Owning Violet (The Fowler Sisters #1)(29)
Eventually.
Laughter escapes her at my candidness. “You aren’t one for holding back, are you?”
“No.” I shake my head. “What you see is what you get.”
Her eyes light up with unmistakable arousal. “I like what I see.” Now it’s my turn to be the one who’s shocked.
“You already know I like what I see.” My gaze drops to the V of her neckline, how low it dips, offering me a glimpse of her cleavage. All that smooth, creamy skin on display is the most powerful drug to an addict like me. I want to touch her so bad it’s damn near killing me. “That dress you’re wearing is driving me crazy.”
“Does that mean you like it?” She glances down at herself, then lifts her head, amusement etched all over her face. I have no answer for her but I think she can tell. “It’s like armor. I felt so brave today wearing it. Facing you this morning. Facing Zachary this afternoon. The meeting I had, that I feared would go terribly, ended up being successful. And now … with you again. More armor.”
“You feel the need to protect yourself against me?” Smart girl. She impresses me every time I talk to her, I swear.
Not a good thing either, admiring her. I need to remember she’s nothing. Nothing to me.
If I keep telling myself that, maybe I’ll convince myself it’s the truth.
She nods, her full lips pursed in amusement. “Tonight is going to be torturous. I can tell.”
“Torturous how?” I can think of many ways I can torture her. Every one of them would bring her agonizing pleasure …
“You like to make people wait for things, me especially. I think you enjoy the anticipation. All that longing, waiting to see something, taste something, watch something.”
Ah f*ck. This conversation is turning into a sexual one. Usually I don’t mind. Typically I’m the instigator. But the last thing I need is to get all riled up with Violet and then be left hanging, unable to do anything about it while we walk into a restaurant and have to make nice.
I’m no longer in the mood to make nice. I’d rather lift up the fabric of her dress and f*ck her in the backseat of this stupid car.
The stupid car comes to a halt, jerking us both in our seats, and then the driver is climbing out, going around the front of it so he can open Violet’s door first. She thanks him profusely, which makes him act the fool, and he nearly slams the skirt of her dress in the door. Then he’s opening my door, all stern and expressionless, nodding at me when I start to stuff a twenty-dollar bill in the front pocket of his shirt.
“Stop ogling her like you want to lick her from head to toe or I’ll crush your nose in with my fist,” I tell him pleasantly, slapping his chest after I shove the twenty in his pocket. “Got that?”
“Sir, yes sir.” The driver practically snaps to attention and I send him one last menacing glare, taking hold of Violet’s arm as I guide her into the restaurant.
“What was that about?” she murmurs questioningly after I open the door for her.
“Don’t worry about it,” I reassure her with a quick shake of my head.
The restaurant is huge; it had once been a warehouse that was recently converted and they played up all the exposed pipe, beams, and brick walls as part of the theme. I’d come here often enough when it first opened that I became friendly with the manager, who explained to me the theme behind the restaurant, the menu, and the drinks at the bar. Casual but elegant comfort food, with a sort of old-fashioned speakeasy vibe—that’s what the owner had been going for.
I think he pretty much nailed it.
“Ooh, I love what they’ve done with this place,” Violet says as she takes it all in before turning to smile at me. “I’ve heard the food is excellent.”
“It is.” I lead her to the front podium and offer up my name to the woman who’s standing behind it. Her eyes light up with interest and she grabs some menus, then asks us to follow her. We do so, me placing my hand on the small of Violet’s back, pressing my fingers into her skin. She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t tense up, doesn’t relax, but I can tell she’s hyperaware of my presence. She seems slightly on edge and I like it.
Hell, I revel in it.
The hostess leads us to the back of the restaurant, to a wall that has four thick wooden doors lining it, all of them closed. “Number three is your room for the evening,” she says as she leads us to the second door, resting her hand on the handle. “Please let me know if you need anything else. Your server should be right with you.”
She pushes open the door and we both walk inside, the hostess flashing a friendly smile at us before she pulls the door shut behind her. The space is cool and quiet, and the giant rustic wood table that sits in the center of the room could fit at least twenty people around it.
“We could have a conference here and your entire team would fit comfortably,” Violet marvels as she walks toward the table, resting her hands on the back of one of the chairs.
“Yes.” I approach, stopping just behind her, so close I can breathe in her deliciously addictive scent. “But I’d much rather be with you tonight. Alone.”
She says nothing, merely stares at me from over her shoulder, those velvety eyes drinking me in. I can’t tell if she likes what she sees or if she hates me. I can’t get a read on her and that drives me insane. I can read people. That ability alone has got me far, both when I was a punk kid and now in my career.