Velvet Devil

Chapter 3 Episode 3

“Well, what I mean is, he’s been interested for a while and he kept asking my brother-in-law if I’d goout with him—”

“He sent a messenger boy to ask you on a date?”

I can’t hide my disgust.

“He didn’t want to make things awkward in case I said no.”

“That’s a coward’s way out.”

“I thought it was thoughtful.”

“Then you need to raise your standards.”

She recoils. “You realize we only met five minutes ago, right?”

I shrug, unfazed. “Good advice is good advice.”

“What a gentleman you are,” she sneers.

I chuckle and take a sip of the wine her date ordered. All things considered, it’s not the worstselection in the world. “I’ve been accused of many things, kiska. But never that.”

Her laughter is nervous. “I get the feeling you’re not kidding.”

“You deserve a man. Not a f*****g fool who can’t even pick up the bill.”

She bristles at that. “I can pay my own way perfectly fine. Not every damsel is in distress, you know.”

“No,” I murmur with a smirk. “Some are in denial.”

Her lips move silently for a moment like she can’t think of a retort. But the blush on her cheeks ispersistent.

As is my throbbing c**k.

“If I’ve insulted you, I can always have Reggie brought back here,” I suggest after a moment haspassed. “You can finish your drink with him instead. Maybe even get dessert. I hear the crème brûléeis to die for.”

“You’re wrong about that, kiska,” I laugh. “I’d dare to do things you’ve never even dreamed of.”

“You’re not kidding about that either, are you?”

“No. Not in the slightest.” I lean forward instinctively. Her lips are pursed and full. I want themwrapped around my c**k. “Does that frighten you, Cami?”

“Oh, gee, am I that easy to read?” she retorts sarcastically.

“I’ll tell you at the end of the night.”

“Do you always speak in riddles?” Cami snaps. “Or are you just really leaning in to the whole‘handsome, mysterious stranger’ deal?”

I chuckle and swirl the wine in the glass. “Did you just say I’m handsome?”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend like you don’t know you’re handsome.”

“Fair enough. No woman has ever complained.”

“She’d have to be blind.”

The energy between us has grown prickly and dangerous now. I wonder if she can feel it the way Ican. Based on the way she clears her throat and stiffens her posture, I’m guessing the answer is yes.

I lean back in my seat and study her. “What do you like to do, Cami?”

“You mean besides go tit-for-tat with arrogant men in expensive suits?”

I shrug. “Everyone has a hobby.”

“Let me assure you that this is not mine,” she says solemnly. “This is very much a first time thing forme, you know.”

“You’ve never been on a date before?”

“I’ve never abandoned one bad date for another, wise guy,” she says, though she can’t help but giggle.The sound is enough to drive a man crazy with lust. I have to adjust my c**k again where it’s strainingat the zipper of my pants.

“And here I was, thinking we were getting along well,” I drawl.

“Sorry to burst your bubble.”

“You can make it up to me,” I say coolly.

She wrinkles her nose again. It’s bizarre how much that tiny little motion affects me. Like hooking upjumper cables to my balls. It makes me want to see what other faces she makes.

“How do you suggest I do that? No, better question: why would I do that?”

“You can do it like this—” I wave a hand over my shoulder and the bartender whose eyes havefollowed me all evening long comes scurrying over immediately with another pair of drinks. “Andyou should because I’m not the kind of man who likes being told no.”

Cami’s eyes widen when she sees the bartender set the drinks down on our table. “Oh, no, no, no,”she stammers. “I said one drink. Now you’re gonna start getting ideas.”

“You were telling me about your hobbies,” I say. “Continue.”

She eyes the drink then me, back and forth, back and forth. Eventually, she sighs and her shouldersslump forward. “One more,” she says. “But that’s really it. I’m deadly serious.”

I clink my glass to the edge of hers. “To the last drink we’ll ever have, then.”

The bartender has brought me whiskey neat this time. Twelve-year Glenlivet, one of the best bottlesthey keep in stock. I take a sip and relish the crisp edge and smooth burn as it slides down my throat.

Cami takes a tiny sip of her white wine and sets it back down on the table with trembling fingertips.“I read,” she blurts suddenly.

