Chapter Eight #2
"That sounds intense," I said, genuinely curious now.
Dario shrugged. "He said if I was man enough to try stealing it, I was man enough to appreciate it properly. It burned like hell, but I pretended to enjoy it." A short laugh escaped him, the sound unexpected and strangely charming.
"Did you? Eventually enjoy it, I mean." I leaned forward, drawn by this glimpse into his past.
"Not that day," Dario admitted, his expression lightening with the memory.
"But he taught me to appreciate quality.
To understand what makes something valuable beyond its price tag.
" I got the strange feeling he was talking about more than alcohol but was becoming as intoxicated by his presence as I was by the drinks we’d consumed.
I nodded, taking another sip of my drink. "My grandmother said something similar about her cordials. That the value wasn't in what you could sell them for, but in the moments they helped you remember."
Our eyes met over the rim of my glass, and something passed between us, a moment of unexpected connection that made my heart beat faster. I looked away first, suddenly conscious of how much closer I'd leaned toward him.
Dario slid the fourth cocktail across the bar, a tropical creation with bright citrus notes and hints of spice.
As I reached for it, our fingers touched again, and this time I was certain it wasn't accidental.
His lingered against mine for just a heartbeat too long, the contact sending warmth spiraling through me.
“One more.”
“It’s all starting to go to my head.”
His amusement was clear. “Light weight?”
“I don’t really drink much, but everything you’ve offered me so far has been so very good.”
"We've saved the best for last," Dario said, his voice dropping to a register that seemed to vibrate through me. He reached beneath the counter and produced a bell-shaped glass dome filled with swirling smoke. "See what you think."
I leaned forward, fascinated not just by the dramatic presentation but by the glimpse of genuine passion I was seeing in him. This wasn't the calculated, controlled Dario Luca who intimidated everyone at The Gray. This was a man who cared deeply about creating something extraordinary.
"Did you create this one?" I asked, watching intently as he lifted the dome, releasing a cloud of aromatic smoke that carried the scent of cherry wood and vanilla over a glass containing an amber liquid and a large round chunk of ice.
"Is that so surprising?"
"A bit," I admitted, offering a small smile. "I pictured you more as the critic than the creator."
"I never said I wasn’t a critic," he replied, and I was startled by the playfulness in his tone, by how much I enjoyed this unexpected side of him. Or I could be headed toward slightly drunk.
Dario pushed the glass toward me, his fingers lingering near mine. "Single malt whiskey, aged in cherry wood barrels, with vanilla-infused honey and a touch of black walnut bitters."
I lifted the glass carefully, unsure of how I was supposed to drink this. “I’m afraid this kind of cocktail is above my paygrade.” I smiled.
“Just inhale the scent of the smoke then take a sip.”
I did as he instructed. The complexity of flavors was unexpected.
Rich whiskey with a subtle sweetness. There was a warm spice flavor as well, blending around the bitter taste of the whiskey.
The smoke somehow enhanced it all and my eyes widened involuntarily, and I took another sip before I could stop myself.
"This is..." I paused, searching for words adequate to describe what I was experiencing.
"This is extraordinary. The smoke isn't just a gimmick.
It actually transforms… something." I tilted the glass, watching how the liquid caught the fading light. "It's like… drinking a… memory?"
"A memory?" Dario had moved even closer, his curiosity evident in the intensity of his gaze and how a crease appeared between his eyebrows. Most of the time when I saw Mr. Luca, his attention seemed to be divided. There was no mistaking I had his full attention now. “How so?”
"Um,” I swallowed nervously. I’d wanted to be angry at Mr. Luca for making me come here when I told him my misgivings.
But, seeing him like this made it hard to not simply enjoy the moment.
Still, I knew I was a bit buzzed and continuing this interaction was probably not the best idea.
“Well, yeah. Like sitting by a fire in a leather chair in some grand old library, surrounded by books that have stories to tell.
" I looked up at him, no longer guarding my expression.
"It tastes like cozy comfort. Story time, only I’m playing the part of the grandma reading to the kids around the fire instead of being one of the children listening to the story.
" I shifted my gaze away, letting go of the glass. “That sounded stupid,” I muttered.
Something shifted in Dario's eyes. Maybe surprise, followed by what looked remarkably like satisfaction. Not the satisfaction of a boss receiving expected praise, but the genuine delight of an artist whose work has been truly seen and understood. “It sounded perfect, Belle. I’d have never thought to describe the taste the way you just did.”
Dario leaned closer, his gaze never leaving mine.
His brows knit together like he was confused.
I realized with a mixture of excitement and trepidation that we stood at the edge of something dangerous and irresistible, something that had nothing to do with whatever pretense Dario had used to get me here and everything to do with the electricity that had been building between us since the moment I walked through his door.
He moved around the bar so we stood side by side.
The professional distance that had marked my arrival an hour and a half ago had evaporated, replaced by a humming awareness that seemed to charge the very air between us.
Somewhere along the way, I'd stopped seeing Dario Luca as the intimidating owner of The Gray and started seeing him as simply a man.
The complex, fascinating, and undeniably attractive man who seemed to be enjoying my company as much as I was enjoying his.
"You see things differently," he said quietly. "Not just the drinks, but the entire experience. It's... refreshing."
I turned my head to thank him for the compliment and found his face mere inches from mine.
The movement brought our bodies even closer, my hip now pressed against his, our hands touching next to my glass on the bar.
The air between us felt charged, heavy with something I wasn’t looking at too closely.
"Thank you for today," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. "For inviting me. For listening to my opinions." I took a breath, shaking my head a little. “I’m sorry I was stubborn and tried not to accept your invitation.”
