Deepen The Kiss

by Willow Winters

  The waiter has a bit of an accent, and it takes me a moment to realize he called Derek, “Mr. Wade.” He can’t be any older than twenty. I’d be shocked if he is. He pulls out his pad and a pen to take our orders. His stubble is spotty. He’s definitely still just a kid.

  “Could you bring us a bottle of Montoya Cabernet? Scampi for our appetizer, but don’t wait on our entrees to bring it out. And we’ll split the penne and the risotto.” Derek looks across the table at me, handing the menus on the table to the young waiter. “You’re gonna love it.” He smiles a sweet, reassuring grin as he adds, “Trust me.”

  God help me, I do trust him.

  “Of course, Mr. Wade. I’ll be right back with your wine,” Peter says as he bows his head and turns toward the kitchen.

  I finally look up at Derek, and I’m shaken up by how at ease he seems. I still can’t get over the fact that he owns this place. That he took me here. I didn’t expect this. Ever. No man has ever held a candle to Derek, but I hadn’t ever pictured him back in my life. Now I don’t know how to handle this.

  If only he’d stop being a dumbass and quit dealing. I grab my white cloth napkin and shake it out, laying it on my lap. It pisses me off.

  I don’t understand why he’d settle on something like dealing when he has legitimate businesses like this. I wish he’d just stop. I would cave to him the moment he did. I’d be his in a fucking heartbeat.

  “Tell me why,” I say once the waiter is out of earshot.

  “Why what?” he asks, grabbing a small slice of bread from the basket the waiter left on the table. He rips it off rather than cutting it all the way through.

  Before I can answer him, Peter returns with our wine, setting the wine glasses down gently and pouring the dark red liquid into the glasses easily. Derek has him pour some wine in each of our glasses, the rich aroma filling the private space between us.

  “Your meals will be out shortly, sir,” Peter says before heading back down the row of tables.

  I turn to face Derek with my shoulders squared. My knee hits his by accident, but that gets his attention. “Tell me why you do it.”

  He puts his glass down after taking a long sip, and sighs, looking away from me. I can tell he’s not happy I’m asking, but I need to know. His brow is pinched, and he taps his knuckles on the table a few times before looking back at me.

  “Emma, you need to stop,” he says forcefully. The stern look he gives me would have scared me if it were anyone else. I’m not going to give up though. He should know me better than that.

  "Just answer me first, please. I need to understand," I plead softly. I hold his piercing gaze, ignoring the chill in his eyes.

  He sighs again, tossing his white cloth napkin on the table in front of him and setting his elbows on the table. He steeples his fingers and leans his forehead against them. My heart thuds in my chest. I don’t want to lose him. I don’t. But I can’t say yes.

  Finally, he looks at me. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Emma. I made a choice when I was a kid.” He leans back, his lips set in a firm line. “I got involved with men who held it over me. They threatened me, so I stayed in line," he answers, exasperated.

  "D-do they still?" I ask, afraid to hear the answer. My blood heats with anxiety.

  “They’re dead.” His words are soft, but they fall hard. “Where they belong," he adds and waits for my reaction. His eyes have never looked so cold. So empty. Devoid of the other side of him that I know so well.

  My body turns to ice as it did in the car. It scares the shit out of me.

  Before I can find my voice to respond to him, he adds quietly, "I’m not in that business anymore."

  That business? What is that business? I grit my teeth. I fucking hate these secrets. I don’t like not knowing and turning a blind eye. "What do you mean?" I ask uncertainly. I feel meek. Only because I don’t know what he’s talking about, and I’m on the cusp of letting myself fall for a man who has another life I know nothing about. A life I don’t want to be a part of.

  Seeing the anxiety clearly present on my face, Derek answers, “Sweetheart, please stop asking questions. I’ll tell you everything you need to know."

  He reaches out and takes my hand, but the second he does the scampi comes, interrupting us and keeping his touch from calming me.

  Need to know. I repeat the words in my head as the waiter sets the plate on the table.

