58. Dante
58
DANTE
P apa Gino’s is bursting at the seams with diners. From all walks of life. A table of suits. Some artsy types. Couples. Families. I can even see a banquet table in the far corner set up for a birthday celebration. The noisy vibrations of people chatting rise in the air as we move through the front of house toward our table.
And I called it.
Kingsley has no idea what she’s done.
Men take long appreciative looks at her. The women throw her envious glances.
And Kingsley is absolutely unaware of what is going on around her. The world around her does not exist outside the little bubble in which she dwells. I splay my hand at the small of her back and escort her to our table; the same one we sat at the last time we were here. My corner table facing the rest of the restaurant that I always like to sit in. The table Gino doesn’t allow anyone else to sit in; it is permanently reserved for me any time I decide to make an appearance.
We settle into our chairs and I recover quickly from being tongue tied over Kingsley. Kingsley the Chameleon. Tonight, I’ve seen another facet of this amazing woman. Just when I thought she could not shock or surprise me any more than she already has, she throws me another curveball. And the woman isn’t even trying.
“It’s different to when we came for lunch,” Kingsley muses, looking around.
“It’s full of people.” I smile at her observation, though it’s more for myself than for her benefit.
“What are we eating tonight?” she asks, moving forward in her chair, as though sharing a secret with me.
“Unless you feel like anything specific, I’ve asked Gino to prepare us another sampler of dishes different to those we had last time we were here.”
She rubs her hands together gleefully, her excitement growing. And I realize that she likes surprises. Good surprises.
I move my chair so we are sitting side by side looking out at the rest of the restaurant and fling an arm around the back of her chair. She lowers her eyes to my arm, surprise etching her features, but she says nothing as I move my face closer to hers and whisper in her ear.
“You really look beautiful tonight, Kingsley.”
I press my lips to her neck and brush against her skin softly, then move back and look at her face. She is blushing. I lift a strand of her hair and twist it around my fingers, then let it go. My hand moves down to her thigh and I squeeze lightly, then smooth my hand up and down slowly, sensually. The whole time, I am watching her face, and I don’t miss the way her expression changes from blank to flushed until finally her breath hitches.
She looks at me, her dark eyes big and round and surprised, like a deer caught in headlights. She wants me to touch her again; her eyes are literally begging me to do it.
I move my head back to her neck and kiss her behind her ear. I allow my lips to linger there longer than they should. And that kiss has nothing to do with my desire for her but everything to do with the man sitting across the room eye-fucking Kingsley. And damn if I don’t enjoy it. She turns her head before I am able to draw away, inadvertently touching her lips to the edge of mine. It is an innocent accident that hangs between us as we look at one another. My eyes fall to her lips and her tongue as it shoots out and she licks at her lips, like she is trying to seal my taste inside her. It is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen her do, and before I know it, my mouth is crushed against hers and my hand is moving around her neck, lifting her hair as I press her into me, as close to her as I’ve ever been yet not close enough. I break away when I hear someone clear their throat, and I look up from Kingsley’s breathless face to see Gino beaming at me with a smile. He knows I’m not the type for flashy displays of affection, and he probably thinks he’s doing me a favor reminding me where I am. I won’t admit it, but his interruption is more than welcome. Kingsley is doing things to me I can’t explain. She is messing with my head and my body and although I like what she is doing to me, I can’t afford to fuck up.
Gino sets the dishes down, some of which are still sizzling, and I move my chair back to its rightful place opposite Kingsley and drape my serviette across my lap. I watch as Kingsley lifts her cutlery with shaky hands, keeping her gaze lowered, and I’m not sure if she is embarrassed by what happened, the fact that she enjoyed it and didn’t want to, or that Gino saw us and made a show of it.
She sets her fork down, then picks it up a moment later, her thoughts obviously scattered. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not, but I’m quietly delighted that my kiss has thrown her off balance.
“Kingsley.” She doesn’t look up. I set my cutlery down and lift her chin to meet my eyes. “Do you want to leave?” She shakes her head and I tell her she needs to eat.
She squares her shoulders then lifts her fork and proceeds to eat. We sit this way for a few minutes, consuming our food. I keep my eyes on her, my gaze following every motion of her mouth. Every swallow that slides down her throat. Every drop of the cherry liquid that coats her lips after I’ve convinced her to try the wine.
“Kingsley, give me your eyes.”
The silence growing between us is extending into the night as we continue eating, an intolerable companion at our dinner table. She lifts her eyes and looks at me, stops eating as she waits for me to say something. I don’t know what she’s expecting. All I know is that I don’t want her silence.
“The food’s better than I remember,” she says, saving me from overthinking my next words to her.
“The company’s not bad, either,” I tell her, smiling. When she smiles back at me, I realize her reticence has stemmed from her own self-doubt. She doesn’t know how to be after we share a kiss. She is unsure of herself. That I tell her how happy I am to be sitting with her tells her everything is okay between us.
“It’s really, really good,” and she picks up her knife and fork and continues to eat.