Page 57 of To Have and to Stalk
Then I quickly realized I was still holding his hand. I tore mine away with so much force that I stumbled backward. He steadied me with a hand at my waist.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m nervous.”
“Don’t apologize.” His grip tightened slightly at my hip. “It’s my job to make you comfortable.”
I froze, suddenly flushed. I was a bundle of fucking nerves, and instead of making me feel bad about it, he took them as somethinghehad to overcome. That…was unexpectedlyhot.
“I look forward to getting you out of your head,” he said, and shot me a crooked and dazzling white smile. His tongue pressed against his canine, like he was teasing me.
My gut did a somersault.
“Ready?” he asked.
I blinked. “What?”
The right side of his mouth curved. “For dinner.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.”
Calder’s hand found my lower back, ushering me through the door. He careened me through the waiting crowd, angling his body so they were blocked. The hostess noticed him and picked up two menus, pulling a book out of the bookshelf behind her. The shelf opened up into a speakeasy-style restaurant.
It was dark save for candlelight—real candlelight. Skinny, tapered candles dripped ghostly white wax from wall sconces and flickered against matte-black walls. In the center of each table was a cascade of melted candles.
The room felt soft, secret.
Calder’s hand was a hot weight on my lower back, melting through two layers of fabric. He kept his body between mine and the restaurant, fingers pressing against my lower back whenever he wanted me to change direction.
By the time we reached the table, my teeth were tingling like I’d just eaten too much sugar.
His hand left my back and I instantly—insanely—missed it.
He pulled out a chair for me.
“Thank you,” I said, sliding into the black velvet wingback. Hushed conversation and the occasional plink of silverware were our ambiance.
“Have you been here before?” he asked.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I didn’t even know this place existed.”
Calder didn’t immediately pick up the menu. He sat still, gaze on me, attention fixed. My gut did another flip.
“Can I get you any drinks to start?” A waitress appeared out of thin air. “Or do you need some time?”
He didn’t take his eyes off me when he answered. “We need time.”
I couldn’t look away from him. His gaze made me feel like when I was nineteen and first tried tequila.
Heady.
Reckless.
The room dulled into something soft and diffused, my blood warm and thick like melted caramel.
His eyes were an intense dark blue that bordered on black, but in contrast, his irises had bright, almost white striations. Like ice cracking.
Oh,shit. His mouth was moving. He was speaking.
“I’m sorry, what?”Focus, Shay. You’ve managed conversation without serious injury before.
