Page 62 of Shatter Me

"Ah yes, terrorizing the board members again?" His eyes dance with amusement.

"Please. If anyone's the terror in that boardroom, it's you." I lock up, and we head to the elevator. "I simply present facts. You're the one who enjoys making people squirm."

"Only the incompetent ones." He guides me into the elevator with a hand on my lower back. "And you enjoy it just as much as I do."

"I admit nothing." But I can't hide my smile. This playful side of him, reserved just for me, makes my heart flutter.

The leather seat is cool against my bare legs as I slide into the Mercedes. Dmitri follows, his presence filling the confined space with that magnetic energy that always draws me in.

"Going to tell me where we're headed?" I ask as Akim pulls away from the curb.

"No." His hand lands on my thigh, fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin. "Trust me."

The touch sends shivers through me. I shift closer, unable to resist his pull after the tension from last night. His cologne wraps around me—sandalwood and pure masculinity.

"You're playing with fire," I whisper, but tilt my face up to his anyway.

His lips capture mine, and I melt into him with a soft moan. His fingers tighten on my thigh as his other hand tangles in my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss.

Heat pools low in my belly as his tongue slides against mine. I grab his lapel, pulling him closer. The frustration from last night's interrupted moment floods back. His hand inches higher under my dress, and I gasp against his mouth.

"I've been thinking about this all day," he murmurs between kisses, nipping at my bottom lip. "About kissing you."

"Me too." My voice is breathy as his fingers trace the edge of my lace underwear. "Last night was torture."

He groans and kisses me harder, possessively. I press myself against him, craving more contact. The partition is up, but I'm beyond caring who might hear us. I can only focus on his touch, taste, and how he makes me burn.

"Maybe we should skip dinner." I trail my fingers down his chest. "Head back to my place for dessert instead."

His hand catches mine, stilling my movements. Those ice-blue eyes lock onto mine, making my breath catch.

"No." His voice is firm but gentle. "We're having dinner."

"Since when are you so traditional?" I can't help the teasing note in my voice, even as desire still courses through me.

"Since you." He brushes his thumb across my knuckles. "I'm doing this right, Natasha. A proper date. Good food. Conversation." His lips quirk. "Though I make no promises about dessert afterward."

The simple statement hits me harder than any of his touches. This isn't just about sex or power games anymore. He's actually courting me.

"You're full of surprises, Dmitri Ivanov." I settle back against the seat, letting my hand rest in his.

"Only for you." He lifts our joined hands to his lips, kissing my palm, making me shiver. "Now, behave yourself until we reach the restaurant."

I laugh. "Or what?"

"Or I'll have Akim drive us around the block until you do." But the heat in his eyes tells me he's struggling with his own control.

"Fine." I smooth my dress back down. "But this better be an amazing dinner to compensate for the torture."

His answering smile is pure sin. "Trust me,kulkolka. I never disappoint."

The Mercedes glides to a stop before a small storefront tucked between a bookshop and a flower stand. Warm light spills from windows framed by red and white checkered curtains. The sign above reads "Mama Rosa's" in faded gold letters.

"This is different for you," I say as Dmitri helps me from the car.

"Sometimes different is good." His hand settles on my lower back as he guides me to the weathered wooden door.

The scent of garlic and fresh bread envelops us as we step inside. No crystal chandeliers or white tablecloths here—just well-worn wooden tables, mismatched chairs, and walls covered in old black-and-white photos of Italy. A tiny Italian grandmother, who can't be five feet tall, bustles over.

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