“We should head back,” I remark as a bright flash of electricity lights the dark sky. A loud rumble quickly follows, indicating that the lightening is close. Dorian looks up and frowns at the heavens then nods, grasping my hand and ushering me back towards the parking lot. We make it back just as the torrential rain begins.
“Did you want to go home? Or would you mind spending a little more time with me?” Dorian asks as he fires up the Mercedes. He looks devastatingly sexy, with his jet black hair slick and speckled with rain. I’m tempted to lean over and lick the raindrops from his face, expecting them to taste as sweet as his lips.
“I don’t mind,” is all I say. Inside I’m jumping for joy since I expected our date to end because of the weather. I use all my willpower to keep the goofy grin off my face.
“There’s a little place I want to take you,” he says. And with that we are back on the road.
Robin Thicke is still playing and he’s singing a smooth ballad about being dangerous. Though his words warn his lady love to stay away and to avoid falling in love, his sugary sweet melody doesn’t match his threat of imminent danger. It’s alluring and inviting. You don’t want to turn away; you want more and more no matter the risk. I recall Dorian’s account of the power of music and my brow furrows. He was onto something.
“Would you rather listen to something else?” Dorian asks suddenly and the song switches abruptly. It’s Coldplay’s “Paradise.”
“Well, no but you’ve already changed it,” I reply.
“Oh? I thought I saw a frown on your face. Maybe you took the song as a warning.” He flashes a devilishly sexy smile. I squirm against the leather upholstery.
A warning? Oh shit. Has he realized that being around me could be perilous to him? Of course. How could I have been so stupid? I’ve got a sadistic Warlock out for my blood and here I am, ready to spread my legs and do the forbidden dance with an innocent, though totally gorgeous and mysterious, man that I hardly know. Yes. That song was a warning. For him.
“No, this song is fine. You can let it play.” I turn my head to look out the window at the beating rain, wishing it could wash away my shame. And my fear.
We pull up to a little bistro that could best be described as quaint. It’s beautifully decorated with fresh flower arrangements, magnificent framed artwork and several displays of wine. It’s a warm welcome from the relentless rainfall. Our friendly hostess smiles at us sweetly and leads us to a quiet table for two, noticeably separate from the other diners. I eye the display case of fresh-baked pastries and cakes on the way and my mouth instantly waters. I am famished and glad that Dorian thought to come here. I quickly open the menu once we’re seated and scan their selections.
“Hungry?” Dorian smiles, peering over his own menu.
“Starved,” I say sheepishly. And not just for food. “So what’s good here?”
“I’ve only been here once and everything I had was fantastic. Do you like seafood?” Dorian puts down his menu and folds his hands on the table in front of him.
“I love it,” I reply.
“Good. Their mussels and clams are excellent,” he remarks.
Just as I’ve decided what to order, our server approaches us, a tall, thin brunette with a bright smile, a notable change from our waitress from the sports bar. She is pretty in a girl next door kind of way and has kind eyes.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle, monsieur,” she greets each of us with a bow of her head. Dorian returns her friendly acknowledgment and answers back in flawless French. I fail at hiding my shock after the waitress leaves.
“Whoa. You speak French?” I ask, clearly impressed.
Dorian answers with a sheepish half-smile and a shrug of his shoulders. “Yes. Among other languages.”
I note his nonchalance with a raised eyebrow and a shrug of my own. We make small talk until our server returns with glasses of wine and a large bottle of sparkling water. I take a swig of the cool, crisp rose wine and an involuntary ‘Mmmm’ escapes my lips.
Seeing as it is still pretty early in the day, I opt for a Muffeletta sandwich while Dorian orders a Nicoise salad. The waitress smiles at us both and leaves to put in our food orders, returning moments later with a large platter of clams and mussels in a white wine sauce. They look and smell amazing. Dorian must’ve ordered these in his perfect French along with the wine.
“Dig in,” he offers and he scoops a few shells onto each of our plates.
He was right; the seafood is exceptional. We lose ourselves in the delicious shellfish and giggle as sauce dribbles down our chins. It’s remarkable how down to earth and easygoing Dorian is. Though I am taken aback by his startling good looks, he has a way of making me feel totally at ease with him, something I’ve only experienced with Jared. I feel this inner draw to him, as if I can tell him anything. Like I can already trust him wholeheartedly.