I want to say it’s a cynical outlook, but we’ve arrived at the cloakroom. He gets my coat and makes sure I’m covered before leading me to the car. His attention is unsettling. He’s behaving like the perfect gentleman, but I know who he truly is.
I expect us to go back to the hotel, but Gautier pulls up in front of a small but cozy-looking restaurant. Surely, we’re overdressed. When I mention it to Maxime, he only laughs.
Once inside, I understand why Maxime wasn’t fazed. We’re the only customers. A man in his late fifties pushes through a swing door to greet us. I get a glimpse of the kitchen through the open door. Meat is sizzling on a grill and something is bubbling in a pot. An aroma of oregano and garlic fills the air.
“Max.” The man slaps him on the back and says something in Italian.
Maxime replies, after which the man addresses me in English. “Welcome to my humble restaurant. I will do my best to satisfy your appetite. I’m Matteo, but you can call me Teo.”
I smile stiffly, my nerves getting the better of me. “Thank you.”
Teo leads us to a small veranda where a table with a crisp white tablecloth is set with crystal and silverware. The terrace is encased in glass, keeping the cold out while allowing a view over the canal. A creeper grows over the trellis, and glass balls with tea candles dangle at different heights from the ceiling. It’s breathtaking. With the moon hanging low over the water between the buildings, it’s picture perfect.
Teo seats us, then bustles off and returns with olive bread and tapenade.
“I thought you’d be more at ease with an informal setting tonight,” Maxime says when Teo is gone.
I glance at the empty tables. “You booked out the whole place?”
“It’s more intimate, no?”
Intimate isn’t where I want to go. When I toy with the stem of my glass, Maxime asks, “Thirsty?”
I nod.
He serves sparkling water for me and wine for himself.
“Is there a reason I’m not allowed to drink wine?” I ask.
“A good one.”
“That is?”
His eyes darken. “I want you lucid tonight.”
My stomach flips. He wants me to remember our first time.
Teo saves me from a response by arriving with a selection of small dishes.
“I thought we’d just nibble,” Maxime says, “as you may be too nervous for a heavy meal.”
His seductive accent chills me to the bone. His insight sets me further on edge. I don’t want him to know what I think or feel. Especially, not what I feel.
He leans closer, his gaze sharp and predatory. “I can make it very good for you, Zoe. All you have to do is relax. I’ll take care of everything.”
My cheeks heat, as Teo is still busy shifting the dishes around to fit everything on the table.
When Teo is gone again, Maxime drops the lustful tone and talks about the opera while he serves me. Like the night he took me to Seven Seas, he proves how skillful he is at the art of making conversation, keeping it light while the stone in my stomach is heavy and I don’t have words.
If not for the circumstances, the evening might’ve been pleasant, but I can’t wait for it to be over. I’m half relieved and half terrified when Maxime finally stands and offers me a hand.
His gray stare is as intense as his words are charged. “Shall we go?”
Clearing my throat, I push back my chair. I consider not taking his hand, but after a moment’s hesitation I accept. This is one of those battles not worth fighting.
The closer we get to the hotel, the tighter my stomach grows. I think I may be sick. I hate him, even if he’s saving me from a worse fate. If he hadn’t taken me to start with, I wouldn’t have been in this awful position.
I glance at his face from under my lashes as we drive. The man I’m about to accept as my lover is harsh, unfeeling, unattractive, and a kidnapper. I don’t understand why he went to so much trouble for me tonight. I do, however, believe he does nothing without purpose, and that makes me question his motives. He doesn’t need to give me consideration, attention, or lavish treatment.
He turns his head a fraction, catching me staring. “Don’t like what you see?”
Unable to admit the truth, I avert my eyes.
His easy acceptance of the unspoken insult tells me that one, he gets that a lot, and two, it doesn’t faze him.
By the time we’re back at the hotel, I’m a wreck. I climb the stairs ahead of the men, my back stiff and chin high. Maxime bids the guards good night on the landing and opens the door for me.
Once inside, my bravado falters. I stop in the lounge. What now? How is this supposed to happen? Do I go to the room and get naked? Wait for him in the bed? At the thought, a shiver crawls over my skin.
In no hurry, Maxime removes his jacket and drapes it over the clotheshorse. He undoes his tie and pours himself a whiskey from the wet bar. Sipping it, he studies me quietly. Unlike me, he doesn’t seem uncertain. It looks as if he knows exactly what he’s going to do next.
I have an urge to wring my hands together. Instead, I force them behind my back. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of knowing he’ll be my first. I lock that knowledge away, hanging onto it selfishly for as long as I can. He doesn’t deserve it. Hopefully, he won’t even notice.
“Zoe.”
I jump at the sound of his voice, giving away my anxiety. The timbre is deep and velvety, the way he says my name in his foreign accent like a caress. I barely suppress the rebellious instinct to defy him.
“Do you need to use the bathroom?” he asks.
Not trusting my voice, I shake my head.
He says in a low voice, “Then go to the room, cherie.”
Chapter 10
Zoe
The words are like a sentence, the lash of a whip on my back. A sense of pending loss hangs over me, but I squash it and lock down my emotions as I do what he says and go to the room. I throw the clutch onto the loveseat where he treated my wounds this morning and stop next to the bed. When he enters the room, courage hangs around me like a shroud.
I square my shoulders, my false bravado back in place. “How do you want me?”
He tilts his head and studies me curiously. “How do you mean?”
I curl my fingers until my nails cut into my palms. “Naked or clothed?”
A slow smile curves his lips. “I don’t fuck a woman with her clothes on.”
“Naked, then,” I say with a bite in my tone. “On the bed? Bent over the dresser?”
“Zoe.” He shakes his head, amusement making the flat gray of his eyes seems livelier, like quicksilver. “Slow down.”
“Just do it already.” I only want this to be over.
He walks to me slowly, working his bowtie free. “Fucking isn’t only about me driving my dick into your pussy.”
My cheeks heat at his crass language. When he hands me his tumbler, I take it in a reflex reaction. He unbuttons his collar before taking back the glass and leaving it on the dresser. His actions are fluid, self-assured. He stares deep into my eyes, penetrating every corner of the parts I try to hide from him as he cups my face between his broad palms.
His skin is warm and calloused on my cheeks. I gasp as he tilts my head back and lowers his with slow purpose. I know he’s going to kiss me, but nothing prepares me for the moment his lips touch mine.