“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong,” he murmured. “I know you like to take risks. I know you’re curious…”
I didn’t like where this was going, but it was too late.
“I know you know what you want.”
Did he really? Because what I wanted was him.
“I know all that because you watched me. I could tell that you liked what you saw.”
I downed the rest of my drink, relieved when the waiter appeared at our table with the wine. He poured some into our glasses, set a basket with ciabatta slices and a jar with tapenade down on the table, and then he disappeared. I took a piece of bread, spread tapenade on it and took a bite. Adrian, however, ignored the bread. His eyes were trained on me, one corner of his mouth lifted.
“It was an accident,” I said eventually, sounding defensive. My cheeks were so hot I must have been glowing. Maybe Adrian would blame it on the Aperol Spritz. “I didn’t mean to watch you.”
“You didn’t?” he said in a challenging tone. He calmly lifted the wineglass and waited for me to do the same. We clinked them together and took a sip. “So you picked up binoculars by accident and directed them toward my window?”
“The binoculars were just lying around in my room. I didn’t buy them so I could spy on people, if that’s what you think. And it was really hard to miss your window and what was going on behind it. Your curtains were open and the light was on. The whole neighborhood probably watched.”
He grinned. “No need to get angry. I never said I didn’t like to be watched. I just want you to be honest with me and with yourself, and admit that you watched me on purpose that night. And it wasn’t the first time either, was it?”
“You noticed before?” I blurted, and then cringed because I’d given myself away. I could never commit the perfect crime. I’d confess everything by accident anyway.
It was obvious that Adrian was holding back laughter. Great. At least, I was amusing him.
I took a few more gulps of the Pinot Grigio. It was cold and calmed my nerves, and I was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, which was good for what I intended to say. “Okay, you’re right. That night wasn’t the first time I watched you. I can’t afford cable so there really isn’t much else to do in the evening.”
Please, God, let me get hit by lightening.
Adrian chuckled. “Of course. That’s the only reason.”
I shrugged and emptied my glass. Adrian poured me more wine, but I could tell that the topic wasn’t done yet.
“Did you enjoy it?”
My fingers froze on a piece of bread. “Enjoy it?” I half-squeaked.
“Watching me.”
“It wasn’t unpleasant.”
“That’s good to know.” He took my hand and stroked my skin with his thumb. Goosebumps flashed across my body. “Admit it, you wanted to be in my bedroom. You wanted to be the woman in my bed.”
I was spared a reply when Giovanne arrived at our table with two plates with our starters. “Are you enjoying yourselves so far?” he asked.
“Quite,” Adrian said.
I took another sip from my wine instead of an answer. The waiter joined Giovanne after a moment and put a bottle of San Pelegrino down on the table, then they both left.
“Bon appetite,” Adrian said.
I gave him a terse smile, speared a piece of burrata and a piece of the grilled peach, and slid it into my mouth. Fuck. A moan slipped past my lips. The burrata was so creamy and the peach so juicy and sweet. “It’s delicious.”
Adrian’s expression had become almost predatory when I’d moaned and he was still watching me as if I was the most delicious thing he’d ever seen – as if he actually wanted to devour me.
I took another sip from my wine. Warmth spread through my body. I really needed to slow down but I couldn’t seem to bring myself to do it.
“So do you like it?” Adrian asked, his eyes lingering on my lips.
“Yes, it's delicious. I could eat this every day.”
His lips quirked into a satisfied smile. “Some things are so good you want to have them all the time.”
I pushed the last piece of burrata into my mouth. “I like variety.”
He raised one eyebrow. “So do I.”
Of course he did. Why else would he have banged a new woman every night? The waiter returned to our table and took our plates away.
“So what are you doing when you’re not spying on me?” Adrian asked.
The question I’d hoped to avoid. “I’m a waitress,” I said, then quickly added, “But that’s a temporary thing. I’m trying to become a published author.”