by Layla Frost
“It’s all set.” I reached for her hand, holding it as we walked toward the restaurant.
“Sharing some of your Italian heritage?” Dahlia asked as the unmistakable scent of garlic and tomatoes wafted out onto the street.
“How did you know I was Italiano?”
“Wild guess, Mr. Amato. Do you speak much Italian?”
I shook my head. “I can teach you all the swear words, and some other bits and pieces. I’m full-blooded, but we aren’t old school.”
Entering Faust, the door had barely closed behind us when the manager approached.
“Mr. Amato,” he greeted. He began extending his hand before changing direction and gesturing to the side. “Please, follow me to your table. Unless you’d rather have a drink at the bar. We have a large wine selection, plus a few truly remarkable brandies and scotches. Or—”
Even though it meant releasing Dahlia’s, I reached out my hand, cutting him off before he could offer his house and firstborn. “Thanks, but the table would be fine.”
The gesture seemed to relax him slightly. He met my outstretched hand in a firm but quick shake. “Right this way.”
I placed my palm on Dahlia’s lower back, my fingertips resting on the curve of her ass.
Guiding us through the packed dining room, the manager stopped at a more secluded table directly in front of a window. “Is this alright?”
I glanced at Dahlia, her attention on the busy city street.
Like I had at the steakhouse, I moved one of the chairs so it faced the window, this time positioning it closer to mine. Applying slight pressure to her lower back, I leaned in close to her ear and murmured, “Dahlia.”
“Hmm?” She leaned into my touch for a second before pulling her gaze from the window. Realizing the manager was still standing there, she smiled and sat. “Sorry, I got lost in the crowd. This table is perfect, thank you.”
The manager’s chest puffed out as if he’d built the table and view himself. He set the menus down. “Joseph will be your waiter. But depending on allergies and spice preference, Mr. Faust would like to make a chef’s specialty meal for you both.”
“No allergies and I love spicy food,” Dahlia said, looking at me.
“Same.” I handed the menus back to the manager. Wanting to get Dahlia as alone as we could be, I dismissed him politely. “Thank you.”
As the manager hurried away, Dahlia’s lips tipped up on one side. “So… You’re kind of a big deal, huh?”
She’s got no idea.
“In small circles.” Resting my hand on her knee under the table, I leaned closer. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks,” she said, her voice soft. “I feel a little underdressed.”
“You don’t look it,” I reassured her, leaving out the part about how if it were up to me, we’d be back at my place where she’d be very underdressed. “Faust’s food rivals some of the higher end places in the area, but it isn’t formal.”
She glanced around at the other diners before eyeing my jeans and lightweight sweater. “This color really suits you. Is it as soft as it looks?” Her hand moved from the table toward my chest.
Before she could touch me, a bottle of red wine was placed on the table, followed by two glasses.
I’d been battling against the need to take control of her hands, making sure she felt how soft and hard various parts of my body were. The waiter interrupting meant I was also fighting the urge to throw him through the window.
An urge that increased as Dahlia dropped her hand into her lap and sat back.
“Hi, I’m Joseph,” the waiter said, holding a bottle of white wine. “Mr. Faust sends his regards from the kitchen. He asked me to bring you a bottle of wine, but wasn’t sure which you’d prefer.” The guy went into his spiel about the origin, age, and notes of both, but my focus was on my palm on Dahlia’s knee.
More specifically, how high I could move it before she hit me over the head with one of the bottles.
“What do you think?” she asked, turning to look at me. “I don’t know much about wine.”
I tore my attention away from her, only to notice the waiter was reluctantly doing the same. “The Nero.”
The waiter swapped the bottles and uncorked the wine, going through the whole show, all while still focused entirely on her.
“You okay?” she asked as he walked away.
“Yes, why?”
“You seem tense.” She picked up her wineglass and tentatively took a sip.
It was obviously one sip too many.
Watching her try to hide her grimace, some of the tension eased. “What would you like instead?”