“No, postcards,” she snaps. “Yes, of course books.”

“Good books. Classics. Austen, Dickens, Du Maurier, Shakespeare. That kind of thing.”

“Shakespeare, huh?” I muse. I stroke my clean-shaven jaw. “You strike me as a King Lear kind ofgirl. I always preferred Hamlet.”

Her eyes leap up on her forehead. “You’ve read Hamlet?”

“Should I be offended by your surprise?”

She blushes guiltily. “Sorry. I just… You don’t seem like a big reader.”

“So yes, I should be offended.”

Laughter bubbles through her lips. I can’t take my eyes off her f*****g smile. So goddamn innocent.

I eye her unapologetically. The flush has extended past her cheeks and down to her chest. The tops ofher breasts are rosy now. Begging for attention.

Her green eyes are bright, shimmering with excitement, with the adrenaline of stepping outside of theneat lines of her life. She’s bookish and quiet, a wallflower, a stay-out-of-the-way kind of girl. Mypolar f*****g opposite.

And I notice that she’s leaning towards me. Same as how I can’t help leaning in towards her.

Our bodies seeking one another out.

The fact that I haven’t yet touched her, apart from that fleeting kiss on the cheek, seems ridiculous.Damn near offensive. I’m itching to tear that dress off her and lick all the way down to her thighs.

“What else have you read?” she prods. “Or do you just throw out the Hamlet line to impresswomen?”

“Why do I get the feeling that I’m being tested?”

She picks up her wine glass and shrugs her shoulders in a gesture that’s very femme fatale. I like herfire, her feistiness. “Am I making you nervous?” she teases.

“I’m never nervous. Merely intrigued.”

She almost wilts under the intensity of my stare. Maybe this is all too much for a girl like her. She’snot used to a man like me. A man who isn’t afraid to take what he wants.

But then, at the last moment, she sucks in a frantic breath and straightens up. Shoulders back, eyesforward, spine tall, she looks me in the eyes and meets fire with fire.

“To answer your question, I’ve read a fair amount. Dostoevsky. Tolstoy. Bulgakov. Pushkin. Gogol.To name a few.”

“All Russian authors,” she says. “Am I right in assuming you are, too?”

“Vorobev,” she murmurs, her eyebrows knotting together thoughtfully. “Why do I feel like I’ve heardthat name before?”

I give nothing away. The Bratva isn’t exactly a commonly discussed topic in this city. Mostly becausethe cops don’t like admitting they have no control over me or my men.

But we’re not a secret, either.

She smiles. “Is this you being mysterious again?”

“Maybe you should ask another question.”

She purses her lips. “Fine. What do you do?”

“A lot,” I reply vaguely. “I own many different businesses.”

“Please don’t say you’re a ‘self-made man,’” she says. “Reggie said it about thirty times tonight, andthe phrase alone makes me want to throw up in my mouth.”

I grin. “In some ways, yes; in others, no,” I say. “But I’ve worked hard to build and expand them. So

you shouldn’t think I’m a—”

I smirk. “I haven’t been a kid for a long time.”

Her smile slowly fades away. “I believe that.”

As we lapse into silence, the eye contact between us takes on a different rhythm. The static in the airis more charged than ever.

I’ve seen green eyes before. But not like hers. The color is soft, mellow. The kind of green that youspy in the folds of the ocean, rippling between the deep blues and murky greys.

She jerks her gaze away from mine, breaking the eye contact. “The restaurant has cleared out,” shepoints out.

I look around, realizing she’s right. We’re the only two still sitting at a table, though the staff is stillmilling around, cleaning up.

The streets have emptied out, too. Except for my armored G-Wagon, which is parked across the street,right in front of the SUV that holds my personal security detail.

As I’m looking out the window, something catches my eye. A man standing almost out of sight. He’saverage in height, balding at the top of his head, and wearing clothes that look like he’s pilfered themoff a homeless shelter.

But the direction of his gaze catches my eye.

Because it’s not me he’s looking at.

And it’s not the casual leer of a creep checking out a beautiful woman in a little black dress. It’s morethan that. There’s intent behind his gaze.

I don’t f*****g like it.