Chapter 11 Elias
ELIAS
I never thought I’d get to spend an evening with Olivia, especially under these circumstances.
I know we’re only here as colleagues, maybe friends?
But my heart says something else is happening, the start of something life-changing.
The way she smiles melts every worry I’ve ever had.
All of my problems seem so small and pointless when I’m sitting across from the most breathtaking beauty I’ve ever laid eyes on.
I could easily fall in love with her. If that last bit of restraint vanished, I’d want to try to build a life all over again. And I think I deserve to try. She’s worth the effort.
Internally, the voice in the back of my head scoffs. Here I am, planning my future with her as if we’re going to have a happy ever after, and she probably can’t wait to get home tonight after the evening she’s had.
I’m entranced by her.
The flame of the candle sways, the glow casting onto the side of her face, giving her an ethereal, time-capsule beauty that I’m lucky enough to see. Her lashes shadow the tops of her cheeks when she looks down, reading the menu like I’m supposed to be doing.
How can I focus when the biggest distraction is sitting right in front of me?
The waiter comes back, interrupting the slightly awkward silence. “Here are some waters. I’m going to bring you a bottle of wine. On the house.”
There’s no way Olivia doesn’t know I’m staring at her. She can probably sense it and that’s why she’s keeping her head down.
“You don’t have to do that,” I insist. “I’ll gladly pay for the bottle.”
“Truly. My boss won’t allow it. Not after what happened. That man has been banned from ever coming into this restaurant again. Order what you like too. What happened to the other guy? Do I need to bring a third glass for the wine?”
Olivia beams, her smile so kind and warm that the small amount of nervousness in the middle of my chest melts away.
“No, it’s just us,” she says. Her eyes drift from the waiter to me.
“Is sweet red wine okay? I don’t like dry wines.
I don’t have a sophisticated palette, I guess.
” A slight blush of embarrassment ghosts over her cheeks, barely visible under the low light hanging above us.
I can see it, though. I’m paying attention to every detail.
“That’s fine with me. Whatever you want. I don’t mind at all,” I answer, wanting nothing more than for her to have whatever she wants tonight.
And every night, if I’m being honest with myself.
I forgot what it felt like to want someone so much that my soul might burst from my chest and beg them to want me back. It’s similar to being obsessed with someone when you’re a teenager, that wild, all-consuming, heart-pounding, intense emotion that can barely be contained.
If I don’t calm down and remember my age, I’m going to scare her away before I have a chance to ask for her number.
“Coming right up.” The waiter spins on his heel and walks away, leaving us alone.
I open the menu while clearing my throat, wanting to pierce the slight tension happening between us. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I’m careful as I ask, keeping my tone gentle, forcing myself to read the menu even if all I want to do is look at her.
She reaches across the table with the same hand her date grabbed. The red has deepened; the mark will definitely bruise. I hold in a growl, wishing we’d gotten to her just a minute earlier. Then, she wouldn’t have a reminder of how bad tonight has gone for her.
Olivia squeezes my forearm, the touch sending a lightning strike through me. “I’m okay. I promise. If I wasn’t, I’d tell you and Winston. You’re doctors. It’s not like I can keep anything from you.” She snickers, giving my arm another squeeze before taking her hand back.
Immediately, her touch is missed. A warmth spreads across the spot she held, her phantom touch etching itself into my flesh.
Jesus. I need to get myself under control.
“I think I’ll get what I ordered earlier since I didn’t really get to eat it. Can you believe he ate off my plate? And no, I didn’t offer him any. I don’t typically share food. Not because of sharing germs or whatever but because I’m hungry. I want my own food.”
I grin, enraptured by her possessiveness. “Is that so?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m an animal. I’ll bite if you take my food. Or throw wine in your face.” She picks up her water, grinning over the rim of the glass.
“Noted. I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that wine.” Not the bite, though. I’ll be dreaming of her tonight while I wrap my hand around my cock, imagining her biting into my shoulder with every drive between her thighs.
I have to look away from her. My body is reacting in ways that it hasn’t in years. I can’t remember the last time my entire being felt this hot. I can’t focus on this damn menu. The words are blurring together. I’ve reread the appetizer selections three times.
The waiter returns with the wine, untwisting the cork. A soft pop escapes and Olivia jumps slightly at the unexpected noise. She presses her hand against her chest and giggles.
