Chapter 3 - Dinner With the Devil
856 Words
The car that pulled up outside her apartment building was sleek, black, and clearly expensive.
Of course it was.
Sienna hesitated on the sidewalk, her fingers curling tighter around her small clutch. She’d almost canceled half a dozen times during the day—told herself this was a mistake. That having dinner with Dominic Wolfe wasn’t smart. Wasn’t professional. Wasn’t... safe.
And yet, here she was.
The driver stepped out and opened the back door before she could bolt.
Dominic was already inside.
Her breath caught.
He looked *unfair* in the soft interior light—dark shirt, no tie, top buttons undone just enough to tease. He didn’t smile, not exactly, but his eyes flicked over her slowly... and appreciatively.
“You came,” he said, voice low.
She slid in, heart racing. “I wasn’t sure I would.”
He let his gaze linger. “That makes two of us.”
---
The restaurant was hidden—of course it was—tucked away in an alley in SoHo behind a black velvet curtain and a brass plaque with no name.
Inside, it was all candlelight and shadow. Private tables tucked in alcoves. Velvet booths. Soft jazz playing like a lover’s whisper. The hostess knew him by name and led them to a secluded corner table without question.
No menus.
“I have a chef’s tasting prepared,” Dominic said once they were seated. “Trust me?”
Her mouth curved slightly. “Do I have a choice?”
He leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. “Not with me, no.”
The waiter brought wine—deep red, decanted, expensive. She took a sip and felt the heat of it slide down her throat.
“So,” she said, trying to keep things neutral. “Why me?”
His brow lifted. “That’s your first question?”
“Yes. I want to understand what this is.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he watched her. Eyes unreadable, jaw set.
“When I first saw you in the boardroom,” he said finally, “I thought you were going to be a problem.”
She blinked. “Thanks?”
“You walked in like you belonged there. All this... determination and fire, packed into someone so young. Too young.”
“I’m twenty-three,” she shot back, lifting her chin.
“I’m thirty-eight,” he said evenly. “I’ve built a life where I don’t let people in. Where control is everything. And you—”
He reached out, his fingers brushing the stem of her glass. Not touching her. But close.
“—you make me want to break every rule I’ve ever set for myself.”
Her breath caught.
The wine. The shadows. The low, intimate tone of his voice—it all worked together like a spell.
“I’m not trying to make you do anything,” she whispered.
“That’s the problem, Sienna. You don’t have to try.”
---
Dinner came in slow, luxurious courses—truffle risotto, butter-soft scallops, melt-in-your-mouth lamb. She barely tasted any of it.
Because every glance, every word between them, was another slow dance toward the edge.
At one point, he reached for her wrist, tracing the inside of it with his thumb.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“It’s not from you.”
His mouth curved into a smile. “Liar.”
She snatched her hand back, but the damage was done. The imprint of his touch lingered.
---
They stepped outside into the night, the city humming around them. His car waited. The air was cooler now, but her skin was still flushed.
He didn’t open the door immediately.
Instead, he stepped in front of her, close—too close.
“I meant what I said,” Dominic said quietly. “This shouldn’t be happening.”
“But it is.”
“I’ve never touched someone who works for me.”
Her throat tightened. “Then don’t.”
He cupped her cheek.
Soft. Reverent.
“I already did.”
And then—God help her—he kissed her again.
But this time it was *different*.
Not rushed. Not stolen in an elevator.
This was slow. Intentional. His mouth coaxing hers open, his tongue exploring like he had all the time in the world to ruin her. And she let him.
Her hands curled in his shirt, gripping, needing something solid.
His hand slid down her back, pulled her flush against him—and she felt *everything*. Heat. Hunger. The sheer want he kept barely leashed.
When they broke apart, both were breathing hard.
“Come home with me,” he said against her mouth.
She froze.
Dominic looked into her eyes. “No pressure. Just... come. Talk. Another glass of wine.”
A dangerous offer. And they both knew it.
Sienna stepped back, every nerve screaming *yes*.
But her voice betrayed her.
“Not tonight.”
He didn’t push. Just nodded once, slowly. “But there’ll be a night.”
She didn’t answer.
She didn’t have to.
---
To Be Continued…
- Writer
