Matteo ushers me through the glass doors of Osprey, one of Chicago’s most exclusive restaurants. It normally takes six months to get a reservation. I’m a little stunned when we walk right in, and the maître de practically throws himself at Matteo, gushing about how delighted he is to see him. We’re immediately escorted to a table right in the middle of the dining room.
Feeling conspicuous, I glance around from beneath my lashes. All eyes are trained on the man I’m sitting with. A few female ones size me up as well. I feel woefully underdressed. I’m in a white blouse and navy-blue dress pants and a pair of low heels. I’m on my feet all day, giving tours of the museum, so comfortable shoes are a must contrary to what Jonathan thinks. This is the kind of place where women are draped in elegant cocktail dresses, and men are decked out in expensive suits.
Matteo fits right in.
Me? Not so much.
I wish he’d told me where we were going so I could have stopped at home and changed. But if I had, I probably would have latched on to the first excuse I could find to bail. I’m sure he suspected that was a distinct possibility. Looking anywhere but at him, I realize I don’t have a clue as to what I’m doing here.
We don’t fit.
My fingers bite into the thick menu as my nerves flare. Blinking back to the moment, my eyes coast over the neatly scripted words.
Italian.
Without English translations.
A waiter stops by our table with a bottle of wine and fills our glasses. Needing liquid courage, I take a small sip as Matteo converses with the waiter in fluent Italian.
That shouldn’t be so sexy since I have absolutely no idea what they’re saying. But it is. Ridiculously so.
As the other man retreats, Matteo’s dark gaze fixes on me.
“I took the liberty of ordering for us. I hope you don’t mind.”
I raise a brow.
“Have you ever tried Bistecca alla Zorich?”
I shake my head. I have no idea what he just said.
“It’s a peppercorn filet mignon. I also ordered a pasta dish- Capellini Fra Diavolo. It’s shrimp and arugula in a spicy red sauce.” Eyes dropping to my lips, he murmurs, “Delicious.”
A shaft of desire bolts through me, leaving ripples of desire in its wake. How does he do that? The man utters one word about something unrelated, and my mind immediately diverts to sex. It tumbles right back to what it felt like when his fingers glided over my skin, pumping deep inside me. I shift on the plush seat before taking another sip of wine, hoping it will alleviate the need curling in the pit of my belly.
Okay, okay… curling much lower than that.
The wine is amazing. It’s one of the best I’ve ever tasted. Sitting here, dining with this man, I feel way out of my league.
Trying to tamp down my nerves, I run a finger over the rim of my wine glass. I hear myself ask, “How did you find me?”
In all honesty, I’m more interested in why he sought me out in the first place. But I’ll save that question for later.
Sitting back, Matteo takes a taste of his wine. His eyes never deviate from mine. “It’s amazing what you can discover when you dig deep enough.”
That doesn’t answer my question. But it does send a shiver of excitement skittering down my spine.
Before I can ask anything else, he says, “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
Snorting, I quickly retort, “You don’t know anything about me.” Or does he? Is that the implication of his words? That he’s looked into me?
His mouth tilts upwards. My belly plunges as if I’m sitting at the top of a roller coaster. “Don’t I?”
Fighting to remain calm, I narrow my gaze. I have no idea what kind of game this man is intent on drawing me into. Worse, I don’t know the rules. I’m at a disadvantage, and I know it. He must realize it as well. I’m nothing like the women he normally sees.
“I’ll give you three truths and a lie. You have to figure out which one is the lie.”
Looking intrigued, his face sharpens, his expression growing more predatory. “What do I get if I guess correctly?”
I bite my lower lip. Suddenly this game seems more dangerous than I intended. “What is it that you want?”
His dark eyes glimmer with hunger as he leans closer. “A kiss.”
A relieved breath rushes from my lungs as I scoff. “A kiss? That’s it?” I thought he would want something far more valuable. Far more inappropriate.
“Well, I never said where the kiss would be, now did I?”
I suppose not.
Feeling restless, I finger the thick, white linen napkin lying under the polished silverware. I pick it up and set it gently on my lap.
He cocks a dark brow in my direction, his face painted with impatience.
“I was born in Chicago.”
He picks up his wine and swirls it around his glass. “Truth,” he says in a bored tone.
The easy, effortless way the word slips from his tongue rattles me. I should have gone with something more challenging. Something he wouldn’t be able to figure out. “Are you not going to wait to hear all of them before deciding which is the lie?”
“No.”
Locking my jaw, I rack my brain. I want to throw him off. But I’m not sure how to do it without revealing too much of myself. It feels as though this man sees way too much. I don’t like it.
“I’m an only child.”
He’s silent for a moment. “True.”
