Page 48 of Wicked Sinner
The car purrs to life, and Caesar pulls out of the garage, turning onto the Miami streets. We ride in silence, with me staring stubbornly out of the car window and watching the city slide by. The drive itself is short—before long, we’re pulling up in front of a gorgeous white-stone building on the water, a valet coming around to take Caesar’s keys as he gets out and walks to open my door.
I step out, the warm night air brushing my cheeks as Caesar takes my arm. I half-wonder if it’s an attempt to keep me from running off, but in this particular moment, I’m too busy taking in the view in front of me to even think about making a break for it.
Stupid, I castigate myself as we walk toward the entrance. I had a chance while Caesar was handing over his keys. I could have slipped out and run, and I was too overwhelmed by the beauty of the city at night to remember that I’m supposed to be getting the fuck away.
I tell myself that I’ll have another chance as we walk inside, straight to the hostess’s stand, where Caesar gives his name to the lovely brunette standing there. She leads us through the restaurant, and I can’t help but stare a little at my surroundings. The lights are blue-tinted, washing everything in an oceanic glow, and the interior is all white and dark wood, with stone tiles covering the floor. We’re led to a back portion of the dining room that overlooks the water, the walls and ceiling entirely glass to give a gorgeous view of the bay and the night sky overhead.
Caesar pulls out my chair, and I sit down, narrowing my eyes at him as he sits next to me. “You’re trying to pretend to be a gentleman, but it won’t fool me.”
He clicks his tongue, chuckling as he reaches for the wine list. “I can be a gentleman, Bridget. You just choose not to see it.”
“Gentlemen don’t kidnap women.”
His mouth twitches. “You must not read many historical romance novels.”
I snort at that. I can’t help it. “Doyou?”
“My mother did.” He raises an eyebrow, and I can tell he’s trying to get a rise out of me. “I might have peeked at one or two, as a teenager. Although I largely got my sexual education in a more… hands-on way.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you did. Are you going to choose what I’m going to drink for me, or do I get to look at that?”
“Be my guest.” He hands over the booklet, and I quickly peruse the non-alcoholic options, of which there are a lot more than I would have expected. When the waiter comes around,Caesar orders a glass of white wine, and I ask for a non-alcoholic version of a spritz.
“I’d recommend the caprese salad for an appetizer,” Caesar says, giving the menu a cursory glance, as if he’s been here before. “Their lobster pasta is excellent as well, as is the filet, if you’re not a fan of seafood.”
“I live in Florida. Not being a fan of seafood is a crime, I think.”
“It’s not. If it were, I’d know about it.” He grins at me, and I realize he’s trying to make a joke. He’s treating this as if it’s a date—arealdate, and I stare at him, wondering if he can possibly be that obtuse.
“You realize I don’t want to be here with you, right?”
Caesar presses his lips together, waiting to respond until the waiter has dropped off our drinks and taken our appetizer order—crab bisque for me, and shaved truffle salmon carpaccio for him. “You could enjoy the evening, Bridget. I’m trying—” he draws in a slow breath. “I’m trying to give you something you wanted. A night out. Fresh air. A dinner at one of the most beautiful and exclusive restaurants in Miami. Why does everything have to be a fight?”
“Because I didn’t ask for any of this,” I hiss quietly between my teeth, before reaching for my drink and taking a sip. It’s far better than it has any right to be, and I see Caesar watching me, a glint of amusement in his eyes when I can’t fake not enjoying it.
“You could try,” he says quietly, before dropping his gaze back to the menu. “The salmon here is also good.”
I look at my own menu, but I’m not really thinking about what I’m going to eat. Instead, out of the corner of my eye, I’m trying to look for exits, where the restrooms are, figuring out if there’s an escape route out of this place. The best plan I can think of is to, at some point in the meal, go to the ladies’ roomand then try to run from there. By the time he realizes, I will have put some distance between him and me. After that?—
After that, I don’t know. I don’t have a cell phone or money for a cab. According to Caesar, if I go to the nearest police station, they’ll send me back to him. Maybe a hospital would help me.
I’ll figure that out later. Right now, I just need to get away as soon as I can.
"Bridget?" Caesar's voice cuts through my reconnaissance. "You seem distracted."
"Just taking it all in," I say sweetly, looking back at my menu. "It's not every day a kidnapping victim gets taken to dinner at a five-star restaurant."
His jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn't rise to the bait. "Order whatever you like."
I end up deciding on the king salmon, while Caesar orders the lobster pasta. The waiter refills his wine and brings me another spritz after our appetizers are dropped off, and Caesar glances at my soup as he scoops up a paper-thin slice of fish with a small fork.
“Good?” he asks as I take a bite, and I can’t force myself to lie.
It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Creamy, velvety, with chunks of crab that are delightfully sweet, and spices that I don’t recognize but somehow turn the entire thing into such perfection that I’m pretty sure grocery store spaghetti will never be good enough again. I take a breath after I swallow, and look at Caesar.
“It’s fine.”
He rolls his eyes and takes another bite of his raw fish.