Dario's gaze dropped to my lips, his usual mask of control slipping to reveal something raw and hungry beneath. "Your opinions are worth listening to," he said, his voice rougher than before.
I knew I should step back, should gather my things and leave before I crossed a line I could never uncross. But the warmth of his body against mine, the intensity in his blue eyes, the lingering taste of his creation on my tongue, all of it conspired to hold me in place.
Then Dario shifted slightly, creating the barest space between us, a final chance for reason to prevail.
"It's getting late," he said, though he made no move to step away. "Your shift starts in a couple of hours. Go to Mr. Wilson and tell him you need a place to sleep off the tasting. He’s used to it and we have a room you can lock and rest in peace.”
It was the perfect opportunity to retreat, to return to the safety of professional boundaries. Instead, I did something I'd never imagined myself capable of. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his.
For one terrible moment, he froze, and I thought I'd catastrophically misread the situation. Then his arms wrapped around me, pulling me against him with a hunger that matched the sudden, desperate need flooding through me. His lips moved against mine, no longer tentative but demanding, claiming. I gasped against his mouth, the sound swallowed by our kiss. I’d do my best to blame it on the alcohol later, but I wanted this.
Wanted the sensation. Couldn’t get enough.
I gripped the fabric of his suit jacket, clinging to him. Dario swept his hands up my back until he tangled his fingers in my hair.
He backed me against the bar, the edge pressing into my lower back, his body a solid wall of heat against mine.
The position brought him into intimate contact with me.
His chest mashed pleasantly against my breasts, his thigh slipped between my legs in a way that made me whimper.
Between us, mashed against my belly, his cock was hardening rapidly, pulsing as he urged me to move on his thigh as he continued to kiss me.
"Belle?" he murmured against my lips, my name a question and a confirmation all at once.
I answered by opening my mouth wider, letting him slide his tongue against mine. He roamed his hands up and down my back with increasingly bold strokes before tracing the curve of my waist, the flare of my hip, moving upward to graze the side of my breast through my dress.
The contact sent a jolt of electric pleasure through me.
I arched into his touch, my body making decisions my mind was too clouded to process.
One of his hands found the hem of my dress and he skated his fingers along my thigh, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
The other cradled my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone with unexpected tenderness.
The contrast of his gentle touches mixed with urgent passion was my undoing. It made this more than just a physical encounter, more than just an alcohol fueled lust. It made it dangerous in ways I hadn't anticipated.
Reality crashed into me like cold water. I pulled stiffened, my breath coming in shallow pants. Dario’s groan sounded frustrated but resigned. He ended the kiss slowly and placed his forehead against mine for several heartbeats before letting me push him away, but only slightly.
When I looked up at him, Dario's gaze focused on me, dark with desire and confusion at my abrupt withdrawal.
"I shouldn't have… I mean, I… we… can’t…
" I stammered, my voice unsteady. I pressed my palms against his chest, creating space between us though every cell in my body protested the separation.
Dario didn't immediately release me. His hands remained at my waist, his expression a complex mixture of desire, surprise, and something that looked almost like vulnerability. "Belle," he said again, my name carrying a weight I wasn't prepared to interpret.
"I’m so sorry," I whispered, though the words felt like a lie even as I spoke them. "I work for you. This is—it's inappropriate."
I bent to retrieve my notebook, which had somehow been knocked off the bar. I used the movement to step out of his embrace completely. My hands trembled and my cheeks burned with a combination of desire and embarrassment. What had I been thinking? I’d just complicated a job I desperately needed.
When I straightened, Dario was watching me with unusual intensity, his composure visibly shaken, which shocked me. His hair was mussed where my fingers had run through it, his tie slightly askew. I'd done that, I realized with a mixture of pride and no small amount of horror.
"I should go," I said. "My shift starts soon and I need to, um, I should change into my uniform."
The words sounded hollow, inadequate excuses for my hasty retreat.
But what could I say? That I was terrified not by what we'd done but by how much I wanted to continue?
That the warnings from Valentina, from Ricky, from Mr. Longmire were echoing in my head, reminding me staff should never get too close to the owner?
Dario made no move to stop me as I backed toward the door. But his gaze never left mine, and the intensity of his stare felt like a physical touch. "This isn't finished, Belle," he said quietly.
The words sent a shiver down my spine, not of fear but of anticipation. Like I was only postponing the inevitable. I wanted to deny it, to insist this was a one-time lapse in judgment that would never be repeated. Instead, I said nothing, knowing any denial would ring false.
I turned and fled, the door closing behind me with a soft click that seemed to echo in the empty corridor.
My lips still tingled from his kiss, my body still hummed with unfulfilled desire.
Once I rounded the corner, I leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to my stomach, trying to gather the scattered pieces of my composure.
What had I done? Everything I'd worked for at The Gray, the stability, the respectable job, the chances to build something for myself, all of it now balanced on a knife's edge because I couldn't maintain professional boundaries.
Because one taste of Dario Luca had made me hungry for more in ways I hadn't believed possible.
I pushed away from the wall, straightening my dress with hands that still trembled slightly.
I had a shift to work, customers to serve, a role to play that didn't include being the woman who'd just been thoroughly kissed by someone like Mr. Luca.
I would go downstairs, change into my uniform, and act as though nothing had happened.
But as I made my way toward the staff area, I knew with absolute certainty that everything had changed.
The line between us had not just been crossed, it had been obliterated.
And despite all the warnings, despite all the reasons it was a terrible idea, a part of me I'd never acknowledged before was already counting the hours until I would see him again.