Chapter 8 Kayla
Kayla
Ireached for Sebastian’s hand, my movement automatic as I released the stealthiest breath of relief.
I couldn’t even look at him. Dear God, just knowing he’d been standing behind me, so close…
And his lips… His mouth. That prickling awareness of him still hadn’t faded.
I wanted to touch my lower lip with my forefinger, but I closed my hand into a fist by my side instead.
Even now, he stood so close that I could imagine I was lost at sea, as his natural scent filled the room, bringing to mind a vast ocean and gusts of wind and spray. Perhaps that was why I’d been drawn to this room. Sebastian was a man I could absolutely drown in.
He was dangerous. He could sweep me away in his riptide, and I’d be a willing victim.
Hell, what had I just been about to do? Would I really have given myself to him?
I couldn’t be sure.
When he’d spoken, I’d wanted his lips on mine—on my skin, on my neck. I lifted my hand there fleetingly, and his gaze followed the movement, his eyes darkening and the blue in them growing stormy like he could be a tempest.
I swallowed. “Dinner.” I repeated his question as a statement as my fingers slipped into his.
He nodded and led me from his office, where I really had no right to be in the first place, and I caught my breath again at the view over the club from up here. It was like the most beautiful of starry nights. I’d never dreamed The Neutral Zone could become something so beautiful.
I sneaked a glance at Sebastian. The way he’d designed the club surprised me. A lot about him surprised me. It made him alluring… which brought me back around to him being dangerous.
Guys my age always seemed so shallow. Even at twenty-two, I’d lived a full life.
Being contracted to vampire royals had lent me a certain brand of street smarts not everyone—even in New Orleans—seemed to have.
And I’d never been interested in older guys.
Not the ones looking to be sugar daddies, anyway.
And no way in hell was I interested in actual vampires. Especially not ones who owned me because I’d signed the wrong dotted line.
So why did being with Sebastian wipe all of my principles out of damn existence? What about him made me want to make an offering of myself? I’d never offered myself to anyone before.
I scoffed under my breath. I didn’t plan on offering myself to anyone now, either. This was just dinner with my employer.
Maybe if there hadn’t been the issue of the contract, things might have been different.
I glanced at Sebastian again. Perhaps my contract was the only thing that had me in his orbit in the first place.
I steeled myself against inconvenient feelings.
I was definitely checking out real estate on the wrong side of the tracks.
Sebastian Dupont was a vampire and totally unsuitable for a New Orleans witch.
Totally unsuitable for me in particular as his pet employee—thank fuck.
Because if that contract didn’t exist, I wasn’t sure I could trust myself around him. I would have responded to his proximity in his office, I would have wanted more, and I wouldn’t have had any reason to stop myself.
In any other circumstances, I could see myself falling for him, and I couldn’t allow that to happen. Because the circumstances were what they were, and despite how hard I’d tried, I couldn’t seem to change them.
There would be no freedom. Not just yet anyway.
I had time but…my thoughts strayed back to Lettie. How long had she waited to achieve her own freedom? Did I want to be old and gray before I knew mine? That wouldn’t work for me.
Maybe I just had to bide some time. Wait for the perfect moment. And until then, I had to resist the attraction of Sebastian Dupont, prince and regent of New Orleans. Especially as a virgin.
As I slid back inside his car, I pushed myself right up against the door on the other side so we wouldn’t touch the way we had on the ride over. It had made me forget myself up there in his office. Going forward, the only contact between us should be business.
Our contact was our contract, and that was the way it needed to remain. I was that strong, at least.
I lifted my chin. I could be that strong.
The ride was short, and we moved quickly into a much more upmarket area—a place in the city I rarely visited because it was always so obvious I didn’t have the money in my bank account to justify walking these streets.
Plus, I’d never needed to come here. My whole life had been arranged around the Ricards and The Neutral Zone, and I rarely strayed from my routine.
When the car drew to a smooth stop at the curb, Sebastian climbed out and offered his hand to help me. I took it, because to do otherwise would have seemed churlish.
That was the only reason our fingers entwined again. Just my good manners.
There was something slightly intimidating about the marble steps that led up to a grand front door and the doorman outside who bowed his head respectfully as Sebastian passed by him.
