I relaxed as he bought my lie. Yet that sense of relaxation evaporated as a flash of black caught my eye and I saw Hades in the corner, his eyes intent on us. His gaze was heavy, difficult to carry. My lips turned up in satisfaction, having achieved the impossible, shocking Hades.
Des held out his forearm. “Shall we?” He nodded to the table that was always reserved for us on Wednesdays at the best Italian place in town.
I took his arm. “We shall.”
Though I was focused on Des the entire night, though I did not look in his direction once, I knew he watched us. For the entire fucking night.
Hades followed me home, his headlights shining in my rearview mirror. My hands had been clenched on the steering wheel, my stomach swirling with nerves. I didn’t know why. How many times had I been sure, certain that something was finally going to happen between me and Hades? How many times had exactly nothing happened between me and Hades?
Okay, maybe not nothing.
The man hadn’t even touched me, yet I felt more connected to him than I had any other man in the world.
Tonight … tonight somehow felt different. I hadn’t missed the way he watched me throughout the entire dinner with Des, causing me to struggle to concentrate on the man in front of me, the one I loved and had missed dearly.
There was something else tonight. We’d reached a bottleneck. Something had to give. Something had to fucking explode.
I was shaking when I got out of my car, the sound of my heels against the concrete ringing in my ears. Hades’s bike turned off, but he didn’t get off immediately. There was no thump of motorcycle boots, no heat against my back.
He didn’t enter my house until I’d retrieved a bottle of red and a glass. He was a shadow against the lights.
“Des,” he grunted. “Explain.”
I sighed, trying my very hardest not to smile as I poured myself a glass of wine. The look on Hades’s face when he saw Des was nothing short of priceless. I’m pretty sure no one had surprised the badass biker like that in a long time. It had been extremely satisfying. Not just that, but I was satisfied that I’d made him jealous. Of course, Des had no knowledge of this, but the second I agreed to meet him for dinner, I decided to play it up. I needed to feel like I wasn’t completely insane or pathetic. Because I was developing feelings for Hades. The attraction I felt toward him grew every single day.
The need for him.
Every night, after listening to him close his bedroom door—usually it was in the very early hours of the morning, considering the hours we both kept—my hand found its way between my legs, and I made myself come quietly, stifling my whimpers as I thought of his large, strong hands all over me. Thinking about the way he would dominate me. What his cock would feel like inside of me.
“Freya.”
I jerked, staring into a glacier blue and an emerald green eye. There was a spark in them, as if he could read my mind. Which, of course, he couldn’t. That was crazy.
I swallowed. What had he said? Oh yeah, he’d asked about Des. A safe subject, talking about a sixty-eight-year-old man to get my mind off this thirty-something man—or he could be forty. Sex gods seemed to be ageless.
“I met him in a grocery store,” I answered, refusing to meet his eyes. “He was behind me in line. I had a bunch of stuff, like a bunch. More than I should’ve had for a woman who lives alone, but it was that time of the month, and I’d just watched the Food Network for like six hours straight and ... yeah.” I picked up my glass, lifting it to my lips to take a sip because my throat was suddenly unbearably dry. “Even though there were all of those self-service lines open, he came behind me with some antacids and seltzer water,” I continued, finally feeling brave enough to meet Hades’s eyes.
There was no longer anything glacial about his stare. Nothing at fucking all. It was an inferno.
“He struck up a conversation,” I pressed on, my voice shaky. “He asked me what I was planning on cooking that night. I told him. Ratatouille. I have this great recipe from my Aunt Victoria. She uses...” I didn’t bother finishing that sentence, realizing this was not the point to talk about the secret to my Aunt Victoria’s Ratatouille. “Anyway, we got to talking. It became clear that his night consisted of nothing more than a bottle of gin and a frozen dinner his daughter left for him when she was visiting. She lives in New York with her asshole husband. He loves her, and it was clear that he missed her, that she was all he had in the world.” I swallowed, not meeting Hades’s eyes. “He didn’t tell me that part out loud, I could see it in his eyes. He was lonely. Lonely enough to stand in line at the grocery store just so he could talk to people in front of him for a handful of minutes. It broke my heart. So I invited him over for Ratatouille. Then he told me about how his wife had died five years ago. How most of his buddies had died in the past decade. He got to know Sirius.” I shrugged. “We hit it off. We made a standing dinner date. Once a week. Sometimes more. Breakfast too. Late breakfast. We’ll go to the movies sometimes. I cook him dinners for when we’re not together. I’ve met his daughter. She’s lovely. Met her husband. He is an asshole. Des is my best friend, well, tied with Marilyn.”