Marco turned.
I grabbed my napkin.
Then Tank grabbed my wrist. “Behave.”
“I was going to put it on my lap.”
“Bullshit”—he laughed—“you were going to drop it about a million times so poor Marco got his cardio in for the year.”
I sucked my lower lip. “Am I that transparent? Damn.”
“No.” His smile was deadly. “I just know you too well…remember? The old man who follows you around, that you use as a human shield?”
“Aw, you’d die for me?” I teased.
He sobered. “Without a second thought.”
Had I been holding my fork, it would have clattered against my plate only to tumble to the floor. “Because I’m your job, right? Because my dad would kill you for not protecting me?”
Please say, “no.”
Please say it’s because you couldn’t live with yourself.
Who was I kidding? He barely tolerated me.
“I don’t like that look,” Tank whispered.
“Huh? What?” I forced a smile.
“The one you just wore that looked defeated, sad. I hate it. I’ve only ever seen it a handful of times because I’m pretty sure you practice your perfect smiles so nobody sees beneath whatever you’re trying to hide, but I see it. I see you.” My breath hitched. My heart pounded against my chest. “And I don’t like that look.” He paused and leaned forward, his muscled forearms resting against the white tablecloth, his tanned skin glowing in the candlelight. “And I’d die for you, yes, because you’re my job.” I deflated immediately. “But also because this world would be a very sad place without Satan’s mistress in it.”
I choked on my laugh. “Nice.”
“I thought so.” He winked. “At least, you’re smiling again.”
I swallowed back the feminine squeak threatening to burst from my lips and said, “I smile.”
“Sometimes,” he said cryptically, his lips pressed into a knowing smile that had me shifting in my chair. “So…” He pulled up the large, red menu again. “Do you know what you want?”
“Hamburger,” I said without even looking at the menu. “And fries. All the fries. Extra pickles. And I’d probably choke you for a taco.”
He shot me a stunned expression. “You’re in a super-expensive Italian restaurant, and you’re thinking about choking me for a taco? Who are you?”
I beamed. “Expensive restaurants never give enough food. I’ll order lasagna and end up eating seven plates of it before I’m full. But when you order American food at an Italian restaurant, it’s almost like they remember how big we like our serving sizes.”
He started to laugh. It was gorgeous on him. He was gorgeous. Focus, Kartini, focus. “I oddly get that.” My fingers itched to grab the napkin and drop it. After a few seconds, he rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine, drop the damn napkin.”
“YAY!” I grabbed it and threw it onto the floor with glee. Best part of my night so far; well, that and the small dimple on the right side of Tank’s cheek.
Why did he have to be so damn sexy?
Why did his hair have to have this natural wave to it that looked too perfect to be real?
Marcus came power-walking over. “Have you decided?”
“More champagne.” I grinned. “And I’d like a burger, fries, and the calamari.”
“With a stroke on the side,” Tank added, grinning up at me. “Actually, I’ll have the same thing, but can we get a cannoli, too?”
Marcus wrote it all down. “Great choices.”
When he left, Tank leaned in. “If I end up in the hospital with a stomachache and an inability to digest, I blame you.”
“Aww, poor baby, just hydrate. You’ll be fine.” I winked. “Besides, the alcohol will help digestion. It’s science.”
He barked out a laugh. “Um, no, actually it’s not. But it’s cute that you think so.”
“I’m cute.” I winked.
He choked on his sip of champagne. “Maybe cute’s too tame of a word.”
“Feisty?”
He tapped his glass against mine. “Better.”
We ate and talked the entire time.
I couldn’t remember having a better dinner.
And it helped me forget.
He helped me forget.
Like he knew I needed to get out of the hotel room, needed to feel normal even though he had no clue why I didn’t.
We were both a little tipsy as we walked back to the suite, and I loved that every time I stumbled into him, his arm moved a little bit more around me, keeping me close to him—keeping me safe.
I gave him a sloppy shrug once we were close to the shore and our room, then yelled, “Tag, you’re it!”
Adrenaline propelled me toward the water.
And the need for someone to chase me—to catch me—sobered me up.
He stumbled across the sand in an effort to grab me as I peeled my cocktail dress over my naked body and went diving into the ocean. The warm waves had covered me by the time he chased after me, already pulling his shirt over his massive chest and gorgeous, lickable eight-pack.
“Wanna swim?” I called as normally as I could when staring at male perfection and that gorgeous body.