Chapter 35 | Kate
THIRTY-FIVE | KATE
The fire dancing in the propane heater beside our table soaks into my skin. Somewhere above us, stars twinkle and dance. I may not be able to see them through the string lights weaving above us on the private rooftop of the restaurant Preston reserved for our date tonight, but I can feel them.
Every detail, down to letting me pick my dress, has made this the most magical night of my life.
Yet that imposter stirs deep down, reminding me I’m no longer protected behind the walls of the estate.
Whereas it used to be potent and suffocating, it’s dull now, knowing that my knife is strapped to my thigh and I have the control to put up a fight if a situation arises.
Preston may be with me, along with several of his men who are guarding the door and outside the restaurant, yet I can’t completely quell the anxiousness that pops in my veins like my blood is carbonated.
Inhaling a deep breath, I remind myself I’m okay. I’m content. I’m happy for the first time in a long time, and nobody—not even the thought of wondering where Xander is in the world—will keep me from this feeling.
The waiter pours a gentle amount of Merlot into Preston’s glass, letting him taste it.
Preston swirls it around his glass before taking a sip.
He gives the waiter an approving nod. The young man fills both our glasses, sets the bottle on the table, and leaves us.
Soft classical music plays over the speakers, filling the silence between us.
I grab my wine glass, taking a sip as the rich, fruity notes hit my taste buds. “So,” I start. “I know you said I shouldn’t ruin the magic, but you seem to know everything about me. How did you know I’ve been wanting to come to this restaurant since I moved to Lachlan Harbor?”
His lips arch. God, he is dashing and dangerous in that dark suit. “Just my luck, I guess. And I don’t know everything about you. But I want to.” I feel the sincerity in his tone.
He brought me to the fanciest, authentic Italian joint on Main Street.
Apparently, the Lachlans are their lobster supplier, and Preston personally knows the executive chef.
I'm not surprised, considering I’ve learned they cater to the entire town and most of the state, while their lobster business and Lachlan Park are a front for their true one.
I’ve walked past this place several times when I’ve been downtown.
Kinda embarrassing to say I’ve peered through the windows like a child looking into a fish tank, taking in the sophisticated, dimly lit space with warm tones whenever I could—imagining what it must be like to have the money to eat at and afford a place like this.
I’ve always run with enough money to stay afloat. Food and housing were the necessities.
This place would’ve cost almost every penny.
I’d say my nose print might still be on the glass, but this restaurant is impeccable. They probably wiped that off the second I left it.
My comfort level with him settles a little more. “What do you want to know?”
“You said you’ve been running for a year. What about your parents and your sister? Have you talked to them?” I glare at him playfully. He takes a sip with a cunning expression, saying into his glass, “I said I don't know everything.”
I give him a melancholy grin. “It’s been about seven months since I’ve talked to them.
I’d give anything to hear their voices— To let them know I’m okay.
I ditched my phone when I ran, so I only contacted them from my motel rooms for a while, until I realized how dangerous it was.
I don’t expect Xander to hurt them, but he’s crafty with finding me.
I wouldn’t put it past him to break into their house and look at the phone records. ”
His tone is strained. “They couldn’t do anything about your situation?”
“They tried,” I respond honestly. “Especially my older sister, Natalie. She went to law enforcement with me. Tried to help me press charges. But when that didn’t work, she helped me get a restraining order. That only taunted him more. Was another piece of the game he found so thrilling.”
Absentmindedly, I glance over my shoulder at the door that exits the rooftop and scan the space out of habit.
Talking about it is making my skin crawl.
I may feel a little more protected with my blade now, but as long as he’s alive, a piece of him will be thriving inside me where I can’t reach.
That was what he wanted, for me to always feel like he’s near, closing the distance.
I jolt in surprise, my gaze dropping to the large hand engulfing mine on the table. “He won’t get you here. You’re safe.”
“You can’t promise that.” I swallow the lump in my throat.
I’m not sure where his mind goes when I say that, but I know I’m right when he releases my hand, dragging a palm over his face in exasperation. “What’s his full name?”
My glare is threatening.
I’m not stupid. I know why he wants to know.
Preston’s the kind of man who will stop at nothing to find him. I was serious when I said he’s a devil in a suit. He’d convict Alexander to his own hell under Lachlan Park and torture him for his sins—for hurting me.
But with this, his blood wouldn’t only be on Preston’s hands; it would be on mine.
Preston braces his arms on the table, leaning over them.
His hard eyes slice between mine before I let out a sigh. If Xander’s death were on my hands, it isn’t something I think I could live with. No matter what he’s done to me.
When I don’t answer his question, I observe the way Preston’s fingers dig into his bicep enough to pierce through the suit jacket and draw blood to tarnish the pristine fabric.
“Are you going to kill him?”
“Yes.”
His name is a warning on my tongue. “Preston…”
“Don’t first-name me, darling. You know I will the moment you tell me. So put me out of my misery so I can finally put you out of yours by killing the fucker.”
“You can’t—”
“You better end that sentence with ‘because I’m going to.’ I’ll stand by your side and get just as much satisfaction from you claiming his death when his corpse drops to its knees before I fall to mine willingly for you.”
I can’t withhold my nervous smile at that. It doesn’t stop me from trying, as I pull my lip between my teeth.
