Chapter 15 – Poppy #2
“Why are you wearing that sweater?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft.
I clutched the edges of my cardigan tighter. “Because I’m cold.”
“Liar.” The word wasn’t accusatory; it was a statement of fact. “You’re hiding.”
“Fine.” I spread my hands over the bright white tablecloth. “I figured it might be chilly, and I’m not comfortable in this dress.”
I couldn’t look away from his dark gaze as he studied me with an intensity that made my skin flush.
“Why did you really bring me here?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why bother at all?”
Ivan leaned forward, his forearms resting on the pristine tablecloth. “Because I wanted to see you in that dress, sitting across from me, knowing that you’re mine for the evening.”
“I’m not yours,” I countered, but the protest sounded weak even to my own ears. He held all the power. A fact that we both knew.
“Aren’t you?” His lips curved into a dangerous smile. “Your body says otherwise.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “My body doesn’t know anything.”
“I think it does.” Ivan reached across the table, his fingers brushing against mine. It was an innocent whisper of a touch. And yet fire shot through my veins, heating my body by a half-dozen degrees. “You’re squirming.”
“I am not.”
He arched a brow, calling my bluff. “I can feel your pulse fluttering.” He pressed his index finger on the inside of my wrist.
“That doesn’t mean anything.” I bit my lip to keep from uttering another lie.
“They way you’re shifting makes your thighs rub together,” he murmured, voice dripping with darkness. The tone did things to me, twisting and confusing my thoughts. “But they can’t quite relieve the needy little ache where they meet, can they?”
The ability to speak deserted me.
Who said that? In public!
I swallowed hard and fought to keep still. There was no way I was proving this man right.
But, unfortunately, he was right.
I snatched my hands back. “I don’t trust my body to make important, life altering decisions. Especially with a man who thinks love is a myth.”
“Those books put such silly ideas in your head.” Ivan chuckled.
He leaned back, rubbing his chin, as he smiled over at me.
“Let me give you an example. My son is my world. I would die for him—I will live for him. I’ve already quit junk food and heavy drinking to be healthier.
To live to see him grown. And what would you call this? ”
My heart pattered. “That’s a type of love.”
Ivan shook his head. “No, it’s responsibility. When you grow as old as I am, you’ll see that there’s no such thing as love. There are always other reasons, and people just choose to think it’s love.”
Not only did he make me feel impossibly young, but he insulted the hell out of me.
“Screw you!” I slapped my napkin on the table.
The waiter chose that moment to bring the wine.
The ruby liquid swirled in the glass as the waiter poured with practiced precision. Ivan’s eyes never left mine, even as he nodded his thanks to the server. I felt caught in his gaze, like a butterfly pinned to velvet.
“Will you be dining from our tasting menu this evening?” the waiter asked.
“Yes,” Ivan answered without consulting me. “And we’ll need privacy.”
The waiter nodded knowingly and retreated, leaving us alone in our bubble of tension.
I took a sip of wine to steady myself, the rich flavor coating my tongue. “You can’t just make decisions for me.”
“Admit it, Poppy. You enjoy letting someone else take control.” He grinned and lifted his glass in a mock toast.
“That’s ridiculous,” I muttered, but heat climbed up my spine. He might not believe in love, but he sure used romance and that dirty, wicked mouth to his advantage.
“Is it?” Ivan’s mouth twitched harder.
I looked away, keenly aware that I’d been staring at it as he drank.
I definitely was not wondering what it tasted like.
“It is.” I unfolded my napkin over my lap to give myself something to do. The slippery linen managed to bring some warmth to my bare skin.
“You know what I think?” Ivan’s voice dropped lower, a dangerous purr that vibrated across the table.
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” I retorted, taking a sip of wine for courage.
Ivan leaned forward, closing the distance between us.
“I think you’ve spent your whole life being responsible.
Taking care of everyone else. Making the safe choice.
” His eyes traced my face with such intensity I felt physically touched.
“When was the last time you did something just because it felt good?”
“Yesterday. I made chocolate chip cookies and ate the dough,” I quipped, though my voice betrayed me by coming out breathless.
His laugh was unexpected—rich and genuine. It transformed his face, softening the dangerous edges into something almost boyish. My stomach did a little flip.
“You’re delightful, Poppy,” he said, the humor still dancing in his eyes. The light from the small votive candle cast gold flecks in them. “Speaking of control, take off the cardigan.”
Heat rushed between my legs. I shifted without thinking, only to realize he noticed. The way his smile coiled said he knew.
“Excuse me?” I stammered.
“You heard me.” His voice was soft but left no room for argument. “I want to see you.”
“We’re in public,” I hissed, glancing around nervously.
Ivan’s smile turned predatory. “And yet, I notice you didn’t say no.”
The worst part was he was right. I hadn’t said no. I’d made an excuse.
Instead of opening my mouth to argue, I became a marionette. Invisible strings lifted my hands. Slowly, with deliberate intention, my fingers worked the three small buttons along my sternum. I held his gaze, not backing down from the challenge.
The cardigan whispered from my shoulders, the feeble shroud falling and losing its protection.
There I sat. Bare skin on display. Body at the mercy of his terrible gaze.
It felt…exhilarating. A madness that felt like freedom.
“There you are,” he murmured.
The first course arrived, some delicate arrangement of seafood that I barely registered. Ivan watched me take a bite, his gaze tracking the movement of my fork to my lips.
What was I doing? This wasn’t me!
I was a good girl, content to live a quiet life.
And yet, I spent the rest of dinner trapped in a song and dance with the very devil who’d offered me no choice but to stay his prisoner.