“No, no, this is fine.” She took a bigger sip, her face registering instant regret. She set the glass down far away. “I’m just not thirsty.”
“Everything okay?” the waiter asked as he dropped off a basket of fresh bread and butter.
Dahlia smiled up at him. “Yes, thank—”
“Can you bring her a cocktail?” I interrupted, trying to keep a straight face at the relieved expression on hers. “Something citrus.” I looked back at Dahlia, asking, “Anything else?”
“No cranberry juice, please. Thank you.” When he was out of earshot, she glared at me. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I did. When Faust says spicy, he means it. Were you just not going to drink anything?”
“No, I would’ve gotten used to the taste.” Her nose scrunched as she spoke.
Laughing, I reached over and tucked a section of hair behind her ear before she could. Seeing the waiter in the reflection of the window, I let my fingertips trail down the delicate curve of her neck as I sat back.
As much as I hated the fucking interruption, my stomach growled at the assault of mouthwatering scents.
I guess he doesn’t go through the window.
Yet.
“I don’t want to spill on my sweater, which I have to thank you for again because it’s so soft.” Arching her back, her tits pressed against her tee as she pulled the hoodie off her shoulders. The light color of her bra gave the illusion it was just skin against thin fabric. Once the sweater was off and she was sitting straight again, the rounded neck of her shirt still showed hints of cleavage.
There was nothing overt or indecent about it, but that didn’t mean it didn’t give me just enough to make me lose my mind picturing what was underneath.
And based on the way the waiter almost dropped the plates as he watched her mouth, he was thinking the same thing.
Okay, out the fucking window it is.
“Wow, that smells so good,” Dahlia said, cutting through my temper.
I snapped my eyes over to where the manager stood scanning the restaurant. When his gaze met mine, I let my jaw clench and my eyes narrow.
His face paled before growing red. His mouth moved quickly as he talked to the host.
Since Joseph was still only talking to Dahlia, I didn’t miss anything as he set a small plate in front of her. “These are balsamic and spinach stuffed black plum tomatoes. And this,” he paused, setting the plate in front of me, “is a caramelized shallot and three cheese risotto cake. It’s made with a blend of the house-made mozzarella, fontina, and goat cheese.”
Joseph’s attention was on Dahlia, so he missed my glare. I turned it to the manager, rubbing my hand across my jaw.
As Dahlia picked up her fork, I grabbed the plates and switched them.
She lowered her brows, but cut the cake and slid half onto my plate. Spearing a tomato with her fork, she popped it into her mouth.
“You’re willing to share cheese with me?” Bringing her hand to my lips, I kissed it and winked. “You must really like me.”
Her face lost some of the teasing humor but none of the softness. “I do,” she whispered, returning her attention to her food.
“Good,” I whispered back.
When Joseph opened his mouth, I cleared my throat. His eyes moved to mine, a cocky smirk letting me know he thought this was a g
ame, and one he’d win. He was a fucking idiot for thinking Dahlia was nothing but a trophy he could walk away with.
And for thinking he should fuck with me.
I met his eyes, not bothering to hide the fury in mine since Dahlia wasn’t looking.
Like the manager, the kid’s face paled, though he held my glare longer before moving away to speak to a table.
Double-checking that Dahlia was still enjoying the view of the busy city street, I looked back at the manager as he held out a drink to another waiter, nearly dropping it when he saw my expression. Only then did I let my features soften.
“How does it taste?” I asked, returning one hand to her knee and using the other to eat.
“So good. The difference in house-made cheese and store brand is astronomical. Do you like it?”
I nodded around my mouthful, which was impressively delicious, but slid the rest of my risotto cake back onto her plate.
“Hey, I was sharing.”
“I know.” I squeezed her knee, my fingertips slowly stroking up the inside of her thigh, giving her the chance to stop me. I stopped myself midway since my control was already razor thin. “But I like you too.” I forked up a tomato. “Now eat before I change my mind and take it back.”