The waiter pushes through the door, the sound making me jump.
I didn’t have time to review the menu fully, so Preston ordered us the weekly special.
Apparently, he said I can’t go wrong with anything on the menu.
I’m thankful I didn’t have to rush and choose, since my mind is thinking of all the ways Preston could carve out Xander’s organs with his knife.
Over the next twenty minutes, we share stories about our childhoods.
I talk about growing up in Oregon, and he shares his experiences of being raised in Ireland before Arden permanently moved their family to the estate in Maine when Preston was fourteen.
Oh, and apparently his full name is Preston Thomas Lachlan Megalley.
His great-grandparents, back in the day, thought naming a town after the mob was too suspicious and decided to use a double surname.
Lachlan is from his great-grandmother, while Megalley is from his grandfather.
He doesn’t mention his sister and mother much, but I didn’t press the issue. Preston’s body has been pulled tight ever since he asked for Xander’s name, and I wouldn’t enlighten him.
Instead, I can’t help but eagerly ask, “Will I get to see it?”
He lifts a brow as the waiter starts setting our food down in front of us. “See what?”
“The estate in Ireland. I’ve never left the country before.”
He smirks. “I’ve never brought a girl home to meet my grandparents.”
My eyes widen. “Your grandparents? They live in Ireland?”
He nods, removing the folded cloth napkin from beside his plate and spreading it across his lap.
“My dad's parents.” Damn. That means at one point, Preston’s grandfather was the boss.
I can’t help but wonder what he’s like after running a mafia empire his entire life.
If Preston’s father is this hard now, what is his grandfather like?
“Gran gets attached easily. If I take you there, that would mean it’s serious. ”
My face falls. “Oh. I get it. It’s too soon.” My stomach shouldn’t be sinking like this. It's only our first date.
His eyes hold mine with an intensity that demands my body’s attention. “I…like you, Kate. I’d take you next week if you’d let me. But I didn’t want to say that and scare you off, especially since you said we barely know each other. I know how I feel, but I’m not going to rush how you do.”
That admission has heat pooling in my belly.
For a man who forced me to stay at the estate so he could monitor me, he certainly makes it clear that I have a choice. That he wants me to feel safe. Cared for. Heard.
The collar without the tracking device spoke volumes. The same goes for when he asked me to stay, rather than demanding it.
God, I’d say I like him too, but for some reason it would feel like I’m lying.
Because I really, really want him, in ways I can’t explain.
It’s more than like, and closer to that L word that makes me wonder if I’m going insane.
It makes me contemplate if I suffered a brain injury when Arden drugged me, because when I saw that barrel locked between Preston’s eyes, I would’ve jumped in front of him if I weren’t bound to that chair.
The thought of going a day without him makes me physically sick.
I know that’s love, but it seems too premature to say it, so I shift my focus to my pasta instead.
The scent of melted butter and sautéed garlic lingers in the air, the aroma so intoxicating and delicious that it’s enough to make you salivate on the spot. I practically am as I shove a forkful of linguini into my mouth. The creamy seafood flavor blooms on my tongue.
Preston chuckles at my hum of satisfaction.
I groan, twisting more pasta noodles onto my fork.
I peek at his plate. His fork and knife are still perfectly in place beside his plate.
I should feel self-conscious that he’s watching me inhale mine like a vacuum, but I can’t bring myself to care.
On second thought, I should savor it more, considering I’d never be able to pay for this place on only a minimum wage salary.
My brows furrow. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Shadows dance behind his eyes. “Your sweet noises and moans are making it hard for me to focus on my food. I have the urge to devour something else now, but that would involve your pussy trading places with my plate.”
Heat crawls up my neck, flooding my cheeks. I like that I can make him unhinged like this. It makes me feel empowered. Bold. And those are two feelings I never thought I’d get back.
I place more pasta in my mouth, licking my fork up and down, chasing the power I wield. “Holy shit,” I whimper. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Preston lifts his red wine to his lips, his fingers pulsing into the glass. He raises an unconvinced brow. “You still haven’t swallowed my cock yet.”
“You’re awfully confident,” I tease. Dragging my finger through the sauce on my plate, my tongue darts out, licking the cream off my finger. I swirl my tongue around, releasing it with a pop.
I know I’m poking the devil with his own pitchfork, but I’ve never been this confident with my sexuality. I’ve never craved physical contact like this before—as if I may explode into a thousand pieces if I go too long without his touch.
“Darling,” he warns, his gruff tone floating across my skin.
“If you keep this up, I’m going to toss you on this table anyway, except my head won't be between your thighs. I’ll hang yours off the table while I thrust my cock down that hot little throat, while my hand wraps around your neck, and I feel how perfectly you swallow every inch of me. ”
His words shake me. Dear lord. Thank God he reserved the rooftop for us privately.
“You wouldn’t,” I say with less confidence than I feel. “This is a public place.”
He tosses his napkin on the table, making my muscles tense with both excitement and fear as he stands up and moves to stand beside me.
“Preston, what if they call the cops?” I mutter, flitting my eyes up to meet his.
He darkly laughs. “I think it's funny that you believe there isn’t someone in this town that isn’t wrapped around my finger.”