Page 84 of Dangerous King
Outside the gates, the city waits, louder, faster, more chaotic than the world I've lived in for the last few years. But inside this vehicle, with Enrico next to me, I feel… safe. I feel like maybe I reallyamthe kind of girl who gets taken on real dates. Who wears real makeup. Who gets kissed under the stars.
His fingers draw lazy circles on my thigh, reminding me so much of his thumb on my clit that… Dio mio, if he doesn't stop, I'm going to pant in half a second. The feeling is so intense, I have to grab his hand and interlace our fingers to make him stop.
A knowing smile curves arrogantly around his mouth, slow and devastating. The kind of smile that saysI know exactly what I'm doing to you.
His strong jaw is dusted with a five o'clock shadow that only sharpens the already unfair symmetry of his face. The dim light from the dash, mingling with the flickering headlights of passing cars, casts his features in shifting shadows—cutting cheekbones, a regal nose, that mouth designed to ruin good intentions. God, he's so handsome it almost hurts to look at him.
There's something about the way he carries it, too. He looks like the gods carved him from something ancient and merciless. And yet, right now, he's relaxed. Confident. Watching me through his lashes like he already owns every thought in my head. Which he does. My breath snags. My pulse trips. I can't tear my eyes away.
Maybe tonight, I'll let myself believe this is more than a dream. Maybe tonight, I'll be brave enough to wanteverything.
We glide through the city like a shadow, past brightly lit buildings, past lives that aren't mine. Enrico doesn't speak much, but his silence feels intentional, not distant, like he's giving me space to soak this in. To breathe. In all the years I lived under the Giordanos' roof, my world never extended beyond the wrought iron gates of their estate and the sterile walls of whatever private school they enrolled me in. My universe was marble floors, manicured gardens, and cold, watchful stares. I never saw the city. Never heard it breathe or felt it pulse under my skin.
Now, sitting here in the car with Enrico, it hits me all at once. The skyline stretches out like something from a dream, impossibly tall buildings glittering against the early evening sky, neon lights flickering in every direction. Horns blare. Laughter spills from open windows. Life hums in every crack of the pavement.
My breath catches in my throat. My fingers press to the glass, trying to drink it all in.
People fill the sidewalks, rushing from work, wandering about, just plain living. I've never seen so many faces, so many possibilities, and not one of them looks at me like I'm out of place.
A strange pressure swells in my chest. Hope. Longing. Awe.
Our hands remain clasped on my thigh for the rest of the drive. His thumb brushes lightly over mine every once in a while. It shouldn't make me shiver, but it does. Every. Time.
Finally, we slow in front of a building that doesn't even look real. It's all glass and black steel, several stories high, and reminding me of something out of a magazine with its honest-to-God red carpet lying on the ground. A man in a tuxedo opens my door before I even reach for the handle.
"Miss," he says with a polite nod.
I step out slowly, carefully, letting the hem of my dress fall perfectly into place. I stand tall, shoulders back, one of the things Camilla and her mother—before she died—insisted I learn. To walk, talk, and behave like a lady.
Enrico is right behind me, his hand on the small of my back, assuring, assuring, strong, and possessive in a way that makes my stomach flutter.
"Hungry?" he murmurs near my ear.
I nod because, for a moment, that's all I can do as I'm staring at the building's façade. He subtly increases the pressure at my back to guide me inside, and I remember my manners. "Starved, actually, and you?"
A mischievous smirk runs across his features, his eyes sparkle as he leans in lower, so only I can hear him, "Starved too. But the only thing I'm hungry for tonight…" his lips brush the shell of my ear, voice dropping to a dark whisper, "is your pussy."
My knees nearly give out. Heat rushes up my neck and pools between my legs so fast I forget how to breathe. He straightens, calm and collected, like he didn't just melt every last one of my brain cells.
I don't have a chance to recover; the hostess takes one look at him and rushes to take us upstairs. The entire time, she flutters her long, fake eyelashes at Enrico, completely ignoring me. She laughs too loudly at her own jokes and, in general, makes me want to punch her. That thought hits me like a hammer to the chest. I've never wanted to punch anybody. Not even Camilla when she was at her most snotty meanness. Neither figuratively nor literally. But right now, I feel like I could smack my fist right into her artificially enhanced lips. It's a very disturbing realization.
Clueless as to where my mind is going, she leads us to a private balcony wrapped in fairy lights and ivy. There are only twotables. Ours sits against a wall of glass overlooking the glittering skyline.
"This is beautiful," I whisper, stunned.
Enrico pulls my chair out for me. "Not as beautiful as you."
The hostess coughs, throwing a veiled glare at me, before she sends a smile, all teeth, at Enrico. "Your server will be right with you. In the meantime, if you need anything…" She drifts off, leaving enough space to imagine what she's thinking. My fingers curl into small fists. I'm overreacting. I know that. I draw in a deep breath and take a seat, ignoring the hostess and smiling up at Enrico. "Thank you."
Menus arrive, followed by wine. A server appears so quietly that I don't even hear his approach. Everything is hushed and seamless, opulence without effort.
"I keep waiting to wake up," I say softly, tracing the rim of my water glass.
"You're not dreaming," Enrico replies. "You're with me. You deserve this." His gaze meets mine. "You saved my sister. You survived hell. You've held yourself together when most people would've shattered." He leans forward. "But if you think this date is some reward? It's not. It's the beginning."
I stare at him, every single one of my nerve endings alive and pulsing. Thebeginning, he said. I swallow. That one word can mean so much. Is it wrong to hope that he means us? The beginning of us? With that, the butterflies in my stomach stop fluttering. They soar.
Dinner begins with a small amuse-bouche that resembles art more than food. I stare at it for a second, fork in hand. Enricowatches me with that smug little glint in his eye. "What? Never had a beet foam and goat cheese cloud before?"