My hand trembles as I pick up the wine glass and take another sip. Drinking too much would be a mistake. I can feel the red liquid rushing to my head.
“My parents live in Seattle,” I say quietly. My heart aches under my breast. I didn’t realize how painful the lie would feel slipping free from my lips.
His eyes meet mine and everyone else in the restaurant fades away. It’s just the two of us. “False.”
The way he says that one word nearly bursts the dam. The wine, so fruity and delicious only moments ago, turns to vinegar on my tongue.
When I remain quiet, he murmurs, “I believe you owe me one more truth.”
Unwilling to continue this game, I shrug. “What’s the point? You already guessed the lie.”
“The point was to get to know you. I’m still working on that.”
“I attend Northwestern University.” I don’t wait for him to say truth. I have a feeling he already knows. I pick up the glass to occupy my fingers, swirling the remaining liquid. My eyes drop as I continue watching the wine. “Did you find out anything you didn’t already know?”
“No.”
I’m curious as to where he got all this information. I doubt George would have told him anything, but who knows. I have an unsettling feeling that Matteo plays by his own set of rules. And that scares me. It would frighten anyone with half a brain.
Our food arrives, thankfully dispelling the ramped-up tension churning between us. It’s delicious. We share the steak and the pasta dish which, feels too intimate for a first date.
Wait a minute… is that what this is?
A date?
No. This man doesn’t date. He said so himself.
Which is precisely why I feel confused as to what’s going on between us. I need to get through this dinner with my wits intact, not to mention my legs closed, and then do whatever is necessary to keep my distance from him. Matteo is not a man to be toyed with. None of my previous experiences have prepared me for someone like him. I won’t fool myself into believing that I can tangle with a guy like him and then waltz away unscathed when we’re finished. I’m not equipped to deal with that kind of heartache after recently enduring so much.
I’m just starting to get back on my feet and I don’t need someone knocking them out from under me.
By the time dessert rolls around, I’m on my second glass of wine. No matter how much I consume, my nerves refuse to settle. They’re practically vibrating. Skittering and careening beneath my over sensitized flesh. I wish I could look across the table and feel nothing, but that’s impossible. Everything about this man affects me.
Everything.
His sultry, espresso-colored eyes that see right through me.
The thick sweep of his eyelashes, especially when he lowers his lids until they sit at half-mast.
Those full, gorgeous lips I find myself tempted to nip.
Those wide hands which only have to trail across my flesh to ignite a firestorm of lust within me.
By the time Matteo orders cannoli for dessert, I feel as if I might spontaneously combust. My panties are drenched, and we haven’t done anything except eat dinner. There haven’t been any innuendos or anything untoward. Whatever’s happening in my body is completely my own doing.
Matteo has done nothing to stoke my desire and yet here I sit across from him in one of the poshest restaurants in Chicago, and I’ve never been more turned on in my life. It’s crazy. The insides of my thighs rub together, sending more sparks of need shooting right to my clit.
When the cannoli is served, it’s placed in the middle of the white-clothed table with two forks. Matteo slides it towards him, which is fine. I’m not very hungry.
For food anyway.
Using the side of his fork, he cuts into the decadent dessert and holds it out to me. I automatically lean toward him, closing the distance before wrapping my lips around the tines. His glittering eyes fall to my lips.
Savoring the Italian pastry, my eyes close as all the flavors meld together in my mouth. By the time I swallow and reopen my eyes, everything stills as I glimpse the lust filling his gaze.
His voice is nothing more than a growl. “Good?”
“Completely decadent,” I whisper.
His hungry gaze drops to my mouth as he forks off another piece and holds out the utensil. This continues until the cannoli finally disappears. I try to remember if we shared it at all.
I don’t think so.
Heat suffuses my cheeks. I didn’t realize that I’d eaten the entire thing by myself.
“Did you have a bite?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I can’t deny that this has been the best meal I’ve ever eaten. No wonder this place has a six-month wait for reservations.
“Because I only wanted a taste.”
My brows furrow. “Did you get it?”
“Not yet.”
I glance at the empty plate. “There’s nothing left.”
His look grows more heated. “I’ll still have a taste.”
My eyes widen. “Oh.”
That’s all I can say. My brain is empty.
“Are you ready to leave?”
“Yes.”
A tidal wave of relief washes over me. I’m more than ready to head home. I need distance from this man. My legs wobble as I stand. Liquid heat gathers in my core. I’m painfully aware of the desire pooled there. I’m vibrating with the need to be touched.
With his hand searing into the small of my back, we make our way out the front door. His driver waits at the curb. Seeing us, he opens the back door of the limo. Matteo helps me inside first and climbs in after me. As we enter traffic and move through the city, I want to relax on the rich leather and close my eyes.
