Enslaved (The Inbetween Novels) (23 page)

Deryck’s lips quirked into a smirk. “That’s his Monday face. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

Wolfrik stepped closer, invading Deryck’s space. “Be serious for a God damned minute, Deryck.”

“So he’s found a way to get into the human realm. He is probably looking for a way to gain more power, chasing the old tales we’ve all heard of how incubi were banished from the human realm because they could feed on the life forces available there. Herryk wants to be a god. He’ll stoop to trying anything in order to achieve it.”

Wolfrik shook his head. “This is different. I fear Herryk is searching for Shayla.”

The world swam around Deryck. His shoulders hit the fence and it rumbled again. Footsteps on the gravel path paused.

“Who’s there?” A male called.

Cursing under his breath, Wolfrik darted around Deryck toward the path. He paused and wheeled back around. “Check on her and meet me back here tonight. There is more you need to know.”

Wolfrik vanished behind the bushes. His deep voice took on a soothing tone and edged away from Deryck’s hiding spot toward the dining hall.

Deryck took a shaky breath and ran a hand through his damp hair. Shayla was in trouble and the blame lay at his feet. He pushed off the fence. His feet ate up the ground on his way to his barracks. He needed to shower and get to the human realm as quickly as possible. Herryk could not, would not lay so much as a finger on his woman so long as he still breathed.

A cool spring breeze wrapped around Shayla’s bare legs through the open car door. Stepping out, she smoothed down the back of her dress—one she’d run out and bought two hours before the date after realizing she had nothing to wear except the dress she’d already worn on her not-quite date with Deryck. She took a deep breath. The air felt heavy, as though waiting for something. Shayla looked up to find the stars obscured by clouds.

“One last rain before the heat hits.” She loved the rain, but hoped it would wait until she climbed in bed later.

Her Mazda locked with a flash of lights and a muffled thump. Shayla ran a hand through her hair, which she hadn’t bothered to do much with other than blow dry it after her shower. It flowed wildly around her shoulders and tangled in her earrings. When she checked her purse to make sure she’d grabbed her phone, Shayla realized she was stalling.
Man up and walk over there.

Shayla crossed the parking lot. Harry walked around the corner of the restaurant and gifted her with a smile reaching all the way up to his eyes. His sport coat hugged his shoulders like a second skin and offered a peek of the royal purple shirt underneath. The collar of his shirt was open. He looked relaxed, but well groomed. She felt like she’d rolled out of bed, thrown on her second-best dress and ran out here to tell him off.

“You look magnificent, Shayla.” Harry closed the distance between them and claimed her hand to kiss her knuckles.

“You don’t look half bad yourself.” Discreetly, she pulled her hand free of his. Shayla made a point of walking toward the front door of the restaurant to keep him from trying any other smooth moves like the kiss.

Harry slid his arm across the small of her back and steered her into the building. “These old clothes?” He laughed, low and warm. “I put on the first thing I found.”

“Your closet must be a love letter to designer clothes, then.” She wanted to step away, but the hostess was already there, offering them a table or a booth.

“A table in the back, please.” Harry flashed his smile her way.

The hostess grabbed a pair of cream-colored menus. “Follow me, please.”

They trailed behind her through the tables. An eerie sense of déjà vu struck Shayla. Only this time, there was someone at her side leading her to her seat. She wasn’t left alone to suffer the curious glances of fellow diners. As horrible as it was, she wished Deryck were the one beside her. Harry wasn’t bad to look at. She just didn’t have the same sort of connection with him. She certainly wouldn’t have invited him over to watch movies while she wore a five-year-old sweater and jeans that’d seen better days. Harry didn’t inspire that sort of comfort.

Assured she was doing the right thing, Shayla felt better than she had since agreeing to come to dinner. She slid into her seat, grateful to be sitting. Her new state of mind did nothing to stop the tremors running down her legs. Walking in heels was bad enough with worrying how one’s date would take rejection.

“I’ve heard they have an amazing chicken Parmesan.” Harry flipped open her menu and pointed to the section labeled Poultry.

“That sounds good.” Shayla read through the other offerings, looking for something lighter. She hated eating big meals in front of people.

Their waiter approached, a smile plastered on his face. She hated to tell him a nice smile wouldn’t magically double his tip. “Good evening, folks. My name is Matt. Can I get you anything to drink? We have an extensive wine list to choose from.”

Harry didn’t even look up from his menu. “A bottle of Hartford Highwire Zinfandel.”

“Excellent choice, sir. Are you ready to order your food, as well?”

Again, Harry spoke without meeting the waiter’s eyes. “The lady will have the chicken Parmesan. I will have the New York strip with blue cheese. Caesar salads to start.”

