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Cara's eyes lift, and her lips part. "I'm not—" she begins.
"You'll have the wine," I tell her, leaning forward. "Trust me."
Her eyes dart to the server as he takes another glass from the cart and begins filling it. He sets it down before her and waits. Cara's gaze jumps from the glass to the server and then back to me as if she's trying to determine if I'm serious or not. Not being old enough is the least of her problems with me. Then again, perhaps I've read her wrong. Perhaps she's been a good girl her whole life and never even had a sip of the forbidden fruit.
Well, even if that's the case, she should recognize that her situation has changed. "Drink," I order.
With shaking fingers, I watch as she leans forward and grasps the glass by the stem, lifting it and bringing it toward her. She tips her head back slightly and puts the rim to her lips. A riotous hunger erupts within me as my eyes settle on those lips of hers. The delicateness of her throat as she swallows a mouthful. She'll swallow more than that before the end of the night.
"It's...good," she finally says.
The server nods and beams brightly. "Wonderful, then I'll leave the bottle here. Would you like some more time to decide on your orders?"
"No." I slide the menu over to him. It was unnecessary to begin with, but I can understand the nervousness of the hostess, and it felt right to give Cara that bit of normalcy. At least for the moment. I turn and meet the server's gaze. His hands tighten on the cart. "She'll have the Rigatoni Martino, and I'll have the steak, rare."
Cara sets her glass down as the server reaches forward and hastily grabs the menus. "Of course sir."
I ignore the boy as he hurries toward the door and disappears to the other side. Cara's head turns as she watches him go, and the snick of the lock clicking into place sounds like the click of a gun right before it's about to go off. I smile.
"Are you nervous?" I ask.
Her attention returns to me just as I wanted it to. "Nervous?" she repeats. "N-No."
I hum as she plays with the table setting in front of her. Her hands contract as she reaches for the wineglass once more. "You know I'm not twenty-one, right?" she determines as she lifts the red back to her lips and takes another sip.
My lips twitch with amusement. "Yes, Cara," I say. "I know."
She sets her glass down, her slender fingers playing with the rim as she eyes the rest of the room. "Why are we here?" she asks.
I raise my eyebrows. "Do you not like it?"
"I didn't say that," she says quickly. "I was just wondering...I mean, you said you wanted..." She trails off as she bites down on her lower lip and drops her gaze to her lap.
"Oh, don't you worry, sweetheart," I say. "We'll get to that."
The food arrives shortly; the plates are set before us, and more wine is poured. Finally, we're alone again. I eat without tasting. I drink without feeling. All I can focus on is what comes after. When she's done with her meal and everything's been cleared away and it's just the two of us—alone in this dark room—I feel as though I can finally breathe. Like I've been waiting for this moment for years.
Cara frowns when more workers come in and begin to remove everything. The tablecloth and the table included. I stand and reach for her hand, pulling her up as they remove her chair as well. "W-What's going on...?"
"Mr. Hale?" The same server who has been with us all night stops before me. "Is there anything else you require?"
"Leave the wine and the cart," I order. "And you may go."
He nods and bows his head ever so slightly before he and the others slip from the room, and once again, we're alone. "Ace?" Cara's sweet voice is like music to my ears. Gentle. Lyrical. Nervous.
I release her and take a seat, reaching for the wineglass I'd been nursing all night from where it rested on the cart. "It's time," I tell her. "To repay me for your life, Cara."
"R-Repay you?"
"Dance," I say. "I want to see you dance for me. Just a dance."
Her arms come up and cross over her front, each hand gripping at the others' elbow. "This is about what you were talking about the night..." She swallows. "The night we met," she finishes. It's even cute how she doesn't verbally admit the truth. The night we met...I chuckle at the thought. She means the night I had her kidnapped. Quite possibly the best mistake I've ever made.
"Yes," I tell her. "One dance and you can go home without having to worry about your next semester's tuition. I think it's a fair price, don't you?" I take a long swallow from my glass and set it down as I lift one leg and cross my ankle over my knee.
She bites her lip as if she's truly considering saying no. I know she's not. For a girl like her—and yes, I had her looked into properly this time—one semester of no worries will be a godsend. Finally, her eyes harden, and she nods.
"The music is over there," I say, gesturing to a small stand set farther back. She looks over her shoulder and then turns, walking toward it.