Even as I held his hand, I’d almost forgotten I was with the regent.
In my head, Sebastian Dupont was becoming simply Sebastian.
“You okay?” His voice surprised me, but not more than the accompanying squeeze of his hand.
“Yeah.” But my voice came out breathy as I looked around the restaurant.
Sweet Jesus. If Sebastian were an ocean, I was fast becoming out of my depth.
A fast-food joint or twenty-four-hour diner, this was not. White linen tablecloths graced every table and cutlery gleamed, even under the subdued lighting. The space was everything Francois had aimed for with The Neutral Zone—and everything he’d failed to achieve.
There was an element of classic French elegance, with beautifully understated furniture that could only have been expensive, a staff that was numerous but disarmingly unobtrusive, and guests who were quietly engaged in conversation while they ate.
“Right this way, Mr. Dupont.” A ma?tre d’ appeared at Sebastian’s left elbow, his voice low and discreet. “We’ve reserved the best table in the house.”
Sebastian merely nodded like that was to be expected, and it probably was. He was likely used to people handing him things. He was a man who didn’t have to ask for respect or power. He commanded it. I shivered a little as I walked at his side.
We sat down and without even glancing at the wine menu, Sebastian looked back at the man who’d brought us to our table. “Could we have a bottle of your Lafite Rothschild, please?”
“Certainly, sir. I shall send the sommelier to attend to you directly.” The server bowed his head and backed away a couple of steps before turning his back smartly and striding away across the restaurant—truly a man on a mission.
We’d only just sat down and already it was like being in a different world.
I idly flicked my menu open and stopped.
Everything was listed in French. While I got by speaking the local dialect with some of the old-timers, I didn’t read or write in the language.
And certainly not in textbook French, which this most likely was.
“Is everything to your satisfaction?” Sebastian was watching me, and heat rushed to my face.
Glancing at the menu again, I drew a breath. I could do this. I recognized enough of the words. But before I could reply, a second man appeared at Sebastian’s side.
He held a bottle of wine and a tiny glass. “Sir, the wine you ordered.” He presented it to Sebastian, label first, and Sebastian nodded.
“Very good.”
Then the man wiped the top of the bottle with a cloth he produced from his pocket, opened it, and poured a mouthful into the tiny glass he’d brought.
When he took the first drink, I almost giggled, but Sebastian remained serious, and I squeezed my fingers into tight fists in my lap, desperate to quell my nerves.
Sebastian had the next taste and nodded again, satisfaction evident in the movement this time. “Just perfect,” he said.
“In that case, may I recommend…” The sommelier indicated several dishes on the menu.
“Just order for me,” I blurted, and Sebastian looked up at me, his eyes widening. “It’s okay. Go ahead and order my food.” I’d only make a bigger fool of myself if I tried to do it myself. Seeming like a child requesting the adult order for her was the lesser of the evils here.
My face heated again. I never usually let a man order, it went against most of my principles and habits of reclaiming my independence whenever I could, but I’d also never been so out of my depth in a situation.
I trusted Sebastian, though, which was unexpected, and I felt safe in his company.
How could I feel so safe with a man so dangerous?
Yet there it was. The duality of my feelings.
Sebastian Dupont was dangerous for me precisely because I could relax around him.
He could do that to me, make me believe I didn’t have to worry.
Allow me the fantasy that everything would be okay if I just trusted him to make it so.
“All right.” Sebastian looked up at the man and spoke in fluent French, the tone and timbre of his voice hypnotic and compelling.
My hair fell in front of my face as I lowered my head to hide any blush that might have appeared, and I didn’t even try to follow the words he was saying.
He could have ordered me snails or frogs’ legs or raw ground steak, and I would have let him if he always used those pretty words and that voice to do it.
The waiter didn’t write anything down, instead, nodding and committing the order to memory.
I rearranged my silverware, making the gap between each piece of cutlery perfect and aligned, tweaking them mere millimeters across the blindingly white linen table cloth — one that probably had a thread count higher than a luxury bed sheet.
“Is everything to your satisfaction?” Sebastian asked again. For a moment, he sounded like he worked here, as if his livelihood depended on my answer.