Page 17 of Sin Wager
The waiter appears with the bill. I reach for my purse, but Misha waves me off.
"I can pay for my half," I protest.
"I asked you to dinner. I pay for dinner." He slides cash across the leather folder without looking at the total.
"But it's so much money?—"
"It's dinner, Vera. Not a car."
We stand to leave, and he places his hand at my back again, that steady warmth guiding me through the restaurant. Outside, the evening air carries the scents of rain and car exhaust. The street is quieter than the main thoroughfares, lined with trees that rustle in the breeze.
He falls into step beside me, matching his longer stride to mine. His hand remains at my back, a subtle claim that makes my pulse quicken. The wine has made me bold, relaxed in a way I haven't been in months as we walk toward his car.
"This was wonderful," I say. "The restaurant, the food, the conversation. I can't remember the last time I felt so…"
"So what?"
"Free, I guess. Like I could just be myself without worrying about taking care of everyone else."
"You deserve to feel that way more often."
"I don't think I know how anymore."
"I could teach you."
I remain quiet as he opens the car door for me. His hand rests on my knee gently as he drives, but he says nothing. I feel the alcohol swirling in my head, making me want his hand some other place, not my knee, and when he rounds the corner, I begin to feel disappointment creep in.
"Here we are," I say as my building comes into view.
He parks near the entrance. I dig through my purse for my keys, suddenly awkward now that the evening is over. "Thank you again," I say. "For dinner, for listening about Sonya, for making me feel…"
"Beautiful? Interesting? Important?"
"All of those things."
He leans closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone.
"I don't want you to go home yet," he says.
My breath catches. "What do you mean?"
"Come with me. To my place. We can talk more, have another glass of wine. I'm not ready for this evening to end." His eyes bounce between mine, and I sigh softly, breathing in the scent of the wine on my own breath.
"I should go upstairs. Batya will worry if I'm too late."
"Will he? Or is that an excuse because you're nervous?"
I am nervous. Nervous and excited and terrified all at once. But beneath all those feelings runs a deeper current—trust.Despite his age, his mysterious work, the dangerous questions about Sonya, I feel safer with Misha than I have in months.
"Maybe a little nervous," I admit, feeling the blush warm my cheeks.
He leans down and kisses me, soft and warm and perfect. When he pulls back, his eyes search mine. I know what he wants. I want it too, but allowing myself to want it is different from allowing myself to indulge in it. Misha is so much better than me. I don't deserve him, and yet here I am, melting under his touch.
"I'd love it if you came with me to my house. But only if you want to."
I want to. The realization surprises me with its intensity.
"Okay," I whisper. "Yes."
