by Zoe Chant
Grant slid his hands down her sides. “See? I can’t see anything.” His hands roamed further. The dress she was wearing was modest, but the fabric was so thin he could feel her heat through it. Her breath sped up. “If I could, I would have been a bit more suave than to kiss you on the ear.”
“Oh,” Irina replied. “Like this?”
She pressed herself against him, standing on her toes. Grant’s pulse thrummed in appreciation as her breasts slid up his chest, and he felt the soft caress of her breath on his neck. Her lips almost touched his… and then she planted a kiss on his chin.
“Hmm,” she said, very seriously. “Yes, I can see the problem.”
Her fingers wound into his hair. “I can think of another problem, too,” she murmured.
“What?” Grant twined his arms around her. The hell with the wait staff, he told himself. If they’re so discreet, I’m sure they know how to discreetly close a door behind them…
Irina’s lips touched his ear. “I had to work through my break today, and if I don’t eat anything soon, I’m going to pass out,” she admitted.
“Oh, you cruel temptress,” Grant groaned, and let her go. “Let’s eat, then. Fast.”
He heard Irina laughing softly as they both fumbled at the table. Grant managed to pull Irina’s chair out for her, and she managed to sit in it, but not without a near-collapse.
Grant knew that if he concentrated, he would be able to navigate the pitch-black room without too much trouble. He might not be able to see, but the various scents and sounds filling the air would be enough to let him build a picture of the space. That, though, would require him concentrating less on the invisible, sensuous woman across the table from him. The sounds of her breath, of her hair brushing against her shoulders, her fingers exploring the table setting, all made the rest of the room pale into insignificance.
As for her scent—cinnamon and cream, and below that, the intoxicating musk of her arousal…
Solitude. The restaurant was meant to make diners focus intently on the experience of being alone in the world with their dinner companions. And it was working. For Grant, nothing else existed in the universe except for Irina.
He found his own seat with minimal trouble. The small noises of Irina’s explorations filled his ears.
“The furniture is heavy,” she noted. “All the better for clumsy guests like yours truly to avoid sending everything in here flying, I suppose.” There was a quiet ting. “Wine glasses… cutlery… oh!”
Even before Irina spoke, Grant had half-risen from his chair, every sense on high alert. Someone else is in the room.
There was a rush of air as one—no, two—figures moved smoothly through the pitch darkness, their footsteps almost completely silent.
Clink!
Grant relaxed back into his seat as the spicy aroma of pinot noir filled his nostrils. The servers worked quickly and efficiently, filling first Irina’s glass and then his own. A moment later, the smell of wine was joined by that of their first course.
13
IRINA
Eating was… challenging.
Joking about spilling food down myself is one thing, Irina grumbled to herself, chasing a cloud-light puff of pastry around her plate. She groaned with frustration as her fingers slipped through a smear of something semi-liquid on the side of her plate. Oh, hell. I’ll be lucky if I get out of here without sauce all over my face.
And all over this beautiful dress.
I hope that whatever I’m eating, it’s green…
The food was delicious, even if actually eating it was an exercise in frustration. The meal was a finger-food degustation, multiple courses of delicious morsels. Every dish was designed so you could eat it with your hands, but Irina was so petrified of spilling food over herself that half the time, she was dropping her food before she even got it off the plate.
“Aha!” she cried out as she managed to spear the pastry on one finger. “Mmm. Delicious. Absolutely worth the effort. What was that, do you know?”
“Some sort of delicious… thing. Did yours have mousse inside?”
“No-o-o, but I swiped it through this, um…” Irina licked her fingers. “Relish?”
She hunted out another puff and popped it into her mouth, slightly less clumsily than the last time. “Umph! You could have said it was mushroom mousse.”
“Was it? Mine was more pumpkin-y. Oh, here’s the mushroom one.”
Irina carefully explored the tabletop until her fingertips brushed up against her wineglass. She took a sip, enjoying the burst of flavor. It wasn’t that she disliked mushrooms. She just didn’t like to be surprised by them.
She tentatively poked at her plate. The pastry puffs had probably been arranged beautifully when the dish was brought out, but had succumbed to Irina’s clumsiness almost immediately. There were another two left, and—damn it—there was the relish again.
Irina sucked on her finger, glad Grant couldn’t see the face she was making in the darkness.
“How was your day?”
Now she was definitely glad he couldn’t see her face. “Oh, it was just fine,” she said even as she winced again at the fake cheerfulness of her voice. She cleared her throat. “Sorry, I guess I forgot to turn off my customer service settings there.”
“It was that bad?” Grant’s voice sounded guarded.
Oh, great. What a conversation-starter. Irina bit her lips. “Well, you know. Any day where some asshole on a bike doesn’t try to steal my purse is a good day in my books.”
“What?” Grant’s voice was a strained mixture of horror and outrage. Glass clinked in warning as he reached across the table, his hand finding Irina’s with unerring accuracy. “Are you all right? What happened?”
Irina grimaced. So much for lightening the atmosphere with a joke.
