I feel my face flush with heat, and that one-sided grin widens to spread across his face. He knows exactly what he’s doing as he reaches for my seat belt and drags it across my chest, his face still inches from mine, hand not quite touching me but close enough that I swear electricity sparks between us.
“Safety first,” he says with a wink. His gaze slides downward momentarily before he’s back in his seat and shifting the car into first.
I touch my face. It feels hot. I adjust my shirt because what he was looking at were my nipples trying to tear through the fabric in anticipation of our kiss.
“Safety first,” I repeat. Can he hear my disappointment at the non-kiss?
He pulls expertly out of the parking lot, driving fast but fully in control of the sporty Audi. I watch as his big hand shifts gears seamlessly, merging with traffic, his body relaxed, casual as he glances at me, then back at the road.
In profile, he’s not so much cute anymore as hyper-masculine and very sexy. It’s his jawline, chiseled and hard and with that perfect five o’clock shadow.
“What are you looking at?” he asks me.
I snap my gaze straight ahead, embarrassed and still nervous. I’ve never really dated. Well, a few times since I moved in with Rachel but no one like Lev. No one I ever felt this way around.
I turn to him. “Why did you come all the way out here to bring me my scarf?”
He glances at me momentarily, dark eyes clear. There’s something wild inside them. Something carnal.
He licks his lips before he answers, and when he swallows, I watch his Adam’s apple work. Can a man’s Adam’s apple be sexy?
Something is seriously wrong with me.
“I wanted to see you again,” he says, and it’s what I want to hear. “Tell me your story, Katerina Blake.”
I’m taken aback, wondering how he knows my last name. But then I remember he’d taken a photo of my driver’s license. The real one. That was how he found me in the first place.
“I don’t know your last name,” I say.
“It’s Antonov,” he answers shortly after turning his attention back to the road.
“Where are you from?”
“I asked your story first.”
“I’m pretty sure yours will be more interesting than mine.” Never mind the fact that I don’t like to tell mine. It’s not a pretty one.
“Tell me and I’ll let you know.”
“Okay.” Here goes. “I’ve lived here since I was a toddler. I mean, not here in the apartment but in the area, mostly just outside Philadelphia. Graduated high school last year and have been on my own since. I go to night school at the local community college in addition to working at the diner.” CliffsNotes version. “See, boring.”
“What do you study?” he asks.
We’re in the city now, and he’s taking a turn onto South 2nd Street. I wonder where he’s taking me. I rarely get to this part of the city although I love it.
“I want to become a teacher. You know, work with kids. Help them.”
He gives me a look like he’s surprised and pleased at once. “And your family? Your background? I thought Eastern European.”
“Why did you think that?”
“Bone structure. But then your eyes and hair made me think Irish?”
I’m surprised. “My mom was Irish. No one ever notices, I think.”
“Then they’re not paying attention. We’re here,” he announces as he snags a tight spot between two parked cars on a side street off South 2nd.
I look around but don’t see much. “Where are we going?”
“Giacomo’s,” he says, climbing out of the car and closing his door.
I’m just undoing my seat belt when he unexpectedly opens my door and holds out his hand.
I’m…surprised. He’s a gentleman.
Placing my hand in his, I let him help me out. He locks the doors, drops his keys into the pocket of his jeans, and with a hand at my back, he guides me around the corner to a tiny place that I would probably not look twice at. But when he opens the door and I smell the delicious smells of Italian, my stomach growls. I’m just glad it’s noisy and hope he doesn’t hear it.
“Only Italians. And us,” he says.
He nods to someone, an older man who smiles widely and gestures to the only empty table in the place. I walk ahead of him, weaving through the closely situated round tables, and take a seat in the one the older man pulls out for me, liking the casual place, the red and white checkered tablecloth and rickety table and chairs. A candle burns in the heavily waxed-over Chianti bottle on the table and the kitchen opens onto the restaurant so I can see the cook.
“It’s old-fashioned, but the food is delicious. I hope you like it.”
“It’s great and smells wonderful. We’re near Elfreth’s Alley, right?”
“Yep. You like it there?”
“Yeah. I like walking around there when I have the time.”
The older man who’d smiled to Lev comes over, and they shake hands. He gives us two menus. Lev orders a bottle of wine, then turns to me. “Red okay? I know you’re underage, but…” he trails off purposely, and I know he’s taking a dig at me.
“Red’s great,” I say as the man leaves. “And can I have the ID back that you took from me last night?”
“No, you cannot,” he says, reaching to take my menu.
“I haven’t even looked at it yet,” I say.
“Do you read Italian?”
I glance down and see the laminated but still worn-out menu is in Italian. “Oh.”
“You like gnocchi?” he asks.
“I love it.”
The man returns with the wine, opens the bottle, and pours two glasses. Lev orders for us and picks up his glass. He waits for me to do the same.
“To seeing you again in one piece and able to talk and walk on your own,” he says.
My smile vanishes, and I put my glass down. “Are you just going to lecture me about last night? Because if you are, then…” I trail off, because then what? I’ll take a taxi home? I don’t want to leave.
He reaches over to put his hand over mine. “Relax. I’m not going to lecture you, but I am going to tell you that it was a pretty stupid thing to do buying that shit off someone you don’t know.”
My shoulders slump, and I pull my hand out from under his.
His smile is gone, and although he doesn’t look angry, his eyes are harder, like they got a few times last night.
“Not to mention letting me take you upstairs when you were in that state. Another man may have taken advantage. They might have hurt you, Katerina.”
“All right, I’m done.” I move to stand, but he closes his hand over my knee. I look down. It’s so big it covers the whole of it, wrapping almost entirely around it.
“Stay,” he says, the single syllable a quietly spoken command.
Something stirs in my belly, but I don’t let myself think about that. Instead, I glare because I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.
“You need to be careful, especially at a place like Delirium. Don’t come back there, got it?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t now that I know I’m not welcome.”