Page 42 of Wicked Savage

“Promise?” My tongue flicks out to trace the curve of her lips.

A cunning grin stretches across her face as she pushes the door open, stepping out. I follow, tugging her hand in mine, the tension between us crackling.

She tries to slip from my grasp, but I pull her closer. “Best behavior. Remember?”

“I hope you make it worth my while,” she murmurs, her voice low and playful.

I let out a laugh. “You’re just gonna have to wait and see.”

Boris follows closely behind as we make our way inside. A maître d’ greets us with a practiced smile, and we walk past her into the restaurant.

“I love this place, by the way. Thank you.” She casts a grin in my direction.

I raise her hand to my lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “No need to thank me. I just want to make you happy.”

Her cheeks flush and she glances down, clearly trying to hide the effect I’m having on her as we move toward the private room I’ve arranged.

“You can wait out here,” she tells Boris, and he nods, stepping aside to stand just outside the door.

The maître d’ leads us further inside, where a single round table sits in the center of a dimly lit room, three flickering votive candles casting soft shadows around us.

Just us. Exactly how I wanted it.

She sits gracefully in the chair I pull out, and I take mine across from her, the space between us feeling charged. For the first time ever, as I watch her settle into her seat, a thought crosses my mind—one that feels almost foreign.

Would my mother have liked her, had they ever met?

CHAPTER9

DINARA

“So,about this weekend in New York City you mentioned. Where exactly would we go?" I ask, taking a sip of the iced tea I ordered, my eyes lingering on the attractive, enigmatic man across from me.

I can't believe he's already planning another date before we've even finished this one, but honestly, I wouldn't say no. The more we talk, the more I find myself wanting to spend every single second with him, wishing we weren’t so far apart.

“We’d catch a show, then I’d take you on a shopping spree and spoil you a little before I fucked you in every room of my penthouse.”

I shiver at his words, the heat in his gaze searing into me and sending a storm through my pulse.

“I think I’d like that,” I manage to say, my tone barely steady.

He chuckles, that smirk curling at the corner of his mouth, sinking deep into my gut. My core throbs in response.

“I thought you were afraid I was a serial killer,” he adds. “Doesn’t it scare you to be alone with me all weekend?”

If he only knew how many killers I’ve crossed paths with…

I shrug, trying to play it cool, twirling my straw between my fingers. “Well, my mother always said those who don’t take risks don’t drink champagne.”

His expression shifts, the teasing fading as he takes a quiet breath. “Your mother…she passed away?”

“Yeah. About two years ago.” My throat tightens, and I quickly glance away, swallowing hard.

“I’m sorry.” His voice softens, and I feel the sincerity in his words. “My mother passed away too, when I was a few years older than you.”

“I’m sorry too.”

He pauses, then gently asks, “So, who do you live with? Your father?”

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