“It’s nothing, really. Some asshole clipped me when I was heading back from your place on Sunday.” She lifted her free hand and rubbed her throat self-consciously. The bruise was hidden under Clare’s pashmina, fading but still visible.
“I’m sorry. I should have sent you home in a car.”
“Sent me home?” Irina hoped she sounded more amused than outraged, but she felt Grant’s fingers stiffen under her as she repeated his words. She squeezed his hand. “I don’t think you can take responsibility for every bad driver in the city, Grant. Anyway, it’s the city, right? Back home, I would have got clotheslined by a branch. Here, I get clipped by a scooter.”
Grant’s grip relaxed, and he stroked the back of her hand. “I don’t like to think of you hurt,” he said softly. “If there’s anything I can do…”
“Well… just don’t freak out when you see my neck, okay?” Irina quickly explained the bruise on her neck. If Grant suspected that the story about the bruise and the story about a scooter “just clipping” her didn’t quite match up, he didn’t say anything. Just held on to her hand.
“How is your week going?” she asked after a few moments. “Did you catch up with your friend?”
“Mathis?” Grant was making lazy circles on the palm of her hand with his thumb. “No, actually. He’s steadfastly ignoring me. Mind you, I haven’t exactly been hunting him down. I suppose I was rather… distracted.”
The scrape of chair legs told her he was standing up, and he lifted Irina’s hand to his lips. He kissed each knuckle on her fingers before turning her hand over and nuzzling the underside of her wrist.
Irina licked her lips. Her skin tingled at his touch, hot and electric. And he was only touching her hand. Her wrist. She had so many other places she wanted him to touch…
“I don’t think your plan is working very well,” she murmured, her voice husky. Grant’s answering chuckle sent shivers down her spine.
“No,” he agreed, his own voice low and rough, sending her mind straight back to the bedroom. “Instead of being distracted by the sight of you, I’m imagining what you look like, sitting there. In that dress. Or not in that dress.”
“I do
like the dress,” said Irina primly. “Perhaps I’ll keep it on.”
She felt Grant’s laughter, hot against her wrist. He slid his fingers farther up her arm, to brush against the delicate skin inside her elbow. Irina gasped. Her entire body felt flushed, her nipples hard and rubbing against her bra.
“What’s the next course?”
“Dessert next, I think.”
“Thank God,” she replied, and he laughed out loud.
The invisible servers whisked around the table again, and now Irina blushed for a completely different reason.
“Er, not that the meal hasn’t been delicious—my compliments to the chef…” she said weakly. The servers worked so swiftly and so quietly that the only way she could tell they were there was the occasional breeze of air against her bare arms from their movement.
Thank God for quick service, she said silently. The sooner we are done here, the sooner we can get back to his apartment so I can rip his clothes off.
She licked her lips at the thought. Then another thought struck her.
Aware of the presence of the wait staff still around her, Irina raised her arm as the maître d’ had demonstrated. Someone paused and took her gently by the elbow.
“Irina?”
Grant was still holding on to her other hand, and must have felt her movement. She could almost hear the concerned frown in his voice.
“I’ll just be a minute. Don’t want to hold us up after the meal,” she explained, squeezing his fingers before she stepped away from the table.
This time, she actually did hear Grant chuckle.
“I’ll be back soon,” she promised, and stood up.
The server gently guided her across through the darkness. Despite the disconcerting black, and the several glasses of wine that had accompanied the meal, she managed not to trip over her own feet. Her heels clacked slightly on the floor as they moved into what she thought might be another room - at least, the air felt slightly different. A few moments later, her guide stopped.
“The bathroom is just through this door, ma’am. Please give your eyes a few moments to adjust. I’ll wait here to take you back to the table.”
This is so weird, Irina thought as she took a random stab in the dark and made contact with a doorknob. Being escorted to the toilet! Who would’ve thought fine dining and kindergarten had so much in common? I guess we’ll see when I get a look at myself in the mirror…
She still wasn’t convinced she had escaped any of the meal’s delicious courses unscathed. At least she had the pashmina. If she had dropped any food on herself, she could always arrange the scarf over the stains. Artistically.
Because, she told herself, leaning on the doorknob, I am an artist. Artiste.
I am extremely fancy and sophisticated. Also, there is a man in the next room who wants to take me home and fuck my brains out.
She gave up pushing on the doorknob and pulled instead. Ah. And maybe I am a little tipsy.
The room on the other side was as dark as the one she had just left, but as Irina stood there, the impenetrable gloom lightened. Soon, there was enough light for her to make out a few shapes, then colors, then the room was suffused with a soft, white light that was easy enough to see by. Irina blinked a few times to check that her eyes had finished adjusting.
The first thing she looked at was the mirror.
Phew. I don’t look like a kindergartner who smashed her face into her lunch, at least. Just a bit pink.
The facilities were simple but modern and comfortable. Irina used the toilet, spent a few self-conscious minutes fussing with her hair, and then paused with her hand on the doorknob.
Should I…?
Irina hadn’t managed to make it to any clothes shops between Saturday and tonight’s date. Grant’s surprise gift had fixed the problem of what to wear, but underneath the flowing silk, Irina’s underwear was more practical than sexy. Her bra and panties were beige, supportive, and the closest thing to lace on either of them was the size tag.
