Page 12

“You ever eat with other people around?” I ask.

We are once again in the private wing of a restaurant—although, as I walked in, passing by the tables, I saw several heads turning to watch us.

I know it wasn’t because of me, so it could only be because of him. Who is the man I’m with? I know his name and that he’s very rich, but I’m starting to think he’s famous too.

It may sound crazy, but I feel safe with Xander even without knowing much about him besides his name. He exudes honesty and strong character.

Self-confidence and arrogance, too, of course. But mainly something essential for me: he makes me feel wanted—or rather, desired, I correct myself.

Before we left for dinner, I called my mother. I didn’t tell her in detail what had happened on the cruise, only that I couldn’t go on because I didn’t feel right. I also said that I would stay in Europe for another week, even though I still hadn’t decided on Xander’s proposal. It took me a good fifteen minutes to convince her not to worry, even if I didn’t tell her I was with a man.

How could I when I still don’t know exactly what we are?

“In public places, if I can help it, no,” he finally answers .

“Because. . .?”

“I don’t like noise nor having to yell just so I can have a conversation.”

“Even more so with me, right? I mean, everyone says my voice is just a whisper.”

He leans back in the restaurant chair as if he needs a little more space to watch me. “Out of shyness?” he asks without denying it.

“I think so. Or maybe because, like you, I don’t like shouting either. I’ve had a lot of it in my life.”

I see his brow furrowing in confusion and immediately regret saying too much. Telling him about my past is certainly not a good way to start our conversation.

“Why was there screaming in your past?”

“Not a pleasant conversation to have over dinner.”

“Life isn’t always pleasant, , but I can handle it.”

“I’m adopted. I lost my parents when I was little. I was welcomed and rejected . . . several times. Most homes were not those of people who really wanted a child, but rather people who liked the idea of having a child, of being parents. Kids are hard work, and I think after a while, they decided I wasn’t worth it.”

For a change, I can’t face him when I tell him that.

“How many times did you go back?”

I play with the linen napkin. “After a while, I lost count, but that’s in the past,” I lie because God only knows how much it hurt me every time; I saw the pity on the social worker’s face when they brought me back. “I was adopted for real when I was eleven, and I got wonderful parents.”

When I look back at him, his face is serious, and his jaw is set. “What happened to your birth parents?”

“They both died within a few years of each other. I don’t even remember my father anymore, to be honest. My mom, yes, but it gets harder and harder to remember our time together.”

“How old are you?”

For the first time since the conversation started, I breathe a sigh of relief. “Eighteen and a half. Too young? ”

One of his fingers plays with his lower lip, and it mesmerizes me a little. “Yup. I thought you were at least twenty.”

“What about you?”

“Thirty-five. Too old?” He plays with my last question.

“No. How you made me feel when you kissed me is far more important than our age gap.”

After that, his expression changes. I don’t know much about men, but I think it’s desire. His gaze makes me shiver.

Until now, he only seemed to be studying me, giving me no clue what he thought about me, but in this moment, I feel in every fiber of my being that he wants me.

Yes, I know he said as much before, but the thing is, I don’t really believe in words or promises. I’ve heard a lot of them before, and they were all broken.

Now, however, I feel it, and it makes me eager to have more of whatever he has to teach me.

“Are you done?”

“Yes. Are we going home?”

“Not yet. I thought of doing something different. Do you like to dance?”

“I love it. Why?”

“There’s a friend’s nightclub just a few minutes away.”

“I thought you didn’t like crowds.”

“This one has an exclusive floor. We will have privacy.”

“Are you doing this for me?”

“Yeah. After what happened today, you deserve some fun.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said you liked to dance,” he says, whispering in my ear as he moves very close to me.

We’re in a lounge that looks like the VIP wing of a nightclub. This is only my second club; the first one I went to was with friends from high school .

I couldn’t compare this to my first experience even if I wanted to. It’s all very fancy. Even the mirrors and armchairs look luxurious.

There is no one around, and I notice that, even here, Xander’s bodyguards are lurking, preventing people from getting too close.

“I usually dance alone at home. Music takes me places.”

His hands are on my hips, and my pulse is racing. He is not only drop-dead gorgeous but very sexy as well. The way he looks at me makes me want to grasp his body and be bold, but would my shyness even allow that?

As if sensing my desire, he pulls me closer. “And what else takes you places, beautiful ?”

I lift my face to his. “I don’t know yet, but I want to learn. Can you teach me?”

Before I take a breath, our mouths meet, at first in a kiss that seems more like a mutual exploration. Lips touching, tongues, teeth.

Before long, however, I feel the hardness of his muscular body taking over me entirely, making me want to be naked, and I melt in his arms.

Wanting more, I move my hips, swaying against his body, inviting him.

“I want to teach you everything, but not here. Shall we go?”

I know he’s not just talking about us going home, and if I had a perfectly functioning brain cell, I’d probably say “no”, but I’m not sure how much time we’ll spend together. Despite my fear of suffering, I want him too much to resist.

“Yes. I’m ready.”