Unraveled (Guzzi Duet Book 1)(38)
“Okay.” Cara gave him one of her brilliant smiles that lit up her pretty, delicate features. “I was also kind of irrationally pissed off at you this week, too.”
“For what?”
“Knowing something about my twin that I didn’t.”
Gian scowled. “That’s unfair.”
“I told you it was irrational.”
True.
“Fair enough,” he uttered. “Are you still angry about that? Even irrationally.”
Cara laughed a tinkling, musical sound. “Lucky for you, no. I’m not mad, or I wouldn’t have come tonight.”
“You would have come.”
“You don’t know that.”
Gian’s grin deepened. “You came tonight, not even knowing what this was. You came with a tight-as-hell dress on, even though I know my man only told you to dress appropriately for an upscale evening. You came with fuck-me-heels on and your hair loose and wild the way I like. You put the red lipstick on that I like to see stained on my sheets. You would have come, Cara, whether you were pissed off or not.”
Her cheeks reddened. “So you’re a good fuck—I never denied that, Gian.”
“Try again.”
She blew out a slow breath. “God, you’re insufferable.”
“Try again, mon ange.”
“I know that means you’re calling me your angel. I know how to use the internet, Gian.”
“Try again.”
“Could you try to be a little less arrogant?” she asked.
“I don’t give an inch, because everyone thinks they can take a mile. Try again.”
Cara’s eyes blazed as she turned them on him. “I came because I like you, and you make it hard to say no, even when you’re not asking.”
He’d take that.
Fucking right he would.
“Except right now, you’re making me want to—”
“Make a trip to the closet private space to get me between your legs?” he asked with a smirk. “Because I only actually need to move my chair closer, Cara, to get that job done with one hand. The tablecloth hides what goes on beneath.”
“You are—”
“Are we ready for drinks?”
The sudden appearance of the server made Cara sit straight in her chair while Gian only winked at his companion. “Red wine, and bring it with the food, please.”
“Five minutes, Sir.”
“Wonderful.”
Gian didn’t take his gaze off Cara, but he listened to the footsteps of the receding server.
“What did you order us, anyway?” she asked.
“Poutine.”
Cara repeated the word, and butchered it the way most Americans and Western Canadians did whenever they said it.
“No, not poo-teen,” Gian said with a laugh. “Pou-tin. Or, pu-tsin if you’re French.”
“Isn’t that, like, fries and gravy?”
“It’s a delicacy, invented by the French. Homemade fries, cheese curds, and a dark gravy, piled into one giant mess on a plate. Everybody has their own way of making it, some add different nonsense to it, which frankly, ruins what it’s supposed to be in the end. It’s not pretty, but it is delicious.”
“And what about after the food and wine?”
Gian shrugged one shoulder. “Whatever you want, Cara. I can take you home, and drop you off. I know you probably have classes tomorrow. Or we can go see a movie, maybe a show if you want. It’s up to you.”
“So, a real date, huh?”
“One that ends however and wherever you want it to, bella.”
She smiled a wicked sight.
Gian knew exactly where their date was going to end.
He didn’t mind a bit.
“More,” Cara demanded, her voice thick with sleep and content.
Gian chuckled, rocking her body that was tucked tight against his. “You were supposed to be up an hour ago.”
“Just read.”
“Cara.”
“Gian.”
He made the sexiest noise under his breath. “You know I can’t refuse you when you say my name like that, Cara. That’s unfair.”
“More reading, less nagging.”
“You have terrible morning habits.”
“I also have a gorgeous man in my bed and a study group, first thing, that I can afford to miss. Shut up and read, Gian.”
In French, actually.
He was reading in French, and Cara loved it. She didn’t understand a damn word he was saying, for the most part. There was something about his voice that soothed her and provoked her at the same time.
With a half-hearted sigh, Gian continued reading. Les Misérables, to be exact. She didn’t know what to do with this conundrum of a man. He wasn’t entirely good, but he wasn’t entirely bad, either. He wore shoes and suits that cost more than what most people made in a month, yet ate comfort food and liked cheap beer. He had set a gun on her nightstand the night before, but brought a classic novel in from his car like he needed it just as badly, too. He was educated, high-class, and Toronto elite, but rough, dirty, and full of sin, too.
Cara didn’t know what to do with all the pieces of Gian Guzzi.
Not a clue.