Voyeur Extraordinaire (13 page)

“What would you recommend?” I asked.

“Well, the burrata with grilled peaches and heirloom tomatoes is delicious. As for the entree, I’d recommend the homemade tagliatelle with truffles. It’s amazing.” Adrian lifted his gaze from the menu.

“
Burrata?” I repeated. I didn’t have the slightest clue what that was.

“It’s a kind of mozzarella with cream inside. It practically melts on your tongue.” The way he said tongue and looked at me, food was the last thing on my mind, and I felt myself flush. From the look on his face, it was clear that it’s what he’d intended. Amy had been right. He knew what to say and do to char
m his way into women’s panties.

I was glad that the waiter chose that moment to bring our drinks. “Are you ready to order?”

“Give us another moment,” Adrian said, never taking his eyes off me. The moment the waiter was gone, I picked up my Aperol Spritz and took a few gulps. Adrian, too, sipped at his drink, a red liquid in a martini glass.

I set my drink down. Half of it was already gone. If I kept up the tempo, I’d be drunk before the entrée was served. “S
o what are you going to order?”

Adrian smirked as if he knew I was rambling because I was nervous. “I'll take the
Vitello Tonato for starters, then the Ossobuco alla Milanese.” He leaned forward, his muscled arms resting on the table. His gaze was intense, but I couldn’t look away. “As for the dessert. I haven't quite decided yet.” His voice was husky, and I knew exactly what he wanted to have for dessert.

I took another gulp of my cocktail. “The molten lava cake looks delicious,” I said, misundersta
nding him on purpose.

“Delicious indeed,” he said,
then he scanned the winelist calmly, as if he hadn’t just come on to me. “Do you prefer white or red wine?”

“White,” I said automatically, though I wasn’t much of a wine drinker. I didn’t usually frequent restaurants that served wine. Most of the time a Happy Meal was the only thing I could afford.

The waiter returned to our table and Adrian gave a small nod in my direction. “I’d like the burrata and tagliatelle with truffles.”

I could tell it pleased Adrian that I’d followed his recommendation. “I’ll have the
Vitello Tonnato, followed by the Ossobucco. And we’ll share a bottle of Pinot Grigio,” he said to the waiter who scribbled our orders on a small notebook and then disappeared into the restaurant.

“Why did you want to have dinner with me?” The words left me mouth before I could stop them, but it was a question that’s been bothering me since he’d first asked me to go out with him.

I fiddled with the cloth napkin, occasionally risking a peek at Adrian. He leaned back in his chair. “You fascinate me.”

I frowned. “Why? You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong,” he murmured. “I know you like to take risks. I know you’re curious…”

I didn’t like where this was going, but it was too late.

“I know you know what you want.”

Did he really?
Because what I wanted was him.

“I know all that because you watched me. I could tell that you liked what you saw.”

I downed the rest of my drink, relieved when the waiter appeared at our table with the wine. He poured some into our glasses, set a basket with ciabatta slices and a jar with tapenade down on the table, and then he disappeared. I took a piece of bread, spread tapenade on it and took a bite. Adrian, however, ignored the bread. His eyes were trained on me, one corner of his mouth lifted.

“It was an accident,” I said eventually, sounding defensive. My cheeks were so hot I must have been glowing. Maybe Adrian would blame it on the
Aperol Spritz. “I didn’t mean to watch you.”

“You didn’t?” he said in a challenging tone. He calmly lifted the wineglass and waited for me to do the same. We clinked them together and took a sip. “So you picked up binoculars by accident and directed them toward my window?”

“The binoculars were just lying around in my room. I didn’t buy them so I could spy on people, if that’s what you think. And it was really hard to miss your window and what was going on behind it. Your curtains were open and the light was on. The whole neighborhood probably watched.”

He grinned. “No need to get angry. I never said I didn’t like to be watched. I just want you to be honest with me and with yourself, and admit that you watched me on purpose that night. And it wasn’t the first time either, was it?”

“You noticed before?” I blurted, and then cringed because I’d given myself away. I could never commit the perfect crime. I’d confess everything by accident anyway.

It was obvious that Adrian was holding back laughter.
Great.
At least, I was amusing him.

I took a few more gulps of the Pinot
Grigio. It was cold and calmed my nerves, and I was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, which was good for what I intended to say. “Okay, you’re right. That night wasn’t the first time I watched you. I can’t afford cable so there really isn’t much else to do in the evening.”

Please, God, let me get hit by lightening.

Adrian chuckled. “Of course. That’s the only reason.”

I shrugged and emptied my glass. Adrian poured me more wine, but I could tell
that the topic wasn’t done yet.

“Did you enjoy it?”

My fingers froze on a piece of bread. “Enjoy it?” I half-squeaked.

“Watching me.”

“It wasn’t unpleasant.”

“That’s good to know.” He took my hand and stroked my skin with his thumb. Goosebumps flashed across my body. “Admit it, you wanted to be in my bedroom. You wanted to be the woman in my bed.”

I was spared a reply when Giovanne arrived at our table with two plates with our starters. “Are you enjoying yourselves so far?” he asked.

“Quite,” Adrian said.

I took another sip from my wine instead of an answer. The waiter joined Giovanne after a moment and put a bottle of San Pelegrino down on the table, then they both left.

“Bon appetite,” Adrian said.

I gave him a terse smile, speared a piece of burrata and a piece of the grilled peach, and slid it into my mouth. Fuck. A moan slipped past my lips. The burrata was so creamy and the peach so juicy and sweet. “It’s delicious.”

Adrian’s expression had become almost predatory when I’d moaned and he was still watching me as if I was the most delicious thing he’d ever seen – as if he actually wanted to devour me.

