Page 87 of Body and Soul

A waiter appeared beside us, presenting leather-bound menus with a flourish. I opened mine and scanned the page full of unrecognizable Frenchy words before glancing up at Shepherd.

He smiled and leaned in close, his hand finding my knee under the table. “Would you like me to order for you?”

My mouth went dry at his proximity, at the heat of his touch through the thin fabric of my slacks. I nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

Shepherd placed our order in fluid French, the foreign words rolling off his tongue like silk. The waiter bowed and swept away, leaving us alone in our intimate corner.

“This place is something,” I said, craning my neck to take in the art on the walls - actual originals, not prints. “Is this the sort of place you come often?”

I cringed inwardly at the question. Of course he came there often. They knew him by name.

Shepherd’s lip curved up in a small smile. “To be honest, I’ve only been here a handful of times. The maître d' is a regular at the club, though, and a good friend. An exceptional dom.”

“Oh.” I shifted in my seat, a little uneasy. “Do you know everyone who goes to your club?”

“The Playground was the center of my world, Eli.”

I swallowed. “Was?”

He nodded. “Now, you are.”

My heart stuttered in my chest at the thought of being the center of someone’s entire world. My brain snagged on the phrase, picked it apart and put it back together. I wanted that. Had always wanted that, even if I hadn’t been able to put it into words before. I wanted it more than anything, to be someone else’s, to belong to someone in that way.

“I don't... I'm not sure what to say to that,” I admitted quietly, my fingers twisting the cloth napkin in my lap.

Shepherd's hand covered mine, stilling their nervous movements. “You don't have to say anything. I wanted you to know. I’m not the sort of man who’s capable of half-measures, Eli. I’ll move mountains to make you happy. But there’s another side to that.” He let go of my hand. “You know already that there’s a side of me who can be violent and unpredictable. But there’s…something else you should know about me, Eli.”

My brow furrowed. “Are you talking about... Keres?” I asked hesitantly.

Keres could be violent and unpredictable, but I didn’t think he’d ever hurt me. He was hardly ever out. I saw Bryce more often than I’d seen Keres.

My heart raced as Shepherd's words hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken meaning. What else could there possibly be to know about him? My mind spun with possibilities, each more unsettling than the last.

Before I could ask, Shepherd leaned forward, his voice low. “Eli, before things go any further between us, there's something you need to understand about my family. About who we are and what we do.”

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “What do you mean?”

Shepherd's jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with an emotion I couldn't quite read. “The Laskins... we're not just a wealthy family with ties to the community. We're—”

“Dr. Laskin.” A deep voice cut through the intimate bubble surrounding our table. “I'm going to need you and your companion to come with me.”

Shepherd's head snapped up, his entire body going rigid. I followed his gaze to see a tall, broad-shouldered man loomingover us. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, his dark hair slicked back from a harsh, unsmiling face.

“And why would we do that?” Shepherd asked coolly, though I could see the tension thrumming through him.

The man's eyes flashed with a dangerous light. He reached into his jacket and withdrew something, holding it up between two fingers. It was a playing card - a black ace emblazoned with gold filigree.

My brow furrowed in confusion, but Shepherd sucked in a sharp breath beside me. His hand clamped down on my thigh under the table, fingers digging into my flesh through the fine fabric of my slacks.

“Sir?” I asked, frowning at him in hopes of an explanation.

“It’s all right, little rabbit,” he said, rising calmly and helping me to my feet. “I’m in control.”

It was a subtle message, one that sent a shock of fear slithering down my spine because Shepherd wasn’t the one who called melittle rabbit.

Keres was.

I stared at theback of our escort’s neck as we bumped along the country road, memorizing the stubble pattern, the weathered crease of skin. I imagined my knife slipping between vertebrae—a quick twist, over in a heartbeat.

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