  It smells delicious, with lots of butter, and I’m starving; I haven’t eaten all day. I’ve been too nervous knowing I was going to see Derek again. But I’m not hungry at the thought of him doing whatever the hell it is that he does. My mind is going wild with speculations of what that “business” is.

  “You know why I was drawn to you?” Derek breaks my thoughts as the waiter leaves us alone again.

  “You had this sweetness about you. You didn’t let others ruin it.” His words take me back. My heart seemingly beating slower, and my body heating in the best of ways.

  “I remember seeing that chick. She was a bitch.” He makes a face like he’s trying to remember her name, but it doesn’t come to him. “Some preppy bitch at school made fun of you because you had a knockoff purse.” I instantly know who he’s talking about. Scarlett Dubet, and it was a fake Dooney and Bourke my aunt had given me. And yeah, she was a bitch with a capital “B”.

  “You just ignored her, but I knew it hurt you. Then a few weeks later, she dropped her purse in the parking lot as she was getting out of her car. All her shit went everywhere,” Derek says and gestures with his hands. “You didn't even hesitate to go over and help her pick her things up. All I could think was I need to meet that girl, because who wouldn't want someone that sweet in their life?" he tells me as he grabs my hand softly, moving it to the bit of space between us on the bench and staring into my eyes.

  The air between us is so intense, I have to look away.

  I can't believe he remembers that. I haven't thought about her in years, but yeah, I remember helping that bitch pick her books up. I hated how mean she always was. I know her clique talked about me behind my back too. I didn’t run in their circle, and I was okay with that, but all her stuff was getting soaked. There were still puddles all over from the morning rain. So yeah, I helped. I think anyone would have.

  I swallow the lump growing in my throat. That was a few weeks before we first talked.

  I also remember turning around to see him staring at my ass. Needing to lighten the mood, I call him on it.

  "Oh really, is that what you were thinking? As I recall,” I pause to pull my hand away from his and grab my glass of wine, playing with the stem a bit before picking it up. “You were staring at my ass as I was bent over helping her," I say confidently before taking a sip of the sweet wine.

  Derek laughs. God, I love the sound of his laugh. It’s rougher than it should be. Deeper and all man. I could listen to him laugh all day.

  "Wow,” he says, shaking his head and picking up his own glass. “Here I am, being all romantic and sweet for you, and you have to go and ruin it," he says, pretending to be offended. I love this playful side of him. This is the man I want. The side of him I looked forward to all those years ago.

  "Yeah, yeah. You just want to get a piece, just like you did back then," I say with a flirtatious grin.

  “I can't believe you said that. You need to be punished for that smart mouth of yours.” His voice gets harder, carrying more than a hint of reprimand and my heart stammers. “Get underneath the table," he commands, his eyes piercing into me.

  "What?" I ask, not believing what he just said. I can’t even breathe as he holds my gaze without blinking. He’s gotta be fucking kidding.

  “Do it," he commands again.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” I practically hiss. I am not getting under the table. But my thighs involuntarily clench at the thought of him punishing me. I hide my face behind my hand and try not to be turned on by the image of going down on him right now. What the fuck is w
rong with me?

  "Not now, the waiter’s coming," he says in a more lighthearted tone, smirking at me.

  I look up at him, face flushed with my heart racing, and my clit throbbing with need.

  He smiles broadly. “You were really thinking of doing it?” he asks with disbelief.

  Oh, you fucker. I bite down on my lip, feeling a bit of outrage stirring inside me, but mostly relief.

  He starts laughing, and I can’t help but swat him on his arm. It feels good to be this relaxed with him.

  He shrugs and says, "I just wanted to see how you’d react.” I smack him again playfully and settle into the leather-lined booth.

  "You didn’t seem to mind me going down on you the other night," he says after the waiter sets down our plates and refills our wine glasses, then leaves.

  “I was high.” I say the words a little louder than I should, and I instantly cover my mouth.

  "And you liked it," he says with a wink.

