s trying to fight a smile, but she’s doing a terrible job of it.

I laugh. “I enjoyed seeing that fire in your eyes when you would snap at me.”

She sits back in her chair and shakes her head. “Here I was thinking I was bringing you down a couple of notches. And all the while, you were having fun.”

“More fun than I would have ever admitted to you—or your brother.”

She cocks her head in question. Before she can voice it, though, the waiter is back.

Violet watches me through her lashes the whole time he’s there. Certain she’ll ask why I didn’t want to admit anything to her brother, I remain silent after he takes our order and leaves, waiting her out. But she doesn’t ask, and for an instant, a sensation that almost feels like disappointment wells up inside me. It’s gone a moment later, when she turns our conversation to something a little less personal.

The food is incredible, as expected. Violet and I try one another’s dishes—the black truffle ravioli for her, of course, and the Chilean sea bass for me. The act of sharing food is surprisingly intimate. As Violet mentioned at the gala last weekend, I don’t exactly make a habit of wining and dining women. This is a different experience for me. But sharing a mealwith her, listening to her moan as she enjoys the flavors, then watching a smile light up her face as she answers my questions about her life and True Brew, has me captivated. I’m not sure if she notices the way I steer her away from questions about my family. If she does, she’s gracious enough not to let on.

We’ve mostly kept the conversation light, but when she mentions her ex-boyfriend, Eric, in passing, and her shoulders tense, I probe for more information.

“How long ago did the two of you break up?”

She hesitates, then lets out a sigh. “Just over a year ago.”

“Can I ask what happened? You mentioned at Onyx it was a rough breakup.”

Her wide eyes shoot up to mine. Is it because I mentioned that night at the club? Or is it because I’m asking about her relationship?

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

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