Vengeful Mafia Prince (Vicious Heirs #2)

Chapter Four—Elena

I fidget as I try to pluck up the courage to go over to him. God, I need to pull myself together. It's just a crush, for goodness' sake!

Ever since he stayed late to help me with the flyers, I've been feeling things for him that I know, damn straight, shouldn't even be crossing my mind. But how could they not, given the circumstances? He's so damn handsome. And damn charming. And damn... everything, actually, now that I think of it. How am I supposed to ignore that?

It's the end of a busy day, and the two of us are the only ones left in the office right now. And, yes, I might have gone out of my way to make sure that happened. I wanted him all to myself, partly because I want to speak to him, partly because, if I crash and burn, I don't want anyone else from work to be around to see it happen.

Finally, he glances over and notices me. The rest of the lights in the office are dim, and he grins when he sees me looking in his direction. Oh, hell, that damn smile! Every time I see it, it sends a shiver down my spine. It's genuine, but it speaks to something beneath the surface that he doesn't quite want me to see.

And that's the part I can't wait to get closer to.

"You stuck doing the flyers again?" he asks as he approaches, and I shake my head.

"No, I think I'm on top of everything today, thankfully." I manage a small laugh.

He grins back. "Glad to hear it."

"There's actually... uh, I was wondering what you were doing here so late."

He shifts his weight slightly, not breaking my gaze for a moment. "I was waiting for everyone else to go home."

My heart skips a beat. Is he saying what I think he's saying?

"Why?"

"Because I want to take you out to dinner," he replies calmly, as though it should have been obvious. "And I don't like the thought of becoming office gossip."

Oh. There it is. I part my lips and close them again, feeling stupid. I have no idea what to say to him, no idea what to do.

"How does that sound?" he asks, and I finally bite down on my lip and nod.

"I really like that idea," I confess. Truth be told, I really wanted to ask him out myself. I want to spend more time with him, I want to really get to know him. I'm sure what I have for him is nothing more than the barest little passing crush, but that doesn't mean I don't want to make the most out of it.

"I have a table booked at a Korean place," he tells me as he pulls on his jacket. I raise my eyebrows at him, more than a little surprised.

"Uh, you were that confident I was going to go out with you?"

He just shrugs. "You said yes, didn't you?"

Hell, I didn't even realize I made it that obvious! Have I really been acting that into him? Or maybe he's just really good at picking up signals. I get the feeling it's a bit of both.

I follow him out of the office, and he leads me to his car, whisking me off to a new location where he's already booked a table for us. I kind of like how forward he was, basically deciding that the two of us were going to go out together and acting on it before I even said yes.

When we arrive, he holds the door open for me, and I have to walk by him, close enough that I can smell his aftershave. It's different than the kind he's been wearing around the office since I met him, something deeper, woodier, almost more musky.

God, is it bad that I can recognize his aftershave? Probably.

We're led to a table by an enthusiastic hostess, who brings us out a free bottle of wine right away along with our menus.

"You come here a lot?" I ask Johnny, a little surprised at the VIP treatment we're getting here.

"Yeah, quite often," he replies, nodding his thanks to the hostess as he picks up the menu. "You like Korean food?"

"I think I've only tried it once before," I confess. "I basically lived on pizza and takeout while I was doing my degree. I think I ate out at a real restaurant... maybe twice in all that time?"

He chuckles. "I'm surprised you weren't always out on dates."

I can't help but laugh. "Oh, is it really that much of a shock? Am I that alluring?"

He eyes me for a moment, as though genuinely considering the answer to my question. My breath hitches slightly in my throat. Suddenly, I want him to tell me I am.

"Something like that," he replies as he pours us both a generous glass from the wine on the table.

He takes me through the menu, helping me pick out what he thinks I'll like, and I'm glad for his help. I really don't know how I would have navigated it otherwise. This place, it's the kind of restaurant where you can't let it slip that you don't know what you're eating, or you'll get the death stare from the staff.

He orders a selection of food for the table. Normally, someone else ordering for me like this would irritate me, but I kind of like it when he takes control.

Once the food is spread out in front of us, he hands me a pair of chopsticks. I pull a face at once.

"Oh, I'm no good with these things."

"Seriously?" he chuckles, and I nod apologetically. I don't want to seem pathetic, but I think the most I've ever used chopsticks for is shoveling ramen into my mouth in between lectures. And that's very much not what I'm going for here.

He reaches across the table, his hand covering my own.

"They're easy, see?" His voice softens slightly. My lips part in surprise. His touch is unexpectedly gentle as he guides my thumb under the edge of the chopstick.

"You just hold them like a pencil," he explains as he pulls back. I can still feel his touch lingering on my skin. I do my best to ignore it and try to eat something, even though my stomach is churning right now with a mixture of nerves and excitement.

We eat and chat a little about work. I try to aim a few questions toward his personal life, but he's quick to deflect them, not letting me get under his skin. I guess he's a little protective of that. Maybe he's had family issues or something.

Or maybe it's the same reason that my father thought he recognized him.

I've been doing my best not to think about that, and I refuse to begin now. I listen as he tells me some story about where he worked before and laugh as he reaches the punchline and I reach for my glass of wine.

All too soon, the food is gone, and it's just the two of us sitting there, looking into each other's eyes.

"So," he murmurs. "You want to get another drink. Or...?"

"I think I should be getting back," I admit, a little reluctant. As much as I'd like to stay a while longer, I feel as though this has been enough for a first date. I don't want to take things too far or let myself get carried away; I have to remember that I work with him, and every step I make from this moment on needs to be well-considered and careful.

He pays the bill—I offer to split it in half, but he brushes me off—and we head for the door. He holds it open again, and once more, I have to move in close to him. For a moment, the two of us are just looking at each other, gazing into each other's eyes as I pass him, so close I can practically feel the heat of his skin against mine.

But then, I pull away. No, I can't let this happen, not so soon. I need to be more careful.

He walks me back over to his car. I walked in to work this morning, so I would have needed a lift home anyway.

"Can I drive you home?" he asks. I stare up at him for a moment. Oh, being alone with him like this, it's dangerous, the way he's looking at me, his gaze burning into mine. He doesn't seem thrown by our closeness at all. No, if anything, he seems to be enjoying it, standing this near to me, watching as a million different thoughts dash through my mind at once.

And then, his hand grazes mine once more. It's not the light touch he caressed me with before. It's something more direct, something more honest. He wraps his fingers around mine and draws me in a little closer.

Our lips are just a matter of centimeters from one another. I can feel his breath. I can see the soft smile that curls up the corners of his mouth. And I know that I can't hide this from myself any longer.

Before I can stop myself, I lean up and plant a kiss against his lips.

He wraps his arms around me at once, pulling me into him with the hunger and want that only comes from something that has built for weeks now. His tongue slips into my mouth, his hands digging into my sides, and all I can do is kiss him, kiss him like my life depends on it, because right now, it feels as though it does.

When he pulls back, he's breathing hard, and his eyes are dark. He brushes a strand of hair away from my face, where it fell in the rush.

"You're coming home with me tonight," he murmurs, and the way he says it, I can't argue. I just nod. Behind me, he opens the car door, and the two of us tumble inside.