As we finished the appetizers, a new waiter approached, dropping off Dahlia’s cocktail and two salads. “I’m sorry, Joseph was called away urgently. My name is Sam; I’ll be taking over. Can I get either of you anything?” At our headshakes, he smiled politely at us both. “I’ll be back with your dinner shortly.”
Spicy fra diavlo and a twist on an Italian-Cajun fusion pasta were brought out shortly after, split into four small bowls so we could each try both. Our conversation was light as we ate, often falling into comfortable silences.
“This is the best pasta I’ve ever had,” she said, pointing to the Cajun one. “I want to keep eating, but I’m so full.” She pushed the bowls away.
“I don’t want to take up your whole weekend off,” I lied, “but are you free tomorrow afternoon?” At her nod, I continued. “Do you drive?”
Her brows lowered, but she answered anyway. “I have my license and know how to drive, but I don’t have a car. Why?”
“Take my SUV tonight.” She opened her mouth, her impending protest clear, but I continued. “Tomorrow would be outside of the city, and there are no T stops anywhere near it. A taxi or Uber would cost a small fortune. It wouldn’t make sense.”
“But—”
“Would you like me to box these up?” Sam asked, gathering the empty glasses.
“Please,” I said.
Dahlia tucked her hair behind her ear before tapping her fingers on her jaw. I wasn’t sure what she was thinking, but I hoped it would end in my favor.
As Sam walked away with the leftovers, she tried again. “About the car—”
“I hope you aren’t too full,” I heard from the side. Looking over, I saw a sweaty and tired looking Faust walking toward us with a serving tray in his hand. When his eyes fell on Dahlia, his smile grew into a grin.
Maybe he’ll be the one going through the window.
Taking the small plates from the tray, he set them all in front of her in a line. “Dark chocolate tiramisu. This one is a strawberry and basil compote panna cotta. I know, basil in a dessert is odd, but it works, trust me. Traditional cannoli, of course. Finally, we have a Nutella and mascarpone tart with brown butter caramelized bananas. Actually,” he rearranged the dishes, putting the last one in front, “eat this one first. Then the panna cotta. The others will be good tomorrow.”
“Thank…”
Her words trailed off as she noticed Faust positioning the empty tray like a Frisbee he was planning on flinging across the restaurant. Luckily for the other diners, Sam briskly walked by, taking it as he moved.
“I never get to have any fun,” Faust pouted before smiling at Dahlia.
“Dahlia, this is Tony Faust. He’s the head chef and owner. Tony, this is Dahlia.” My phone dinged with Luc’s tone. “I’m sorry, I have to check this.”
Luc: Let me know when you’re ready.
Me: Give me 20.
I returned my phone to my pocket and picked up a dessert fork, handing it to Dahlia. “Sorry, just Luc.”
“That’s okay,” Faust said. “Dahlia was trying to decide whether she liked the risotto cakes or the Cajun pasta better.”
“I can’t pick,” she said, taking the fork. “Though house-made cheese is hard to beat. Is it a difficult process?”
As they discussed cooking, I watched Dahlia. And Faust watched Dahlia and me watching her.
“Do you mind if I borrow Theo for a moment?” Faust asked her. “Business.”
I knew this was coming.
“It can wait—” I started.
“No, no, it’s fine.” Dahlia gestured to the desserts. “I’m going to get these boxed up for Luc.”
“Luc,” Faust made a spitting noise, “gets none of this. That thief is banned from my cooking for this life and the next.”
At Dahlia’s concerned expression, I shook my head. “Don’t ask. I’ll be back.”
Standing, I followed Faust to an empty area near the end of the bar. He literally climbed over it, moving surprisingly well for an over six-foot-tall man in his late thirties. Using the very expensive bar top like it was a frat house Formica tabletop, he popped the lid off a bottle of beer, draining half of it in a couple gulps.
“Any reason you pulled me away from my date?” I asked.
