Page 17 of Toxic Temptation
“No.” Right on cue, her stomach rumbles.
I laugh and nod. “That’s what I thought. We’re going to dinner,” I decide. “After that, I’ll figure out what to do with you.”
I’m halfway out the door when she speaks. “You can’t keep me, you know,” she says. Her voice is husky, hushed, saying too much and not enough all at the same time.
I look at her reflection in the mirror. The black dress suits her. The fire in her eyes suits her even more.
So I shrug. “Why not?”
7
VESPER
Why not,indeed. I’m asking myself that question a million times over right now.
As we get back into Kovan’s SUV in our new clothes:Why notstart screaming until some Good Samaritan comes to my rescue?
As we pull away from the curb and start cruising down Van Ness Ave toward Nob Hill, neither of us saying a word:Why notthrow open the door, leap out, and stop, drop, and roll in the middle of rush hour traffic like I’m auditioning to be Charlie’s newest Angel?
In short:why notrun for my life?
But thewhy notsget progressively more insane as we park in front of a quiet neighborhood Italian joint and climb out. It goes from “escape fantasy delirium” to just plain “fantasy.”
As in,why notlet myself enjoy the feel of expensive Saks Fifth silk against my overheated skin?Why notpretend this is a date instead of a hostage situation?Why notlook at the man who has brought me here against my will and notice things like how tallhe is, or how big his hands are, or the fact that the white shirt he bought with a careless swipe of his titanium credit card is just tight and translucent enough to show teasing little hints of his tattoos and the shape of his body underneath?
In short:why notdream, if only for a moment?
“You’re staring.”
I blink and grimace when I realize that that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. “I’m trying to figure you out.”
“Don’t.”
“Why not?”
He pauses, his hand flexing on the handle of the restaurant door. “Because you won’t like what you find.”
Then he sweeps open the door and gestures for me to enter first.
We step inside, Kovan shadowing close at my back. I breathe in Italian wine, simmering red sauce, citronella, and the warmth and bustle of the candlelit kitchen. My stomach rumbles again. I haven’t consumed anything uncaffeinated since my pre-dawn protein bar. Needless to say, Mama’s hungry.
It doesn’t hurt that the place is beautiful. Fairy lights strung between ivy-covered brick walls, with faded murals of frolicking woodland creatures peeking through the bare patches in the foliage. Italian jazz melts through hidden speakers. None of the other few diners here pay us a bit of attention.
Kovan adjusts the cuff of his shirtsleeve, rolling it back to expose brawny forearms. He points with one of those huge hands toward a table in the back. “Sit.”
I could argue. But snapping back at him hasn’t done me a bit of good today. In fact, it’s gotten me a gun between my ribs and a one-way ticket to a kidnapping I never asked for. Maybe it’s time to try compliance instead.
So, with a sigh, I walk toward the table.
To my surprise, Kovan beats me there and pulls out my chair for me. I blink, wondering for a second if he’s gonna pull it out from under me and send me crashing to my ass. I wouldn’t peg him for having a juvenile sense of humor like that. But if there’s one thing I know about men, it’s that they know how to disappoint you in ways you never could have foreseen.
He doesn’t, though. He waits until I’m settled down and then scoots me up to the table. Then he walks to the other side and claims his own seat. He situates his back against the wall, eyes scanning back and forth between the kitchen door and the one we came through that leads back out to the sidewalk.
I get the feeling these seats were not chosen by accident.
“You know,” I begin, “this whole thing—the clothes, the interrogation—it’s really not necessary.”
“Many things I do aren’t.” He doesn’t bother looking at me. He unrolls his place settings, lines up the cutlery with the grooves in the tile tabletop, and lays his napkin crisply across his lap. “But life would be bleak if I only ever did what I had to do.”
