Page 29 of The Hacker
He followed suit. The flavor of garlic and olive oil exploded in his mouth, along with the delicious, fresh crispness of the bread. He understood why she closed her eyes to concentrate on the first bite.
“You’re right,” he said. “The breadsticks are superb.”
She opened eyes that held a wicked glint. “I’m always right.”
“Why do I feel that there’s an extra meaning there?” Something nagged at his memory.
“Because that’s what you said to me in one of your emails.”
He gave a wry grimace. “Obviously, I was joking.”
“Were you?” She tilted her head so her hair slid over her shoulder, her expression provocative.
“God, yes. I’m not that big an ass.”
She gave a little choke of a laugh. “You aren’t an ass at all. Just sure your opinion is the right one.”
“If you’re referring to my desire to keep you away from the dark web, I will not apologize for it. Otherwise, I am very flexible, as you have pointed out during our training sessions.”
He heard her breath hitch slightly and then she nudged the platter toward him again. “Mangia!This stuff is good.”
“What should I eat first?”
She frowned at the platter for a moment before picking up a piece of fig and wrapping it in a slice of prosciutto. “Sweet and salty,” she said, offering it to him. “My favorite combination of flavors.”
When he took the morsel from her, their fingers brushed and he felt the sparks run up his arm. For a moment, their gazes tangled across the table, fanning the sparks into something hotter. Then she pulled her hand away and dropped her eyes to the platter, grabbing a cube of provolone.
So she’d felt it too. He smiled to himself and popped the fig and prosciutto into his mouth. Again, the tastes burst over his tongue and he found himself groaning in appreciation.
“Told you,” she said, grinning at him. She picked up a piece of roasted pepper, a cube of provolone, and a slice of soppressata, wrapping them together and holding the little package of food out to him. Her fingers gleamed with the oil the pepper was bathed in, and he wanted to taste it on her skin.
He kept his hands flat on the table and inclined his body toward her. Her eyes widened and he thought she would draw back. Then she bent forward and brought the morsel to his mouth. He took it from her, flicking his tongue over her fingers to lick the oil from them.
Her breath hissed in sharply, but she let him savor the texture and taste of her skin before she took her hand away. He chewed the delicious bite but his attention was all on the woman across the table from him. He could see the accelerated rise and fall of her breasts. He wanted to unfasten the white buttons gleaming against the black silk of her blouse and suck on her breasts the way he’d sucked on her fingers.
“Shall we request that our lasagna be boxed up to go?” he asked.
This was the question Dawn had both wanted and dreaded. Leland’s blue eyes blazed with the same intensity of arousal that she felt. Her gaze skittered over the defined swell of muscles under his T-shirt, the determined line of his jaw, and the strong, tapering fingers she’d seen clenched around dumbbells. Add to that his formidable intelligence and the aura of confidence his success gave him. Nat was right. He was a powerful man; she would not be able to control him the way she had others.
Panic tightened her throat so she pictured Leland at one of Alice and Derek’s parties, his head bent while he listened with respectful attention to Natalie discussing her salon’s business. She reminded herself that he had volunteered to put his computer genius at the disposal of a local gym just because Alice had asked him to. She closed her eyes to replay the delicious slow drawl of his voice, soothing her with its honey.
Her throat eased enough for her to open her eyes and rasp out, “Lasagna to go works for me.”
Because she might never have this chance again.
Her reward was a smile from Leland that was so hot it practically scorched her. He lifted his hand and instantly conjured up their server despite the crowd of customers.
She busied herself with stuffing the cork back into the open wine, although what she really wanted to do was take a long swig directly from the bottle. Dutch courage, they called it.
Yet her body hummed with anticipation. One of Leland’s hands lay on the tablecloth, and she imagined how it would feel skimming over her bare skin, cupping her breast, gripping her thigh. Heat flared in her belly, banishing her fear. For now.
When she raised her head, she found him watching her, the heat in his eyes matching hers. His smile was pure lust and she felt an answering curve in her own lips.
“Sorry you’re not feeling so great, Dawn,” the server said, setting a large brown shopping bag on the table. “Carmella gave you some biscotti for tomorrow morning to dip in your coffee. She hopes you feel better by then.”
“Please tell her how much I appreciate that,” Dawn said. She hadn’t even heard Leland make up an excuse for why they were leaving early.
He pushed back his chair and came around the table to hold hers as she rose. She could feel the desire vibrating between them through the air. It made breathing something she had to think about. She grabbed the open wine bottle while he picked up the take-home bag and the untouched bottle, all in one hand. His other hand was on the small of her back, the firm pressure of his palm sending a streak of sensation to coil between her legs. God, she wanted him to touch her there where yearning pulsed. She could almost feel his long fingers sliding into her.
