Page 8 of Helsing: Demon Slayer
Mercedes and Caroline hovered just behind the others, their expressions tight—less disapproving of Dianne, Ryan thought, than of the whole public display.
Germaine’s smirk curled at one corner, but her gaze lingered on Ryan a half second too long. Measuring. Cold. Then she looked at Dianne. “Well. Looks like Di’s not quite as off-the-market as she claimed.”
Finesse? Had he used that descriptor only moments ago for dealing with civilian women from the U.S.? What he should have remembered was that a group of them required U.N.-level diplomacy.
Ryan kept still, letting them swarm, curious to see how Dianne would hold the line.
She laid a hand on his thigh, the warmth of her touch burning through the thin fabric of his pants and stealing his breath. Then she leaned in and said, “Not gonna lie. Iama bit salty right now. But I’m not in preschool. I don’t need anyone to help me drink my tea.”
“No offense, Queen,” said Tessa, raising her hands in mock surrender, gummy-pink nails catching the coppery light of the setting sun as her eyes flicked toward Jasmyn.
“Keep it sweet,” added Jasmyn with a laugh, bumping Dianne with her shoulder.
Germaine folded her arms. “Let’s go. Di’s clearly in capable hands.” She gave Dianne a wink—but when her gaze flicked back to Ryan, something behind it curdled. Not malice exactly, but … something. He couldn’t name it, but his instincts filed it away.
The group migrated to the bar where Alexis and Ivone waited, cocktails in hand and chatting with a couple of men they’d met earlier in the cruise. Tessa and Jasmyn chattered and laughed. Mercedes glanced back once, lips pursed, and Caroline followed with a sigh.
Ryan checked his watch. “We’ve got forty minutes before dinner. That is, if you want to maintain your cover.”
Dianne’s fingers slipped from his thigh. He tried not to miss them. Discipline kept him still, but every nerve was awake now, keyed to the memory of her touch through the thin fabric of his chinos.
She sat straighter, then gave a small sigh. “I’m sorry I snapped earlier. I’m just … in a weird place. None of this is normal. But for now”—she glanced toward the bar where her friends lingered—“you’re the devil I don’t know.”
Ryan took a sip of his beer, watching her. Flippant words, maybe. But she had no idea how close they were to the truth.
“No offense taken,” he said.
By the time they reached the Brazilian restaurant, the sharpness of her earlier nerves—the strange thrill of asking The Beast to dinner—had worn off. Dianne had expected something like a date. This wasn’t that. And now that she was certain of it, she could almost enjoy herself.
Ryan didn’t turn out to be much of a conversationalist, so Dianne drank more wine than she should have and plunged into asking him questions about Olivia, Mihàil, and Luljeta, who was now six months old.
“Have you never visited your sister in Albania?” asked Ryan after Dianne had peppered him with numerous questions about the mountains and the culture.
She shook her head. “No.”
He’d finished his meal already, having methodically devoured the meats—picanha,linguiça, andcordeiro—barely pausing to inhale the warm, crustypão de queijoand piles of vegetables.
He tilted his head and studied her but thankfully didn’t press her about not traveling to Albania, either in the last five years that Olivia had made it her home or with him at the end of the cruise.
Instead, he nodded at her nearly untouchedbrigadeiros. “Aren’t those truffles good? I thought chocolate was irresistible to women.”
Dianne shrugged. “The ones I get back home are better. Plus, I’m not very hungry.”
“How long does this date have to last to keep your friends at bay?” Dianne thought she saw a mischievous glint in his eyes as he spoke.
“How much time do you have?” she asked, toying with the stem of her wineglass.
“That long?” Now Ryan really did smile, that incredible smile that turned the corners of his eyes up and transformed his rugged features. “How about a walk on the deck? Clear your head from the bottle of wine you drank?”
Ah. So he’d noticed.
Dianne nodded. They headed outside the steakhouse to the nearby sliding glass doors to the deck where the deep-blue Adriatic beckoned on the horizon.
Instead of walking along the perimeter of the deck, however, Ryan guided Dianne to the railing with a hand on her lower back. Lord, was she tipsy! That large, warm palm against the thin fabric of her blouse felt divine.
After a few moments in companionable silence looking at the moon glinting on the waves, she shivered in the cool breeze off the water.
“Cold?” asked Ryan as he leaned both elbows on the rail.