Shayla opened her mouth to change her order, but the waiter scurried off to place their order. She looked back at Harry, astounded at the way he’d treated the waiter and her.

“I can order for myself.” Shayla warned herself to stay calm. How could he know she didn’t want to eat something heavy when she didn’t say anything?

 
“I’m sorry, Shayla. It’s an old habit.”

Her irritation cooled a little. “Let me order dessert and we’ll call it even.”

“It’s a deal.”

The waiter appeared again with two glasses and the bottle of wine. He pulled the cork from the bottle and set it upside down on a small plate at the edge of the table. “Would you like to taste it, sir?”

“No, that’ll be fine. This is a favorite of mine.”

Shayla watched the deep red wine flow into their glasses and shook her head. She didn’t know anything about wine. The bottle in front of her could cost two dollars or a hundred; she wouldn’t know the difference, even after tasting it. Some people needed better hobbies than studying vineyards. Harry was, apparently, one of those people. Maybe he collected wine. She’d heard of people doing such a thing.

“Your salads will be out momentarily.” Matt turned.

“Leave the bottle, please.” Harry slid the basket of bread to the far edge of the table.

Matt put the bottle in the cleared spot, flashed a smile—which might have been a nervous tick at Harry’s behavior—and left them again.

Shayla picked up her glass of wine and took a test sniff. It smelled okay, for wine. “How was your day?” She really needed better small talk lines.

“Same as always, dull until I was gifted with your smile.”

A blush crept up her cheeks. She wished she’d put on foundation under the powder she slapped on her face before running out the door. Seeking a way out of responding to Harry’s flirting, Shayla scanned the room for their waiter and the salads he’d promised. He stood across the room, taking orders from a pair of giggling women with far too much cleavage showing. It’d be a while before he tore his eyes away for her to wave him down and rush their dinner along.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Shayla’s eyes drifted to Harry’s concerned face. “What?”

“You look like you’re searching for the escape hatch.” He took a hearty sip of his wine, dark eyes watching her over the rim of his glass.

Damn he’s observant.
Shayla shook her head. “I skipped lunch today to catch up on paperwork. I’m so hungry, the table cloth is looking good.” To drive her point home—and to shut herself up—she grabbed a piece of spice bread from the basket at the end of the table and took a huge bite.

Harry chuckled. “As long as you aren’t trying to run out on our date.”

She hid her cringe by taking a sip of her wine. It wasn’t half bad and didn’t leave a strange taste in her mouth.
Must be what good wine tastes like.

Blessedly, their salads arrived moments later. Shayla dug in, her rouse of being hungry tricked her mind into eating without care in front of someone else. She forked up the last bite of salad just in time for the entrees to take center stage. Harry watched her from across the table, idly poking his food around before carving into the steak.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said when she swiped up the last bit of sauce from her plate with a scrap of rosemary dinner roll.

Heat crept up her face again. “I’m sorry. Normally I don’t eat like that.”
Unless there’s ice cream involved, then you might end up missing a finger if you get in my way.

“An appetite on a woman is always a good thing, no matter the current beauty standard.” Harry flagged down their waiter with a careless flip of his hand in the air. Before it settled back on the table, the waiter was there—like magic.

“Are you ready for dessert?” Matt held out a thin menu.

Shayla snatched it up before Harry had a chance to bully her into something he chose. She scanned the handful of dessert options—who the hell orders blue cheese for dessert?—and found exactly what she wanted.

“Blueberry cheesecake, whipped cream on the side.” She handed the menu back and smiled at Harry, feeling she’d gotten one over on him.

“Add two coffees to that, please.”

Nodding, Matt pulled his disappearing act one more time. Shayla gave up trying to track his quick pace through the maze of tables at the back of the room. Unfortunately, when she looked across the table, she met Harry’s eyes.
It’s now or never, Shayla. Man up and tell him what’s going on.

“Harry, I—“

“It’s been a wonderful night, Shayla. You’ve made a long, dull day one of the best in a long time. Thank you for this. It is a gift I can never repay.” His hands slid over the white tablecloth and claimed hers.

The sincerity in his words pushed back everything she wanted to. Was she being unfair to Harry? She’d met Deryck first, even though he’d scared the crap out of her. It wasn’t her intention to toy with either of them, yet here she was, debating whether or not she could keep seeing both of them.

Her fingers tightened down on his. Shayla smiled. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner.”

It was lame, a complete cop-out. However, Shayla couldn’t look at Harry over the table and send him packing. There wasn’t enough privacy for what she needed to say.
After dessert
, she promised herself.
After dessert, I’ll let him down nicely. Maybe we can be just friends.
She cringed at the thought before it’d fully formed in her mind. No man, no matter how secure with himself, wanted to be friends with a woman they were romantically interested in. It was a sentence worse than death in their eyes.