Page 58 of Scarred (Russian Sinners 2)

Damn it, I knew she felt attracted to me. She admitted to not regretting last night. So why in the hell was she wedging herself against the door as if she couldn't stand to be near me.

I watched her, while she stared out the window in stubborn silence. Her neck was a graceful, creamy curve. I had to control myself not to lean over to lay my mouth on her neck. Would that melt her towards me? No, I didn’t think so.

Maybe I shouldn’t have insisted on the dinner and bent her to my demand. But it was too late now.

We drove to the restaurant in silence and were there within twenty minutes. As the driver stopped, she finally spoke her first words.

“Looks like it’s closed,” she muttered.

“It’s not,” I told her, almost regretting bursting her bubble of hope. “They’re closed to everyone to accommodate us.”

Her head whipped around and she looked at me with the frown.

“Why would they do that?” she asked.

“To ensure we could have some privacy,” I told her and added teasingly. “Don’t you want privacy?”

Her eyes flashed with annoyance. “Not really.”

“So you wouldn’t mind the entire city seeing you with me?” I asked her curiously.

“Why would I mind?” She looked sincerely surprised, her breathtakingly blue eyes actually traveled down my body and back up. Christ, I could get used to her eyeing me like this.

“I’m pretty sure I’m not exactly the type you usually hang around,” I told her firmly.

Considering Olivia always hid behind sunglasses and hats when in public or photographed, I took this as a good sign. She might not have realized it herself yet, but her guard was slowly lowering.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Does it bother you?

“No, not at all. I am who I am.” And there was no changing my past. I would always strive to be a better man but there were certain things that would never change. Like the need to avenge the ones I love. “C’mon, let’s go,” I urged her.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Olivia

Iwas annoyed. I felt like I’ve been cornered into going to this dinner and I didn’t like it at all. I have experienced enough men forcing me to do things in my life. I had enough of my choices being taken away from me.

“I don’t like to be forced to do things,” I spat out mad at him. We were walking across the parking lot and were just outside the restaurant.

He stopped and I did too while he watched me pensively. Maybe he took my words seriously.

He nodded.

“Fair enough,” he replied.

We stood still, staring at each other, quiet. “Why didn’t you want to come to dinner with me?” he asked.

It was a perfectly reasonable question, but I didn’t have a perfectly reasonable answer for it.

“I don’t know,” I finally mumbled.

“You don’t know or you don’t want to tell me,” he asked me, perfectly calm.

“You make me a bit nervous,” the words flew out of me. And the desire he stirred within me was unfamiliar territory for me. Now I waited, still, anxious, unsure what he’d say or do.

It seemed childish now that I said it out loud. I was even more nervous after what happened last night but I chose to keep that little fact to myself.

“Why do I make you nervous?” he finally asked.

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