But I don’t.
Doing so would be a mistake. It would be dangerous to let my guard down with this man. He’s much too handsome. Much too masculine. Much too forceful. Much too used to getting his own way.
I may not know much about him, but I recognize these characteristics within him. They are a potent, intoxicating combination.
Turning my head, I meet his gaze. His dark eyes pierce mine. A jolt of electricity slides through me, igniting a spark of need. No matter how many times I’m around him, my reaction is always the same. Intense and powerful. It hasn’t lessened the way I’d hoped it might.
“Did you enjoy dinner?”
“Yes. Everything was delicious.”
“Good. I’ll let the staff know.”
The ever-so-slight accent makes his voice sound almost melodic. Soothing. Like warm honey flowing over my body. The effect he has on me is crazy.
“You enjoyed the cannoli?”
“Very much.” I remember the rich, creamy taste and lick my lips. His eyes fall to my mouth. Need spikes between us as if it is a living, breathing entity.
“You still owe me a taste.”
Before I can absorb the words, his hand slides to the back of my neck and tangles in my hair, pulling me toward him until his lips sweep across mine. The feel of his mouth coaxing mine open makes me whimper. His tongue slips inside to tangle with mine, stroking and playing. Taking me under. Other than his hand in my hair, he doesn’t touch me anyplace else.
It’s demoralizing how much I want his hands on me. My body is on fire. If he grazes me with a finger, I’ll explode like a firework.
I’ve never been so responsive, so attuned to another human being’s touch.
I never realized I could be like this.
Needy.
Reactive.
Explosive.
I don’t know how long we stay locked together with our tongues dueling, tasting, and mating. All too soon, the limousine is pulling up in front of Lexington Place. Matteo is more cognizant than I am because he pulls away seconds before the driver opens the door. I feel dazed by what just happened. He, on the other hand, looks perfectly composed. Completely unaffected. Matteo slips out and offers me a hand. Once my fingers are ensconced within his, he doesn’t let go.
At this point, I don’t want him to.
“Good evening Ms. Castile, Mr. V.”
George tips his hat to us. If he’s surprised to see us walking in together, or Matteo holding my hand in such an intimate manner, it doesn’t register on his face. George is a consummate professional, though. I could waltz through the lobby completely naked, singing at the top of my lungs, and he wouldn’t bat an eye.
I wonder how many women George has seen Matteo usher through the lobby. Ten? Twenty? A hundred? Even more?
That thought is swiftly followed by the ugly realization that I’ve done precisely what I said I wouldn’t do. All he did was lay his lips on me, and I was more than willing to do whatever he asked in response. Sure, it was just a kiss. But had he wanted more, I doubt I would have put a stop to it.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I have no self-control where this man is concerned.
Those thoughts are enough to extinguish the fire burning out of control inside me. Something painful twists in my chest.
A heavy silence falls over us as we ride up to the thirtieth floor. I’m lost in the chatter that grows in volume inside my head. What’s going on between us? Is this anything more than him trying to hustle me into bed?
Disembarking from the elevator, we head down the lavish marble-tiled hallway. I’m keenly aware of him at my side. Every move he makes echoes and resonates deep within my being. Matteo has an overpoweringly masculine presence that is impossible to ignore. I never thought I’d find myself attracted to someone like him.
But I am.
Undeniably.
When we stop in front of my door, I finally lift my eyes to his. A shiver of pleasure slides through me as our gazes connect. “Thank you for dinner.”
His hand comes up and strokes the side of my face. The urge to close my eyes as I turn into his warm palm floods through me. I manage to restrain myself. Barely. “You’re welcome.”
My breath gets clogged in my throat as his eyes continue drilling into mine. I know I should pull away before anything else happens, but I don’t move a muscle.
Biting my lower lip, I wait for him to take what he wants. What I want, too. The moment continues to stretch and lengthen between us. My insides coil tightly in anticipation. I want to feel the slow slide of his mouth on mine again.
I need it.
Instead of kissing me, his hand falls away, back to his side before he steps away from me. His gaze is hooded. A spark of amusement dances in his eyes.
“Sweet dreams, bella.”
Before I can blink, he’s gone, disappearing down the corridor with long-legged strides. I stand there, staring in shock as confusion rushes through me.
Did he seriously just leave me standing here full of anticipation and need that he caused?
Yeah. That’s exactly what he did.
The door to his condo opens and closes with a thud. The sound echoes through my brain like a gunshot. It wakes me from the sexual haze I’m trapped in. Spinning on my heel, I open my door before quietly shutting it. Not once did I hear laughter, but for some reason, the dark remnants of it reverberate throughout my head.