Page 33 of My Boyfriend Bites

“The man almost stepped out in daylight he was so worried about you,” Renard admitted as the elevator took them down two floors.

“We’re having dinner tonight.”

“So I’ve heard. Been a while since I’ve seen him this excited about a date.” Renard glanced at her. “Which is to say you must be pretty special.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Not really.” Which wasn’t a lie. As far as anyone was concerned, she was a normal woman.

“Shall we have breakfast together?” Renard suggested as they entered the restaurant.

“Yes please,” she exclaimed, pretending to not see the older ladies waving at her.

They dined at a table for two, chatting about nothing in particular. While Selene remained curious about Dante, it didn’t seem right to interrogate Renard about his boss. Not to mention rude to Dante himself. If she wanted to know the man, she’d speak to him directly.

After breakfast, Selene treated herself to a spa day. Nails trimmed and painted—both fingers and toes—legs, pits, and bikini line waxed—because she didn’t dare try and rip out the entire bush at the apex of her thighs. She got a massage that left her boneless. A facial that had her glowing. She even splurged on a blow-out at the hair salon.

As to how she managed to get in at every place she visited? Selene could only assume her upgraded status allowed her to skip appointments and lines. Each time they scanned her bracelet it was, “Right away, ma’am. This way please.”

Kind of a neat perk. She could see why folks paid extra for it.

Despite keeping busy primping, the day dragged. Not a good sign. Her excitement over this dinner would likely lead todisappointment. Would Dante try and seduce her? Would she let him? How far could she go before she had to put a stop to things? Would he understand if she told him she needed to take things slow? Would he die tonight if the wolf emerged during a make-out session? She really hoped not because it might be hard to convince authorities she had nothing to do with it if she were the last person he was seen with.

Her hands shook as she lathered on some makeup, more than she usually dared. Eyeliner and mascara, a hint of blush on her cheeks, a pink gloss that made her lips look wet.

A part of her wished she’d brought a fancier dress from the online shop for the meal, the sleek black wrap-around sexy but also kind of plain.

Dante didn’t seem to care she wasn’t wearing a designer gown because when she opened the door—the firm knock at five fifty-nine setting her heart to thumping—he eyed her up and down before slowly smiling. “You look stunning.”

“You’re not too shabby yourself,” she quipped. Dante looked absolutely dashing in his suit. Black on black. Some might decry the lack of white shirt, but she rather liked it. She’d always had a soft spot for villains in movies and books.

“This old thing?” he teased with a wink.

“What time is dinner?” she asked.

“When we show up,” he replied with a laugh. “I reserved us a table for two with an ocean view.”

“Sounds great.”

It truly did until they walked into La Maisonette to find it packed. Every table full. The music clashing with the raucous conversations. The decorations, gaudy and bright. Sensory overload. She didn’t even realize she’d tightened her fingers on Dante’s sleeve until he pried them loose so he could turn her to face him.

He didn’t ask if she was okay. Didn’t have to. He simply murmured, “This is much too busy. Would you mind if we dined in your cabin instead? I’d suggest mine, but Rennie is lounging inside tonight to avoid the festivities.”

“You don’t have to change our plans because of me.” She saw right through his chivalry.

“Your discomfort is more important than us eating in public. I have no need to be on display. On the contrary, I think an intimate dinner would be a much better idea. That is, if you’re comfortable with it?”

“Do you think we can still get the food on the menu? I was rather looking forward to the lobster bisque.”

“As if I would let us starve. Whatever you want will be yours. If you want our meal served by the chef himself, I will make it happen.”

“No need for that. But thank you.” She allowed him to tuck her against him as they turned and waded out past the diners who’d forgotten to make a reservation and now tried to finagle their way in. They said nothing until they reached the privacy of her room, a suite as large as his with a dining table positioned with views of the ocean. When he tapped the tablet that controlled the room, music began to play via the hidden speakers.

He grabbed her around the waist and sat her on the counter that ran part of the length of the living room wall and knelt.

“What are you doing?” she squeaked.

“Making you comfortable.” He removed the heels that she’d brought and never planned to wear, one of the few things that survived the room flooding. He then massaged the arch of her foot, and she sighed.

“How did you know I hate those shoes?”

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