Page 25 of With Us

“Wild guess, Mr.Amato. Do you speak much Italian?”

I shook my head. “I can teach you all the swear words, and some other bits and pieces. I’m full-blooded, but we aren’t old school.”

Entering Faust, the door had barely closed behind us when the manager approached.

“Mr. Amato,” he greeted. He began extending his hand before changing direction and gesturing to the side. “Please, follow me to your table. Unless you’d rather have a drink at the bar. We have a large wine selection, plus a few truly remarkable brandies and scotches. Or—”

Even though it meant releasing Dahlia’s, I reached out my hand, cutting him off before he could offer his house and firstborn. “Thanks, but the table would be fine.”

The gesture seemed to relax him slightly. He met my outstretched hand in a firm but quick shake. “Right this way.”

I placed my palm on Dahlia’s lower back, my fingertips resting on the curve of her ass.

Guiding us through the packed dining room, the manager stopped at a more secluded table directly in front of a window. “Is this alright?”

I glanced at Dahlia, her attention on the busy city street.

Like I had at the steakhouse, I moved one of the chairs so it faced the window, this time positioning it closer to mine. Applying slight pressure to her lower back, I leaned in close to her ear and murmured, “Dahlia.”

“Hmm?” She leaned into my touch for a second before pulling her gaze from the window. Realizing the manager was still standing there, she smiled and sat. “Sorry, I got lost in the crowd. This table is perfect, thank you.”

The manager’s chest puffed out as if he’d built the table and view himself. He set the menus down. “Joseph will be your waiter. But depending on allergies and spice preference, Mr. Faust would like to make a chef’s specialty meal for you both.”

“No allergies and I love spicy food,” Dahlia said, looking at me.

“Same.” I handed the menus back to the manager. Wanting to get Dahlia as alone as we could be, I dismissed him politely. “Thank you.”

As the manager hurried away, Dahlia’s lips tipped up on one side. “So… You’re kind of a big deal, huh?”

She’s got no idea.

“In small circles.” Resting my hand on her knee under the table, I leaned closer. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” she said, her voice soft. “I feel a little underdressed.”

“You don’t look it,” I reassured her, leaving out the part about how if it were up to me, we’d be back at my place where she’d beveryunderdressed. “Faust’s food rivals some of the higher end places in the area, but it isn’t formal.”

She glanced around at the other diners before eyeing my jeans and lightweight sweater. “This color really suits you. Is it as soft as it looks?” Her hand moved from the table toward my chest.

Before she could touch me, a bottle of red wine was placed on the table, followed by two glasses.

I’d been battling against the need to take control of her hands, making sure she felt how softandhard various parts of my body were. The waiter interrupting meant I was also fighting the urge to throw him through the window.

An urge that increased as Dahlia dropped her hand into her lap and sat back.

“Hi, I’m Joseph,” the waiter said, holding a bottle of white wine. “Mr. Faust sends his regards from the kitchen. He asked me to bring you a bottle of wine, but wasn’t sure which you’d prefer.” The guy went into his spiel about the origin, age, and notes of both, but my focus was on my palm on Dahlia’s knee.

More specifically, how high I could move it before she hit me over the head with one of the bottles.

“What do you think?” she asked, turning to look at me. “I don’t know much about wine.”

I tore my attention away from her, only to notice the waiter was reluctantly doing the same. “The Nero.”

The waiter swapped the bottles and uncorked the wine, going through the whole show, all while still focused entirely on her.

“You okay?” she asked as he walked away.

“Yes, why?”

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