Two glasses of wine are placed in front of us and the waiter pushes the half-empty wine bottle toward the middle of the table for us to finish.
“Do you know what you’d like to order?” he asks Olivia first, as he should.
“I’d like the same as before. Steak, medium rare with a loaded baked potato, please.”
That sounds delicious. “I’ll have the same as the lady.” I hand him the menu. “Sounds perfect.”
“No problem at all. I’ll get your orders in immediately. I’ll check on you in a bit.” His eyes slide from her to me, a knowing glint in his eyes, and I nod, wanting him to know that yes, he’s correct, I am absolutely interested in this magnificent woman.
“Thank you,” she says when we’re alone.
“For what?”
“Saving me back there.” She sighs, folding her arms on the table.
There’s a freckle on the inside of her unbruised wrist that I want to trace with my tongue and kiss.
“I should have left the date before it got to the point it did. I’m so stubborn.
I didn’t want him to think he got to me that much, but he did.
” She rolls her eyes, clearly disappointed in herself.
“I never like it when someone gets the best of me.”
She smiles at me. “And then, bam! You tackled him. It was very impressive. I think everyone in the restaurant gasped in unison.”
I lift a shoulder. “He clearly wasn’t going to let you go. It’s been since college since I tackled anyone. It felt good. He deserved it too.”
“Oh, did you play football?” she asks, leaning back as if she’s getting comfortable so she can get to know me, her wine in hand.
I nod, taking a swig of my own. “I did. I got a full ride, actually. All four years.”
Her eyes widen, slapping her hand on the table in excitement. “That’s amazing! You were that good? That’s really impressive, Dr. Carrington.”
The professional way she addresses me reminds me of what this night really is. An accident. We weren’t actually supposed to be here together tonight. She still views me as a someone she works with. I need to change that. Immediately.
“Elias. Please. We aren’t at work, Olivia.”
Her gaze falls to the table, a shy smile grazing her lips. “Elias,” she tries out my name on a breathless sigh, one that creeps down my spine and has my blood flowing south. “Well, that’s very impressive. Did you ever want to go pro?”
I shake my head, taking another small sip of wine. I don’t want to drink too much. I want to be here, in the present, with her and her conversation, because I have a feeling I might not get this opportunity again.
“Why not?” Her mouth falls open, stunned. “I would think that would be anyone’s dream. If I was good at anything, I would have totally tried to go all the way.”
I toss my head back and laugh loud enough for the nearby patrons to hear me. “Oh, yeah? I find it hard to believe you aren’t good at anything.”
She leans forward, holding her chin with her hand as she bats those long eyelashes at me.
“Well, much to my disappointment, I found out very quick that I wasn’t good at sports.
I wanted to be, but I was a mess. Being on a team would have only hurt the other members.
I did everyone a favor by burying my face in books. ”
I match her position, closing some of the distance between us so I can be as close as possible to her face. The edge of the table digs into my ribs. The slight discomfort is worth it.
“Oh, yeah? You liked to read? What are some of your favorite books?”
She nibbles on the side of her bottom lip, and covers her mouth as a bright red blush tints her cheeks. She shakes her head. “No way am I telling you that!”
“You have to tell me now. I’m too curious. Come on, tell me,” I urge with a happy, no-pressure kind of smile.
I want to get to know her. I want to know everything. Anything she’s willing to give me, I’m ready to keep it as a token. I’ll cherish it because it means she trusts me enough to tell me something about herself.
“I like romance novels. I don’t know if I have a favorite. I would rather be lost in other worlds than this one, you know? Reality is so hard, and fiction gives me a break from it all.”
“I’ve a read a few romance novels in my day,” I say to her, loving the excitement that has energized her face.
“Really? No way.” She narrows her eyes at me. “I don’t know if I believe you.”
“What can I do to prove it?” I lean a little closer, placing a flirty tone in my question.
“What’s your favorite subgenre in romance, then? If you read them.” She crosses her arms, thinking she has me caught in a web of lies.
I glance to my right, pretending I care if anyone hears me. “Don’t tell anyone, but I really love mafia romances. High stakes. A lot of sex. Enemies to lovers.” I ease my lips against the rim of the wineglass, smiling when I remember the last book I read. “That’s my favorite.”