“I can’t remember the last time I saw or heard about you being on a date. When you said you were coming in, I’d assumed it was business. I’m glad I talked to Luc,” he said, adding the spit noise.
“I was wondering how you got the heads-up to go overboard with the wine and food. Not sure if Dahlia is impressed or horrified.”
He smiled cockily. “Definitely impressed. I’d say she’s pretty, but based on what happened with your first waiter, I’m thinking that’s not a good idea.” Before I could say anything, his smile faded, and he tilted his head toward the manager. “Henry told me what happened. The kid is gone. He’s my second cousin, and I fucking hated the cocky prick, but he knew his shit. Plus, I didn’t want my ma on my back about firing family for no reason. I had a reason, so now he’s gone.”
I didn’t bother offering bullshit denials or excuses. “Good. Anything else?”
“Luc will fill you in, but it was a good quarter. I’ll send the full set of numbers over. I think you’re right, and we need to look into expanding. I don’t want to open another location, but neither of the surrounding businesses are willing to sell their space.”
Normally, my mind would be racing in twenty different directions as I evaluated the best course of action and formed several plans.
It wasn’t, though.
Even though I was looking forward to a new challenge, it could wait.
“I’ll get in touch with you later this week.” I started back to Dahlia before adding, “You outdid yourself with dinner.”
As I approached the table, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Dahlia. Her chin rested in her hand as she looked out the window. There was something delicate, almost vulnerable about her when she was unguarded.
“Ready?” I asked when I reached her.
“Yeah.” She stood and put her hoodie on as I grabbed the two bags of leftovers. “You sneaking those to Luc?”
I shook my head. “Luc would brag to Faust, ratting me out and ensuring I’m banned too. I’m not risking that.”
“I don’t blame you.”
After dropping some bills on the table, I placed my hand on her lower back as we walked outside. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees, with a crisp wind biting.
Grabbing her hand, I stopped her. “Take my car,” I murmured, setting the bags on the hood. “It’s too cold out.”
Her hand landed on my chest. “All I was going to say is that I’m okay with just riding with you—”
On
e hand spanning her waist, the other holding her head in place, I leaned over and took her mouth. Parting her lips, my tongue danced with hers as I deepened the kiss. I stalked forward until her back was against the side of my SUV.
Public. We’re in public.
Dahlia’s grip on my arms tightened as she curved her body closer to mine.
Cazzo.
Fuck it.
My fingers tensed as I tried to keep at least a shred of control. I slid my hand from her cheek into her hair, fisting it. Widening my stance to give me more access, I used my other hand to stroke from the nape of her neck down to her ass. I tightened my hold and lifted her slightly.
Everything about her drove me out of my fucking mind. I’d never in my life felt so unbalanced or out of control. And all I could think about was getting more.
Getting her naked.
Getting her under me.
Getting her taste on my tongue.
Getting her.
Dahlia pulled her head back suddenly, giving me access to her neck. The skin was soft, her pulse racing under my lips.
“Theo,” she said, her voice soft and airy.
I bit down, loving her sharp inhale.
“Theo,” she repeated, her voice stronger.
“Hmm?”
“Luc.”
I snapped my head back. “What?”
“Luc is here.” Her lips were swollen, her eyes hooded. I wanted to strip her naked and fuck her against the car.
But not in public.
Maybe my garage, though.
Lowering her feet to the ground, I stepped away and tried to get my head together. I pulled my keys out of my pocket. “Traffic shouldn’t be too bad tomorrow, so leave around noon. Just press start on the touchscreen and the GPS will get you there. Call if you have any problems.”
Her lips tipped up. “You’ve got Luc here and everything. You’re very confident. And efficient. And a tad bit bossy.”
“It’s been mentioned.”
“Often, I’d bet.”
“You’d bet right.” I pressed the button to unlock the car and held out my keys.
“I meant what I said. Since I don’t see any dents or missing bumpers, and I feel confident about your lack of Bieber, I’m fine to just ride with you.”