Page 18 of The Carver

When I stepped up, my dress rose up automatically, and I quickly pulled it down before I took my seat.

Bastien took the seat beside me and looked out the window. “You followed my directions. Good girl.”

I felt the smile stretch my mouth as I buckled my safety belt, feeling my face heat, feeling warm everywhere. Aware that I’d flashed my pussy to the entire street, I crossed my legs to give her some dignity.

His hand went to my thigh, his fingers underneath the hem of the dress, lightly caressing my skin. He looked out the window ahead and said nothing more about it, probably because of the presence of the driver.

After a five-minute drive, we arrived at our destination and stopped in front of Septime, a restaurant so close we could have walked, but I was glad we hadn’t because I was cold, even in the coat. A Michelin-star restaurant that served dinner in seven courses with wine pairings, it was a fancy place to eat for a weekday evening.

Bastien opened the door for me, helped me out of my coat, and pulled out the chair for me when we got to the table before he sat across from me. The waitress arrived immediately and discussed the menu with us. “Any allergies or aversions?”

“I eat anything,” Bastien said. “What about you, sweetheart?”

“No bell peppers, please.”

The waitress left to get the meal started.

Bastien sat with his back to the window, his elbows on the table, his ink visible with his sleeves rolled up. “Allergic?”

“No. Just hate them.”

He smirked like that was amusing. “I’ll remember that.”

The waitress arrived with a bottle of water for us to share, along with our first glass of wine for the evening. The first course was served, white asparagus in a cream sauce with a fennel mixture on top.

I didn’t touch my food because I was absorbed in the man across from me. His shirt was dark blue, the perfect color to complement his gorgeous eyes. I didn’t feel a particular way about tattoos, but he looked so good in them, like a piece of artwork.

His eyes were on mine, maintaining eye contact like it was a sport and he’d already won the gold.

“You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.” I felt obligated to explain my stare, to explain what I was thinking. I didn’t have that quiet confidence he possessed. I probably just looked like I lacked manners.

He smirked slightly before drinking his wine. He didn’t acknowledge the compliment but seemed pleased by it.

“I know you must hear that all the time.”

“Actually, I never hear it.”

My face tightened as my eyebrows furrowed, because it was so ridiculous it had to be a lie. “What?”

“I’m not around a woman long enough for her to have the opportunity to say anything, and there’s not a lot of talking going on anyway.” He kept his elbows on the table, the backs of his hands covered in ink too. “And the rest of the time, women liketo play hard to get, like that will get my attention. You don’t do that—one of the reasons I like you.”

“You like the fact that I have no class or game?” I asked incredulously.

His eyes were locked on mine, a hint of amusement there. “I like that you’re real. No bullshit. No games. Straight to the point—like me.”

It was a compliment I didn’t deserve, not after I’d walked out of Jules Verne and left him behind. “I don’t know about that.”

His stare continued without wavering in intensity. “There’s a difference between intentionally misleading someone to get the outcome you want and trying to figure out who you are and what you want when you start your life over.”

“For still being mad, you’re awfully kind.”

“My kindness is volatile and unpredictable. Be grateful when it’s here.”

My legs were crossed under the table to make sure my girl was tucked in and hidden, but I was aware of the way my nipples felt against the material of my dress. It was a lot warmer inside than it was on the street, but when I wore practically nothing, it wasn’t enough.

He glanced down at my chest, as if he could read my thoughts. “Your tits look incredible.”

“Because you can practically see them through the dress.”

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