Irina sucked in her lower lip, thinking. There was nothing she could do about the bra. Maybe someone with a smaller cup size could have managed it, but Irina needed secure upholstering to keep her bust in check.
But her panties… her boring, beige, granny-styled panties…
Wouldn’t it be sexier to not be wearing them at all when they got back to Grant’s place?
What had she said to him? She didn’t want to hold them up after the meal? Going commando would save at least five seconds.
She had her purse with her, after all. She could just… slip them off, and go back to finish the meal commando. Maybe she could even tease Grant with some hints about it, even though she wouldn’t be able to see his reaction. Only imagine it. Mmm.
Then she remembered the server waiting on the other side of the bathroom door.
Nuh-uh.
Panties-free might be sexy, but panties-free and being guided around by some poor unsuspecting waiter? That was just gross.
The underwear stays on. For now.
The light in the bathroom didn’t seem to be changing at all, so Irina assumed she was just meant to leave. She stepped through the door and back into darkness.
“I guess there’s no point waiting for my eyes to adjust this time,” she joked to the server who had guided her over.
There was no response.
“Hello?”
The darkness pressed in on Irina. Her voice sounded small, as though the darkness was a solid mass that muffled the noise she made.
“Is anyone there?”
Apparently not. Well, damn. I guess I get to find my own way back to the table, after all.
Irina tried to remember what direction she had come from. The bathroom door had been on her left, and it was behind her now, so…
She turned right, took a few careful steps, and stumbled as her foot hit something lying on the ground.
“What the hell?”
Of all the places to leave something in the middle of the floor, Irina thought, hopping backward. Whatever she’d walked into, it was heavy. She knelt down, intending to move whatever it was out of the way, and froze as her hands felt what was unmistakably someone’s shoe.
And its owner was still wearing it.
“Oh, shit,” Irina gasped, falling to her knees. She found the unconscious figure’s shoulders and shook them, but the person didn’t move. “Oh, my God.” Is this the waiter from before? Did he have a stroke or something? Oh, shit!
She stumbled to her feet and opened her mouth to yell. There must be someone close enough to help. But her words choked in her throat as someone slammed their hand over her mouth and pulled her backward.
Off-balance, Irina screamed, but the hand muffled her voice. A second person, hidden in the shadows, grabbed her arms and tied her wrists together. She was hauled away down the corridor, still trying to scream, even though she knew no one would hear her.
14
GRANT
She’s been gone a long time.
Grant rapped his fingers on the table. They were the only part of him that moved. If he’d been in panther form, his tail would have been flicking from side to side, the rest of him as still as though he had been carved out of black marble.
He hated that he knew that. His panther was close to the surface. Too close. As though it sensed something he didn’t.
Tap-tap, tap, tap-tap-tap.
Where was she?
And where, come to think of it, was everyone else?
The room was silent, apart from Grant’s constant tapping, and empty. He froze. Silence spread out from the table like a liquid, filling the space. Grant had felt the presence of the wait staff every time they approached the table, from the moment they slipped through the doors at the far end of the room; but now, there was no one.
He strained his ears. His dull, human ears. Nothing. The hum of air conditioning, the distant throb of some sort of machinery—but no soft pad of footsteps, no whisper of breath.
No one
at all.
Grant ignored the heavy feeling of worry in his stomach. He told himself to stop being so paranoid. Irina had gone to the bathroom. That was all. She was taking a long time, but that was what women did, wasn’t it? Take a long time in the bathroom.
Tap, tap, tap.
His feeling of dread was growing, a cold ache that spread from his stomach, up his spine, to the hairs on the back of his neck. He tried to ignore it. Tap-tap, tap, tap-tap. It was the same feeling he’d had on Saturday before he called Irina. He had felt deep in his bones that something was wrong—that Irina was in danger. It was beyond his panther’s instincts, beyond his human intuition—or maybe it was some combination of both. A knowledge that something was wrong.
But nothing had been wrong. Irina had sounded breathless when she answered his call, and a little surprised, but not afraid. She’d been fine.
Except…
The scooter. What had Irina said about the scooter? Someone had hit her. Clipped her, she said, but she also said they yanked on her handbag strap so hard she had a bruise on her neck.
She had told him not to freak out. Well, he was freaking out now.
Grant stilled his fingertips on the tabletop and stood, slowly. He only noticed the movement behind him when it was too late.
***
“Irina.”
The word was a half-gasp, half-croak, wheezing out from a dry throat. Grant coughed, caught his breath, and coughed again. He rolled onto his hands and knees.
He was on the ground. Lying on the ground. When had that happened?
And where was his mate?
He steadied himself and sniffed the air. His senses weren’t as sharp in his human form as they were for his panther, but maybe that was to his advantage here. His panther could sift through scents like a master sommelier, but the heavy fug of traffic fumes here in the city acted like a blanket over his nose. His human nose might be less attuned, but at least it could ignore the pollution.
The room was empty. He could smell the remains of their meal on the table, a few feet to his left.