Chapter 9
Giselle felt as if she might burst at the seams, but not from overeating.
The steak had been incredible, cooked to perfection, and the cheesy potatoes had been the kind of indulgent comfort food that made her sigh with pure pleasure.
But that wasn’t what had her pulse racing and her palms damp as they walked through the quiet parking garage.
It wasn’t the meal, or the light drizzle of rain, or even the late hour that made her feel like she was balanced on the edge of something lifechanging.
It was him.
It was the way Dimitri moved beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him despite the chill in the air.
It was the memory of his teasing remarks at dinner, the way he had spun ridiculous stories about meeting politicians and celebrities, making her laugh so hard she nearly choked on her drink.
It was the way he had watched her with dark, unfathomable eyes when she had relaxed enough to tease him back.
And now, as they stood beside her car back in the parking garage, she was acutely aware that the night was at an end. That this moment—this exhilarating, unexpected night—was about to slip away.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said softly.
She didn’t reach for her keys right away. She didn’t want to.
Dimitri wasn’t smiling now. His expression had shifted, his amusement gone, replaced with something quieter. He wasn’t touching her, but he stood so close, the heat of his body enveloping hers even through her thick, cheap wool jacket that was too hot for this August evening.
“Open your car door, Giselle. I won’t leave until I know you’re safe.”
Her stomach clenched.
She should have expected that, should have known that a man like him wouldn’t just walk away without making sure she was settled. But she hesitated, gripping the strap of her bag tighter.
“That’s okay,” she said, forcing a breezy tone, hoping he wouldn’t hear the faint tremor in her voice. “I’ll be fine. I’m sure you need to get home too.”
His eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion, and though his hands remained tucked in the pockets of his slacks, she felt the weight of his attention settle over her.
“Your car door won’t open, will it?”
Her breath hitched.
How did he do that? How did he see right through her so easily?
“It will!” she said quickly, far too quickly to sound convincing.
Dimitri didn’t move, didn’t shift an inch, but there was something in his expression that made her want to shrink under his gaze.
“Show me.”
The challenge was clear.
She let out a slow breath, knowing that arguing was pointless. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was going to stand there, waiting, watching, until she unlocked the damn car and proved she could drive away without issue.
“Fine,” she muttered, digging through her bag for her keys.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she searched self-consciously through the clutter, her heart pounding in her ears.
She needed this to work, just this one time.
She needed the lock to cooperate, needed the engine to turn over on the first try.
The last thing she wanted was for Dimitri De Luca—the impeccably dressed, powerfully wealthy man standing beside her—to see just how much of a disaster her car really was.
She found the key and shoved it into the ancient lock, praying silently as she turned it.
Relief washed over her when the mechanism released.
“See?” she said quickly, forcing a bright smile as she yanked the door open. “All good. I know she looks rough, but underneath, this sweetie is reliable.”
That was an outright lie. Her car hated her. Half the time it refused to start, the other half it stalled at the worst possible moments. More often than not, she took the city bus simply to avoid the humiliation of having to bang on the dashboard and beg the engine to turn over.
She glanced up, hoping Dimitri would be satisfied and let her go, but he continued watching her, his expression unreadable.
He knew she was lying. He had known the moment she hesitated. How could he be so convinced that he was right?
Her pulse thrummed, her fingers gripping the edge of the door as she forced herself to meet his eyes. Dimitri didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The tension between them crackled in the chilly night air, making it impossible to move, to breathe.
For a split second, she thought he might reach for her. For a split second, she wanted him to. But then he exhaled, a slow, measured breath, and took a step back.
“Get in,” he ordered quietly. “And drive straight home.”
She nodded, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. As she slid into the driver’s seat, she could still feel the warmth of him lingering in the space between them, a phantom sensation that made her hands unsteady as she gripped the steering wheel.
And when she turned the key, praying with everything she had, the engine sputtered once before grudgingly roaring to life.
She didn’t dare look up to see the knowing smirk she just knew was playing on his lips.
He stopped her from pulling the driver’s door closed by resting a big, warm hand on the window frame, his fingers flexing slightly against the cold metal. “Before you leave, I want to hear you say my name.”
Giselle’s breath caught in her throat, startled by the unexpected command. “Why?”
A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, the sound curling around her like a warm caress.
“Because you’ve gone to great pains to avoid saying my name ever since I ordered you to use it instead of calling me ‘sir.’” His dark eyes sparkled with something wicked as he leaned in slightly. “Now, I want to hear it.”
The space between them shrank, and the seat wouldn’t allow her to scoot back.
“Come on, Giselle. Say it.” At her stubborn frown, he grinned while his voice dropped lower, rougher. He leaned even closer, his lips just brushing her ear, making her shiver. “I dare you.”
A rush of heat shot through her. He was so close, and yet, she couldn’t find it in herself to move away.
“I… can’t.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
“That’s a pity,” he muttered, as if her resistance personally offended him. “I’ll just have to do something to change your mind.”
Before she could react, his lips met hers.
A whisper of a kiss, nothing more than a teasing brush, back and forth, as if testing her, coaxing her to lean in. She swayed slightly, caught off guard by how soft, how gentle he was being when everything about Dimitri De Luca screamed power and absolute control.
A whimper escaped before she could stop it.
She didn’t know if she moved first or if he did, but suddenly the kiss deepened, and the warmth of his lips was firm against hers, sending a dizzying heat spiraling through her veins.
It was still too controlled, not nearly enough of what she wanted, but just as she tilted her head, craving more, he pulled back.
For a moment, she just sat there, eyes closed, lips tingling, savoring the sensation of his lips against hers.
Then reality returned, and her eyes flew open.
He was watching her.
His expression wasn’t smug. Not teasing. Just watching.
Giselle’s face burned with embarrassment, realization sinking in that she had just sat there like a fool, reveling in his kiss, completely exposed.
Pulling herself together, she straightened, wrapping her thin dignity around her. “Again, thank you for dinner,” she blurted out awkwardly, voice higher than she intended, before shifting in her seat, reaching for her seatbelt.
Dimitri stepped back, finally giving her room to close the door.
Her hands shook slightly as she shifted the engine into reverse, praying that it wouldn’t stall out now. If this old car chose tonight to act up, to sputter and die and leave her stranded with him standing right there, she might just burst into tears.
She barely had time to process her relief before she backed out of the parking space, grateful there were no vehicles next to her because she was far too flustered to be trusted behind the wheel.
As she pulled out of the garage, her heart pounded. Why had she just sat there with her eyes closed like some ridiculous, love-struck fool? More importantly, why had she kissed him back?
Darn it, she was an idiot. An absolute, hopeless fool!