Page 25 of Thorns of Silence
I broke out in shivers.
My pulse throbbed between my legs while we stood in the middle of the city staring at each other. Dante was a big man, muscles rippling beneath his clothes, and if he really wanted to, he could overpower me.
Fuck, why did that make the ache between my legs worse?
I hated him. I hated his betrayal, his insanity, his arrogance, and I hated how he lied with that smirk on his face. But most of all, I hated how much I missed himso fucking much.
I could still vividly remember how the parts of him I loved felt under my touch. His arms around me, protective and warm. His lips over my skin and the soft words he would mouth with those lips.
I shook my head. It was all an act. He didn’t actually care.
My teeth ached, and I unclenched my jaw. I learned my lesson the last time. It was impossible to come out of an encounter with him unscathed.
“You can walk behind me,” I signed. “Stay the fuck away from me.”
TWELVE
PHOENIX
Expensive cars filled the parking lot of Sphere.
Exiting my Uber, I walked toward the entrance of the restaurant, watching my balance in the tall heels I was wearing. The slit of the ivory dress revealed my upper thigh, drawing glances, and I started questioning my choice of wardrobe, not to mention having dinner with Baptiste in the first place.
Baptiste Leboute was three years older than me, and while I was still just getting into the whole music scene, he was already known among European musicians. He was a beautiful specimen, with blond hair, sharp features, and a patriarchal nose that might as well be carved from marble. He always wore stylish clothes, never one to be subtle about his wealth.
Some thought him a show-off, and they weren’t wrong. Besides, it wasn’t as if I had guys lining up for me. At least none with the type of wit and charm Baptiste had.
I spotted him by the door, waiting for me. It was a lucky coincidence that he reminded me of our plans earlier this morning. He claimed he had sent me place and time via text, but I never got those messages. Either way, we were able to sync up our plans and I was glad for it.
I needed a distraction from a certain stalker.
Baptiste’s eyes lit up when they landed on me, and I came to a stop three feet away from him. Just like a typical Frenchman, he didn’t believe in personal space, so he closed the distance, pulling me flush against him.
“You look gorgeous.” He always spoke French very slowly for my benefit, although I told him it wasn’t necessary.
“Thank you,” I signed simply. My gaze traveled over him. “You’re not looking too shabby yourself.”
We started walking.
“Good thing I reminded you about our dinner date,” he continued speaking, watching me and almost slamming headfirst into the door as he tried to open it. He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, that was clumsy.”
I waved my hand. Baptiste and I shared a few classes, and we both participated in a symphony honoring Beethoven a few weeks ago. We’d been entertaining getting together for a few months and finally found time with classes being behind us for the summer.
Baptiste opened the door for me and I entered the restaurant. The hostess was waiting for us with a big smile on her face.
“Oh, mon Dieu!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Welcome, we’ve been waiting for you.”
My gaze flickered to Baptiste who looked just as surprised. Then he shrugged, meeting my gaze. “I made reservations.”
I glanced around. It didn’t look very busy, with more staff hurrying around than guests.
We followed her further into the restaurant to our table. There were two occupied tables, but I couldn’t quite tell whether they worked here and were polishing the glasses, or they found something wrong with their glasses and were wiping them down.
I took my seat, pulling up the hem of my dress and trying to avoid everyone’s eyes on my exposed thigh. My gaze hesitantly darted to my own glass, which seemed spotless.
Dismissing the others, I focused on the interior. The columns curved up to the ceiling, forming arches above our heads. The crystal chandelier glittered above us, and although my world was mostly silent, I could feel the buzz of the restaurant. The dim light threw warm shadows and created a romantic atmosphere.
“You look beautiful under this light,” Baptiste said, and I inwardly groaned. He was wasting his time. I’d told him several times before that I wasn’t interested in any kind of relationship. All my focus was on music and school, and when he insisted that he understood, I finally said yes to dinner. Truthfully, it felt good to go out with someone other than my friends.
