“Of course, of course.” The maî·tre d’ leads us inside and snaps his fingers at two busboys, who hurry to clear a table for us. A small group of people waiting for a table give us ugly looks, but Leo doesn’t seem to notice. Did they just put us ahead of all these people because they are afraid of Leo? I follow Leo and the maî·tre d’ to our table, feeling more than a little anxious. Just how dangerous is he?
Leo pulls out my chair and helps me sit, taking his place across from me at the small round table. It’s a tablecloth and candle kind of place. Soft music washes over the room and the conversation is muted, but constant. Well-dressed waiters and waitresses sweep through the room with iced bottles of champagne and wine decanters resting against white cloths draped over their forearms. The menu only lists six items and I can’t even begin to decipher what they are. The language looks like French, but I can’t be sure.
“I told you this wasn’t a date,” I say. “You didn’t have to pick such a fancy place.”
“If it’s not a date, why did you spend so long making yourself look so sexy?”
I clear my throat and adjust the napkin in my lap. “Look. If you want this to be more than just...physical, you’re going to have to stop.”
He frowns. “Stop what?”
I make a gesture toward him that isn’t even clear to me. “That. Whatever it is you do that makes it so hard for me to concentrate. You want the truth? Yes, I’m attracted to you. Yes, that was the best…” I lower my voice. “It was the best sex I’ve ever had.”
He licks his lips slowly, drawing my eye. Focus. Say what you came to say, Julia.
“We did this backwards. So no more sex, no more touching. If you want to keep seeing me, we need to start over. You tell me about you and I’ll tell you about me and we’ll go from there.”
He regards me calmy, eyes narrowed slightly. He shrugs. “Okay, so we start over, but I should warn you. I start pretty close to the finish line.”
The waiter saves me from having to respond to that by arriving with a bottle of wine. I know it’s expensive wine because he pours it in a decanter before filling our glasses. Leo orders for both of us, pronouncing the foreign words fluently and with a confidence that I can’t help but find attractive.
When the waiter leaves, Leo spreads his hands. “Well, Dr. Connors, seeing as you’re the psychologist here, what can you tell me about myself?”
I purse my lips. “You’re confident.” I say. “Some men pretend to be confident as a defense mechanism, a way to ward off potential danger. Others pretend for attention. Very few men actually are confident. You’re not pretending though, and I’m trying to figure out if it’s because you’re ignorant or dangerous.”
The corner of his mouth twitches in a grin.
I put a finger to my lips, rubbing them slowly as I examine him, letting my thoughts prod his psyche. “People think all humans are the top of the food chain, but I think it’s more complicated than that. Some humans prey on others. Apex predators. They are stronger and more clever than most people, and because normal pursuits aren’t challenging enough for them, they assert their dominance over others. I think that’s you. The apex predator.”
He looks down, flashing his long eyelashes before his eyes snap up to meet mine. “If I’m the apex predator, and you won’t submit to me, what does that make you?”
I laugh softly. “Your match, I suppose.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is that why I can’t get you out of my head?”
My thoughts exactly. I can’t help wondering if I’m drawn to him because he challenges me. Where most men are like open books to me, Leo is a mystery. He’s dark and dangerous, and the only way to find out more is to get close, if I dare.
We’re served an entree of foie gras. Leo tells me it’s the liver of ducks that are specially fattened to make the liver more tender. I try not to look disgusted. Liver? I have to admit it looks appetizing though, like a darkened, glazed chicken breast. I jab at it with my fork, surprised by the buttery texture. Leo watches me in amusement, eyes twinkling in the candlelight. Someone laughs a few tables over and a waiter clatters several plates together at the back of the restaurant. If not for the tattoos peeking up his neck and hands, I could almost think I was dining with a wealthy gentleman who comes from a long family line of old money.
Almost.
The power in his body betrays the truth. Easy lives don’t make faces and bodies like his. There’s no way a man who grew up sipping cocktails and lounging poolside could hold so much fire in his eyes. His confidence wouldn’t be so real, so primal. No. This is not a soft man with a soft past. He has done and seen things worse than I can imagine, and still I can’t make myself walk away. He fascinates me. Physically, mentally, emotionally.
He doesn’t speak much, but his body language and eyes say so much more than most men can communicate with words. It’s all in the steamy glances and appraising movement of his eyes, the way he has a tendency to bite or lick his lips when he looks at me—a dead giveaway for sexual attraction, if it wasn’t already obvious enough.
I set down my fork before I eat myself into a food coma. The foie gras is buttery smooth and seasoned with a delicious sauce that tastes like cranberries, and it’s served over a bed of vegetables that are cooked so perfectly and flavorfully that I would come back just to order them. The wine is like nothing I’ve ever tasted. It’s sweeter than I usually prefer, but there’s a warm note that follows every sip and seems to burn away the sweet. It pairs perfectly with the meal, and I can’t help sitting back and smiling when I’m finished.
“That was incredible,” I say.
“It’s my favorite. I knew you would like it.”
“You still haven’t told me anything about yourself.”
He nods slowly, tossing his napkin on the table and running a thumb across his lips. “Old habit, I guess. Tell me what you want to know and I’ll tell you if I can answer.”
“What do you really do for a living?”
“Next question.”
“I need to know what you do for a living.”
“Haven’t you already guessed?” he asks.
I swallow. Yes. Mafia, probably. Too smart for a street criminal and too dangerous for anything legitimate. “I’m tired of guessing. I want you to answer me, or this isn’t going to work. What do you do?”
He gives me a strange look, narrowing his eyes as if he’s seeing me in a new light for the first time. “Fine,” he says. “I hurt people.”
It feels like the room grows a little darker, as if the candle flickers in the face of his darkness. “Have you...killed?”
“Do you really think I’m going to answer that?”
Yes, he has. Jesus Christ, Julia, what are you doing with this man? “Do you have kids?”
He laughs. “No. Hell no.”
“Family?” I know from talking to Callie that he’s related to Damian and Vince, but I want to see how much he’s willing to tell me.
“Sure. Parents are gone, but I have a little brother and cousins up in New York.”
“Does your family hurt people, too? For a living, I mean?”