Page 12 of Tormented Oath

She wets her lips, and the simple gesture nearly breaks me. "That was a long time ago."

"Was it?" I lean in, my lips nearly brushing her ear. "Because I remember everything. Every touch. Every kiss. Every promise."

Her hands come up to my chest, whether to push me away or pull me closer, I'm not sure. But the contact burns through my shirt like a brand.

"Stefano..." It might be a warning or a plea.

I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, letting her see everything I've kept caged for ten years. The hunger. The obsession. The need to possess her.

She swallows hard. "This isn't why I came here."

"No?" I reach up, brushing another strand of hair from her face. "Why did you come here, Ava?"

Instead of answering, she ducks under my arm, putting distance between us.

"I should go." Her voice is husky. "It's late."

"Have dinner with me."

The words surprise us both. She turns, eyes wide.

"What?"

"Dinner." I straighten, adjusting my cuffs to hide how much I want to grab her, to stop her from leaving. "You always said a gentleman should feed his guests, didn't you?"

A smile plays on her lips. "I did, didn't I?"

"Then let me do this right." I offer my hand, knowing we're both pretending this is more casual than it is. "Just two old friends catching up."

She places her hand in mine, and triumph surges through me.

"My car's out back." I guide her toward the private exit, my hand on the small of her back. "Unless you need to change first?"

She glances down at her dance outfit, then back at me with a hint of her old mischief. "Afraid to be seen with a dancer, boss?"

The title on her lips does things to me that should be illegal.

"Sweetheart, I'm afraid of a lot of things when it comes to you." I press my hand more firmly against her back, steering her toward the door. "But that's not one of them."

She shivers at the contact, and I know she feels this too—this magnetic pull that's only growing stronger.

Whatever game she's playing, whatever secrets she's keeping, this thing between us is still as powerful as ever.

And I intend to use every second of our dinner to remind her exactly what she's been running from.

CHAPTERTHREE

Ava

The restaurant screamsold money Chicago, where the silverware is real, and a crystal chandelier throws diamonds of light across white tablecloths. The maître practically bows when Stefano walks in.

His hand hasn't moved from my lower back since we left the club—like he's afraid I'll disappear if he pulls away. I’m grateful that we did return to get my coat before we left. His touch is burning my skin even through the thick fabric, and I have to fight not to lean into it.

Into him.

"The wine list, sir?" The sommelier appears, but Stefano doesn't even glance his way. His eyes haven't left me since we sat down, tracking every movement like a predator studying its prey.

It should make me uncomfortable. Instead, it makes my skin hum with awareness.

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