37. Marina

37

MARINA

M arina had a death grip on Peter's hand, not because her shoes were dangerously high and the heel was so thin that she was afraid it would snap if she made a wrong move. And it wasn't even the opulence of the plush, velvet-covered curved chairs in the circular booths. The people truly took her breath away, the faces she recognized from television and movies, from the glossy pages of magazines and gossip columns. They were the elite, the kind of people she'd never dreamt of meeting, nor had she wanted to.

And yet here she was, the lowly human girl who had grown up as a serf in a Kra-ell compound rubbing elbows with the crème de la crème.

The hostess led them to their table, a secluded corner booth cast in shadows, intimate, that would hide her from the crowd to which she didn't belong.

Peter guided her into the booth and slid in beside her, his body a solid, comforting presence that anchored her to the moment and shielded her from her anxiety and feeling of inadequacy.

"Your server will be with you momentarily," the hostess said. "Can I offer you something to drink while you review the menu?"

"Yes, please," Peter said. "The bottle of wine I reserved."

The hostess's eyes glistened with excitement, but Marina felt that it wasn't because she found Peter hot, or maybe it was, but it wasn't the only reason. "Of course. I'll be right back with your bottle."

Marina leaned against his arm. "She seemed very happy about the bottle you reserved. Does she get a cut?"

"Probably." He leaned in close, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of her neck in a way that made her shiver with anticipation. "I'm glad you don't feel intimidated by all this."

"Oh, I do. I'm very happy to be hiding in this booth with you." She turned to face him and brushed her lips over his. "Doing all kinds of naughty things that we are not supposed to do."

Peter's eyes started glowing. "Did I tell you already how much I love you?"

She smiled. "You did, but I don't mind hearing it again and again."

"You are perfect."

"Thank you." She batted her eyelashes. "Tell me more."

He fake-groaned. "I've created a monster." He kissed the pulse point on her neck, the spot he liked to bite.

"But you love me anyway." Smiling, she let herself sink into the plush, velvet-covered cushions of the booth.

The hostess returned with the wine and made a big production of uncorking it, pouring it into their glasses, and then waiting for them to approve.

Marina didn't know much about wines, but this one tasted exquisite, and she told the hostess that.

"Wonderful." The woman beamed.

"You'll have to order for me," Marina told Peter after the hostess left. "I don't understand most of the menu. What language is it written in?"

"Snobbish."

She laughed. "Seriously."

"French."

"Do you know French?"

He nodded. "But the easiest and best way to order in this place is to get the day's special. All the items are perfectly coordinated and complementary."

"That's convenient." She let out a relieved breath. "That's what I'll have."

The menu didn't have prices, and she wasn't going to ask how much it cost because Peter wouldn't tell her.

As the meal began, Marina got lost in the culinary sensations. Every item was a work of art and a symphony of flavors and textures that danced on her tongue and made her moan with pleasure.

The portions were small, almost laughably so, but each was a masterpiece. The chef and his helpers must all be obsessed perfectionists to produce things that looked and tasted like that, and she could understand why people were willing to spend a fortune on the experience.

Through it all, Peter's hand occasionally wandered to her thigh beneath the table, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her skin that made her pulse race.

She didn't know when he was going to up the game, but she was sure he would do so soon. His eyes had been glowing throughout the evening, but he somehow managed to keep his fangs from elongating.

When the first bottle of wine was gone, Peter ordered a new one and poured them both a glass.

He lifted his and waited for her to do the same. "To life, love, and joy."

Marina repeated the toast and clinked her glass against Peter's, the sound ringing out like a bell in the hushed, intimate space of the booth.

It was then that Peter's hand began to wander higher, and his fingers brushed against the soft, sensitive skin of her upper inner thigh, eliciting a strangled moan from her throat.

A flicker of fear mingled with excitement as he coaxed her legs to part wider, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the thought of being caught in such a compromising position. But then Peter's lips were at her ear, his voice low and husky with desire as he whispered to her in the darkness.

"No one can see," he murmured, his fingers doing naughty things, teasing and tormenting her in a way that made her squirm on the soft velvet seat. "Lean back and enjoy, love."

She let her head fall back against the cushions of the booth, and her eyes fluttered closed as Peter's fingers dipped into the soft, slick heat of her core.

As he teased and tormented her, she bit back a moan, her hips arching up to meet his touch, and as he brought her to the brink of ecstasy and then pulled back, leaving her gasping and trembling with need, she nearly lost her mind.

It was a delicious torture, a sweet, agonizing pleasure that left her breathless and dizzy with desire. In the dark, intimate cocoon of their booth, with Peter's touch setting her skin on fire and his lips whispering wicked, delicious promises in her ear, Marina found that she didn't care if anyone heard her moan or saw her expression of ecstasy.

She was lost as he held her on the edge for so long that she was ready to scream, and when he finally whispered in her ear the command to come, she bit so hard on her lip that she drew blood.

Long moments passed until her heartbeat stabilized, and she opened her eyes. "That was positively wicked." Marina reached with her hand and cupped him over his pants. "What about you?"

"Don't worry about me, love." He removed her hand and leaned to kiss her. "I have everything planned."

She snorted. "Do I even want to know?"