Font Size:

Page 12 of The Perfect Deception

His gaze shifted from the food in front of him, to the wall be­hind her ear, to the cen­ter of the room and he shrugged. “Some of us are ex­actly what we seem.”

“I don’t be­lieve that. I think we all hide pieces of our­selves. No one walks around with a sign around their neck pro­claim­ing this is the real me.”

He sliced an­other piece of steak, fin­ished chew­ing be­fore he spoke again. “And you? Who are you?”

Like she would tell him. “I’m a vam­pire,” she whis­pered.

“Ah, I guess see­ing you out in the day­light and shar­ing this gar­lic bread with you re­ally fooled me,” he said with a wink. His shoul­ders loos­ened and once again, he re­laxed.

They fin­ished their meal to­gether just as the band took the stage. In­trigued, Dina watched as they tuned their in­stru­ments be­fore be­gin­ning their set. The mu­sic was a mix of new age rock with a lit­tle jazz and funk thrown in. She was sur­prised at how much she en­joyed it. Be­fore she knew it, she was tap­ping her hands on the ta­ble to the beat. The other sur­pris­ing thing? Adam knew the mu­sic, even singing along at times. She never would have pegged him as some­one who liked this mu­sic style—it wasn’t flashy or trendy enough. At least, she didn’t think it was.

Her nos­trils filled with his spicy clean af­ter­shave. Some­thing about his scent made her want to move closer to him, which was in­sane. She barely knew him, they were in pub­lic and there was a ta­ble of food sep­a­rat­ing them.

“How do you like the band?” he asked.

She nod­ded her head. “They’re great. I’ve never heard of them be­fore.” Of course, she wasn’t up on mu­sic, so that didn’t mean any­thing.

“They’re in­die and fairly new. They’re orig­i­nally from Chicago. Glad you’re en­joy­ing your­self.” He shifted his chair closer and placed his hand on the ta­ble close to hers. Their fin­gers brushed against each other. The con­tact sent jolts of elec­tric­ity up Dina’s arm.

He twined his fin­gers through hers and she stilled. Did he feel it too? Or was this how he acted with ev­ery­one? When the set ended and the lights came back on, she ex­pected him and his sup­ple fin­gers to move back to his side of the ta­ble. But he stayed where he was and took a dessert menu from the waiter. “We can share,” he said. The waiter walked away. “See any­thing you like?”

She had an in­sane de­sire to say, “Yes, you.” But he was talk­ing about dessert. Her face heated as her mind wan­dered down a path it re­ally shouldn’t go on a first-slash-sec­ond-date-that-didn’t-mean-any­thing-and-would-never-go-any­where. She shook her head to clear it and tried to dis­tract her­self with thoughts of food.

Glanc­ing over at him, she re­al­ized he was still wait­ing for an an­swer. De­spite the fact she’d been star­ing at the menu, she had no idea what was writ­ten there. “I’ll just have some ice cream.”

He nod­ded, or­dered for the two of them and fid­dled with the sil­ver­ware on the ta­ble.

“I never would have pegged you for some­one who liked in­die bands,” she said.

He gave a wry grin. “Me nei­ther. It showed up on my Pan­dora one day while I was run­ning.”

“You run?”

Nod­ding, he flipped the fork first one way then the other.

The mo­tion of his hands mes­mer­ized her—watch­ing the play of the ten­dons as he spun the fork, see­ing his fin­gers stretch as he strove not to drop the fork on the ta­ble, catch­ing the light glint­ing off the sil­ver­ware and the gold chain around his wrist.

“Five miles a day,” he said.

She started. Five miles…oh, yeah. Run­ning. “Great ex­er­cise.”

“Do you run?”

“Only if some­one’s chas­ing me. Even then, I’d prob­a­bly sur­ren­der. I pre­fer walk­ing, prefer­ably in the woods.”

“Have you walked any of the county trails?”

She started to nod, but the lights dimmed. The band re­turned for their fi­nal set. This time, his near­ness dis­tracted her—the touch of his shoul­der as he rocked in his seat in time to the beat, the thrum of his voice as he sang a pri­vate con­cert just for her. She re­mem­bered the first set for the mu­sic, but this sec­ond set was all about Adam. Spot­lights from the stage glinted off his hair, cre­at­ing streaks of white gold and cop­per. His sil­hou­ette re­minded her of Greek sculp­tures in the mu­seum—proud nose, firm chin, prom­i­nent cheek­bones, wide fore­head. Mus­cles in his fore­arms flexed be­neath his black sleeve as he played air gui­tar or im­i­tated the drum­mer.

When it was over, a breath­less feel­ing con­stricted the breath in her chest. She took a hasty sip of wa­ter.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

When she nod­ded, he held out her chair and walked with her to­ward the door, his hand against the small of her back.

“Adam Man­del?”

He dropped his hand from her back. “Hey, Seth, how ya doin’?”




Top Books !
More Top Books

Treanding Books !
More Treanding Books