  I feel the blood rushing to my face, making my cheeks burn. Who wouldn’t? He can’t hold that against me.

  “Come on sweetheart, you know I’ll take care of you after," he goads.

  “Shut up,” I say playfully, sneaking a glance at him as I spear my fork into the risotto. I close my eyes, savoring the delicious flavor, but they pop open just as quickly as they closed at the sound of breaking glass.

  “You stupid bitch!” echoes throughout the restaurant, and the place goes silent. The only sound is the scraping of wooden chair legs across the tiled floor as a man in a grey suit with a crisp white shirt pushes back from his seat and stands up. He’s wiping furiously down his shirt with his white cloth napkin and cursing as he does.

  Everyone turns to see what's happening. Across from him is another man who’s not doing a damn thing to stop the shit-show this guy is putting on.

  “I’m so-” a waitress is standing next to the man, mortified and clearly upset. She’s bent over the table, picking up the wine bottle and a glass that’s fallen onto the floor and shattered.

  “Sorry! Do you know how much this suit cost?” the man screams at her.

  That poor waitress! My heartbeat quickens watching him stare her down as she picks up the plates with the spilled wine.

  “Sir, I do apologize,” the maître d' begins as he walks up to the pissed off patron, but the customer takes a step forward and gets right in the guy’s face.

  Oh shit. My body heats as I watch this guy freak the fuck out.

  “It’s all on the house,” the waitress says shakily.

  What a fucking prick!

  I glance at Derek, and the look on his face is murderous. His pale eyes are smoldering, and his strong jaw is tightly clenched.

  “Derek,” I say but I barely get his name out before he climbs out of the booth, my hand on his arm does nothing to stop him.

  I scoot out of the booth after him, the sound of the man yelling dimming as the blood rushes in my ears.

  Fuck. This isn’t good.

  CHAPTER 8

  Derek

  * * *

  ADRENALINE IS COURSING through my blood, and all I can see is my father. I’m breathing heavy, and my fist is screaming in pain. My knuckles split from the impact of landing the punch right to this fucker’s jaw.

  Don’t fucking talk to her like that! I can hear myself scream as my father tries to hit her again. It’s all I can see. How I was helpless back then. But now, watching the same scene play out, I’m not going to sit back and watch.

  I can’t allow it. I can’t fucking stand a man yelling at a woman. A man putting his hands on her, talking down to her. Degrading her and making her scared.

  I won’t allow it.

  The table rattles and the glass clinks as the other man at the table jolts back, his chair hitting the floor as he stands and backs away slowly.

  My body’s tense and ready for a fight.

  The waitress steps back, and so does everyone else. I can feel their eyes on me as the fucker lands hard on the tiled floor. He throws one hand up in surrender while the other cups his jaw. His mouth fills with blood. All I can see is red.

  “I-” The fucker on the ground cowers and starts to speak, but I yank him up by his collar. Every inch of my skin covered with a cold sweat as my heart pounds.

  “Apologize,” I scream in his face. I clench my jaw so tight, I think my teeth crack. I’m so on edge.

  “Derek.” I can faintly hear Emma’s small voice, laced with fear. My grip loosens for a moment, my heart skipping a beat. Shame momentarily cripples me.

  “I’m sorry,” the man in my grasp says to the waitress on my left.

  “I’m alright.” I hear the waitress's voice. She’s talking to the maître d', who’s consoling her a bit to my left and behind me. Not this prick.

  I know her. I forget her name, but I know her story. She’s a friend of the Marianis. She lost her husband recently, and is just trying to get by. She’s new, and she fucked up. But she didn’t deserve that. And this asshole being so comfortable doing this in public means he’s done it before.

  I’m gonna make sure he never does it again.

  “Derek,” Emma calls out a little louder, desperation clearly there. I see her walk closer to us in my periphery. I hesitate. She shouldn’t see this shit.

  “Stay there, Emma,” I tell her sharply. I swallow thickly, wishing I could just take this shit out on him. He deserves it.

