VLAD
She had to see my intentions. Millie wasn’t naive. Following the hostess through the winding restaurant, Millie had to know there was a reason I chose this place, and it wasn’t because they served elevated versions of the pub fare she left behind.
I had been dying to know what her wine-soaked lips might taste like. Ever since that afternoon on the sidewalk, I wanted to feel how perfect it would be to have her body underneath mine. I already craved to undo each button running down her front. As I helped her out of her trench coat, I had to keep myself from peeling back another layer too.
There were too many eyes here, but Millie let me get her alone… there would be no going back.
“Do you come here often?” Millie wondered after the waiter went off with our drink orders.
“I’ve only been here a few times,” I confessed. “The dishes here reminded me of your stories about Dublin. I thought they might bring back a happy memory.”
“And how many times have you visited the hotel?”
Millie’s knowing brown eyes flashed up from her menu. It was almost too much to handle. With her tempting gaze, I could have pulled Millie onto the white tablecloth and ruined everything there, but I knew how to keep myself composed. It just didn’t help that the faintest hint of black lace peeked out from behind her top and curved perfectly around her cleavage. The table suddenly had Millie feeling too far away. I took it all in stride, though.
Heightened anticipation was often a gift.
“Once,” I answered honestly. “I went to a conference here.”
“And did you stay the night?”
“For convenience, yes.”
“And how about tonight?”
I chuckled under my breath. She knew how to go for the kill, didn’t she?
“If you want to know, I haven’t booked a room assuming we might need it,” I confessed. “However…”
“However?” she repeated with piqued interest.
“That doesn’t mean I’m not willing,” I answered. “Let’s just see how dinner goes.”
Her smile warmed. “Sounds fine by me.”
By then, the waiter returned our bottle of Merlot and the night's specials. It was easy for us to relax into the rich flavors of spice and dark berries that lingered on the palate. Over our seasonal salads, Millie began to ask about what I do beyond teaching.
“I work with a startup,” I remarked casually. “It’s a crowdfunding scheme.”
“You make it sound nefarious,” she teased lightly before slipping her fork into her mouth.
“It’s nothing like that, I promise. It’s to help people who might struggle with the American banking system grow their ideas and businesses. Everybody has to be vetted, so there aren’t any scammers. We’ve helped several businesses earn storefronts in Chicago or grow their brand.”
“It sounds amazing,” Millie mused, “but I can’t help feeling like this might be personal.”
“It is, in a way.”
Her voice softened. “Did you struggle?”
“My father,” I answered before taking a long drink of wine.
Millie rested her head in her head. Her head tilted as she studied me. It wasn’t fair how her loose stray curls framed her cheeks. I thought the tempting look before was dangerous, but this soft sincerity could easily destroy my heart.
“If I may ask, how?” she asked in such a gentle way.
“He worked with his hands,” I began. “When we came here for my education, my family wasn’t covered by the scholarships I received, but they couldn’t let me leave Russia alone. My mother couldn’t bear it, so my father thought he would come here and work as a handyman or a contractor. He had done that work for years back home. He just had never done it on his own, and when he needed help growing his business, getting loans for a work truck or doing his taxes, he struggled. It wasn’t about the language barrier, either.”
“The system is designed for a very specific set of people,” Millie offered empathetically. “They know how to make it difficult for others.”