I took another sip from my wine. Warmth spread through my body. I really needed to slow down but I couldn’t seem to bring myself to do it.

“So do you like it?” Adrian asked, his eyes lingering on my lips.

“Yes, it's delicious. I could eat this every day.”

His lips quirked into a satisfied smile.
“Some things are so good you want to have them all the time.”

I pushed the last piece of
burrata into my mouth. “I like variety.”

He
raised one eyebrow. “So do I.”

Of course he did. Why else would he have banged a new woman every night? The waiter returned to our
table and took our plates away.

“So what are you doing when you’re not spying on me?” Adrian asked.

The question I’d hoped to avoid. “I’m a waitress,” I said, then quickly added, “But that’s a temporary thing. I’m trying to become a published author.”

“You’re a writer?” For the first time, Adrian sounded honestly interested.

It always felt funny to call myself an author. I hadn’t even found an agent or sold a short story yet. Calling myself an author felt presumptuous. “Yes, I’m trying to find an agent with my new book…” I trailed off, not wanting to admit that I’d already received more than a dozen rejections on my manuscript. “I’m writing mysteries and urban fantasy.”

“Impressive. I wouldn’t even know what to write about. Where do you get ideas for your books?”

I relaxed, my fingers tracing the rim of my wineglass. “Everywhere. I meet a lot of strange people at my job. And New York is pretty much the epicenter of crazy.” I forced myself to stop. I could ramble about writing for hours, but I didn’t want to bore Adrian to death. “So what are you doing?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“What kind of lawyer?” I could imagine him only too well in court or negotiating a contract. I bet he was impressive.

“Business, mergers and acquisitions.” He smirked. My eyes lingered on his lips, remembering our almost kiss in the elevator. All I wanted to do was lean over the table to find out if his lips were as soft as they looked. “But I don’t want to bore you with the details. It’s not even close to being as interesting as writing a book.”

It was obvious that he didn’t want to reveal much of himself. I doubted his job was that boring. After all, it got him enough money to afford a nice car and an even nicer apartment. Giovanne walked up to our table, the other waiter and our main course in tow. When he set my plate with the truffle tagliattelle down in front of me, the delicious smell wafted into my nose. “Mmmh,” I said. “That smells wonderful.”

Giovanne
tipped his head. “It’ll taste even better. Enjoy.” He and the waiter disappeared again.

I took a bite of the
tagliatelle. He was right. The food was heaven. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything as good.”

“It’s the best Italian restaurant in the States,” Adrian said. “The only time I had
ossobucco that came close was in Florence.”

“You visited Florence?” I’d
been wanting to visit Europe, and especially Italy for years. But I could barely afford a new shower curtain, so a trip abroad was out of the question.

“Three times.” He poured us the rest of the wine and gestured for the waiter to bring us another bottle. I should probably have stopped him, since I was already tipsy, but the food and wine were too good to stop. “The first time I was in Rome on business.
Just a couple of nights. I barely had time for sightseeing, but I fell in love with the food and the country, and returned the next summer.” The waiter arrived with a new bottle of wine and he paused until the waiter was gone again before he continued. “That time I toured the Tuscany.”

“I hear it’s beautiful.”

“It is. Especially the small towns towering on hills with their stone walls and old churches.” I propped my chin up on my palm, my fingers twirling the wineglass around. His voice had become even smoother as he talked about the Tuscany, about his favorite restaurant in Siena, the icecream in Florence, the old town of San Gimignano, his expression more relaxed and unguarded than I’d ever seen it. I wished I could have seen him stroll the streets of Florence. Or better yet, I wished I could visit all the places he loved with him at my side.

When we were done with our entrees and the waiter came to pick up our plates, I wasn't even sure how much time had passed. His voice had transported me to Italy, had made me forget everything around us. “I probably bored you to death with my vacation stories,” Adrian said.

“Oh no,” I said. “I loved listening to your stories. It makes me want to visit Italy even more.”

He smiled, but the mask that had slipped during his recount of his travels was back in place.
Giovanne strolled toward our table with two menus in his hands. “So how about dessert?”

Adrian glanced at me. “I think we’ll share the best chocolate cake in the world.”

“Perfect choice,” Giovanne said, then disappeared.

“It has a molten chocolate core,” Adrian said. I could feel a flush spreading in my cheeks when he said the word core and from the twitching of his lips, he knew exactly what I was thinking about. That’s probably why he’d said it in the first place. I downed the last of my wine. Our second bottle was already half empty. The waiter arrived with our dessert and set it down in the middle of our table. The cake was dark brown and small, surrounded by an arrangement of raspberries, strawberries and mango slices as well as swirls made from fruit sauces. Adrian picked up the fork and cut off a piece of the cake. At once, molten chocolate pooled out and the smell of warm chocolate flooded my nose. Adrian dipped the piece of cake in the liquid and lifted it with a suggestive smile. “Open your mouth.”

I leaned forward, my lips parted. Adrian slid the fork into my mouth and I closed my lips around it. He slowly pulled it out of my mouth as the warm chocolate melted on my tongue. I swallowed, then moaned. “This is delicious.” I shook my head. “You’re spoiling me.”

“I haven’t even start yet,” Adrian
murmured in a seductive voice.

S
lowly piece by tiny piece Adrian and I shared the cake, never breaking eye contact. Maybe it was the wine that gave me the confidence to hold his gaze. As the last piece of cake disappeared in my mouth, my entire body was tingling. Adrian’s gaze was almost like foreplay. I could feel it fluttering over my skin like butterfly wings. Not taking his eyes off me, he waved the waiter over to ask for the check. I barely listened to Giovanne’s and Adrian’s conversation as he paid, only smiled and nodded occasionally.