  “I’m sorry, just-” The guy says; he’s shaking so hard I swear he’s gonna piss himself. Just the sound of his voice pisses me off.

  “Derek, stop!” Emma calls out again, taking a step forward and reaching out for my arm.

  My anger wanes as my concern for her getting in the middle of us grows, but it’s still there, raging inside of me.

  “Get the fuck out,” I say beneath my breath and start to shove him away, back against the wall. But it’s not enough. I haul his ass out of the restaurant, not letting go of the grip I have on his shirt. I’m walking so fast he struggles to keep up.

  As soon as we’re outside, I shove him forward. The cold bitter air chilling my heated skin. He slips on the thin sheet of snow, landing hard onto his knees, the palms of his hands bracing his fall and a small splatter of blood hitting the pure white sidewalk.

  I get a strong urge to kick the fucker right in his ribs. I want him to hurt. I want him to feel this for a long fucking time, but Emma runs out like a fucking madwoman, right in front of me. She's wearing her coat and has her wristlet in hand, with my coat draped over one arm.

  I grit my teeth and grab hold of her waist to pull her behind me.

  “Stop!” she screams at me.

  What’s she doing? She should know better.

  The sounds of the people coming out of the restaurant and stirring around me barely grab my attention as the man hobbles forward and turns on his side to stand up. I give him a look that should fucking kill, and he freezes on the sidewalk.

  “Please Derek, let’s go. Just stop.” Emma sounds so hurt as she pulls on my arm. “Please,” she says and her soft voice grabs my full attention as she tugs at me again, pulling my shirt tighter across my chest. “Let’s go.”

  Her beautiful doe eyes look up at me. My heart slows. It’s only then I realize how heavy I’m breathing. How cold it is.

  The man on the ground coughs and scoots farther away. I spare him a quick look, but nothing more.

  “Let’s go,” Emma pleads as she tugs on my arm again, and this time I go to her, shrugging on my coat easily. I wrap my arm around her waist and walk us toward my car. Emma looks over her shoulder a few times, but I don’t. My pace is fast. I just want to get the fuck out of here.

  Mariani’s will be fine. The other owners have done worse. She doesn’t need to know that though.

  She tries to open the passenger door, but I push her against it instead. Her back hits the car door and she gasps as I press my body against hers.

  I just wanna feel her. I need to.

  “Derek,
” she whimpers, moving her neck to give me more access as I lean against her. Kissing her exposed skin, I push my knee between her legs. Fuck, I want her so bad. My dick starts hardening at the thought of taking her right here, right now. I’m so worked up. And I’ve wanted her for days. Fuck that. Years.

  My heavy breath turns to fog as I leave open-mouth kisses along her neck.

  “Derek,” she says again in little more than a whisper, pushing me away slightly.

  I don’t expect her to push me away, since she was leaning into me at first. But she looks over her shoulder at the entrance to the Bistro and then back at me, that vulnerability in her eyes again.

  I pull away and open the door for her without another word. Waiting for her to climb in, I can hardly look her in the eyes, before I shut it gently and readjust my cock in my jeans.

  I look back at the restaurant one last time, the bright red blood still visible from this far away.

  I shouldn’t have done that.

  I just can’t allow a man to treat a woman like that. But the way Emma’s pushing me away makes it more than obvious I shouldn’t have done that.

  IT’S quiet in the car. Too fucking quiet. The small cuts on my knuckles are irritating the shit out of me as I drive on the interstate, taking us closer to my house, and her sister's.

  I don’t want to end the night like this. I want her to come home with me. I wanna make it up to her. I twist my hand on the wheel and swallow down my pride.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally say, my voice rough and low. I’m staring straight ahead, but I can feel those beautiful hazel eyes on me. I chance a look at her and she doesn’t seem angry, or disappointed. Instead there’s a different look in her eyes, the same look she gave me that first day all those years ago. Like she’s trying to figure me out. Trying to decide who I am.