Page 57 of Devious Temptation
Or maybe they are, and they just know that the heart wants what the heart wants.
“I hope you’re hungry. This place has amazing moussaka.” Richard wraps his arm around my waist, and I immediately do not like his touch. It’s possessive and heavy, and we’ve barely known each other for twenty-four hours. It’s unwelcome and nothing like Lawson when he guides me by lightly touching my back, but I do nothing to remove it.
“Starved,” I lie.
Honestly, I ate a lot of snacks in the spa relaxation center and drank a lot of champagne. Even though I chugged copious amounts of water—as you should on a spa day—and took a nap before getting ready for tonight, my head is still fuzzy, and my stomach is in knots.
Richard opens the restaurant’s glass door with OPA! sprawled across it in elegant, frosted script before giving thehostess his name for our reservation. The establishment is cute. It’s dimly lit and covered in greenery. A heavy garlic scent permeates the air, laced with a slightly acidic fragrance, and it smells good enough to make me wish I were hungry. Honestly, I’m bummed I’ll have to miss a full meal at this place.
I wonder if I can eat here tomorrow while Lawson attends the goodbye dinner.
The hostess leads us to a double-sided, leathery, eggplant-colored booth. It’s near the back and out of view from most of the other tables—something Richard probably asked for when he made the reservation.
“Well, this is cozy,” he exclaims with glee, as if he didn’t already know we would be sequestered away from the rest of the restaurant.
I expect him to sit across from me, but to my surprise—and slight annoyance—he slides in next to me until our thighs are touching, swinging his arm around me to rest on the back of the booth.
“Whatever you want to get, get it. Don’t be afraid to eat in front of me. I like a woman with an appetite.” Richard flips open a menu, nudging it between us to share like I’m incapable of looking at my own. “Hmm… I’m thinking something light. I wouldn’t want to get too weighed down.” He flashes me a wicked smile. “Want to keep our energy up for whatever else the night brings.”
“And what exactly do you think you’re getting out of me tonight?” I ask in a thick, saccharine-laced tone with a sweet smile. “Because if it’s what I think you’re implying, I’m not that kind of girl.”
Richard laughs and turns all his attention to me. “I’m sorry. I’m probably coming off a little strong, aren’t I?”
Gee, buddy. You think?
I blink my lashes at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.
“Look, all I’m saying is that when I see something I want, I go for it. And I know I can be a little overbearing about it, so forgive me. I just know that you’re special. And I want to get to know you. Beyond this weekend, you know? Minneapolis isn’t that far from Chicago. We can make it work,” he explains like it’s already a sure thing.
“Wooow.” I draw out the word while he starts perusing the menu. “You got all that from one little old, ‘hi, my name is…’huh?”
Why am I smiling? This isn’t cute behavior.
Richard’s hand flexes where it rests on the table, and a moment later, he pulls his arm away and downs half his water in two gulps.
He’s nervous. And dammit, why am I finding it endearing?
To be fair, it’s in a pitying sort of way. Like how you feel bad for the little guy who just wants to get the pretty woman’s attention, but she’s more interested in the muscle man even though she probably knows he’ll be disappointing in bed, and the other guy will probably rock her world.
Not that I think Richard could rock my world.
Coooool. Cool, Lucy. Now you’re internally rambling. Why did I agree to this?
I’m about to open my mouth and tell him there’s nothing to be nervous about when a man clearing his throatinterrupts me. Lawson is standing near our table, his hand on the back of some pretty blonde woman.
Jealousy curls its evil, green talons into my lungs, filling the holes they create with a poison so thick and noxious I have to reach for my water to dilute the bile that rises in my throat.
“Well, funny we should run into you guys tonight,” Lawson drawls. The blonde looks between us, him, and the hostess waiting for them four tables away.
“Yeah, funny, eh?” Richard bites out. He leans back against the booth, swinging his arm around me once more, and Lawson’s gray eyes darken to storm clouds as he tracks the movement.
“Why don’t we all have dinner together?” My boss suggests, already ushering the blonde into the booth across from us.
“Well, u-uh… I mean… it’s kinda weird, isn’t it?” she stammers.
Richard makes a sound of agreement, narrowing his eyes at Lawson like he’s trying to pierce his soul with his gaze—a silent,what the fuck are you doing, etched across his features.
“Oh, I don’t think so. Lucy and I have dinner quite often back in Chicago. She’s fond of my parmesan potatoes.” He signals to the hostess. “We’ll be dining with them.”
