Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 115388 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115388 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Each flavor had been a key.
Each course, a door that I had unassumingly walked through.
While she was letting me taste her childhood, she had also served me her softness, her sweetness, her fire.
And that was when it hit me—the band, the scents, the taste of the food, the texture of it and even her all so visually captivating too.
This is not a meal. It is a seduction.
I blinked.
But she’s not seducing my cock. . .she’s going after my soul.
She watched me with this knowing smile.
Here I was talking dirty to her, licking her fingers and unable to keep my mouth off her skin, while she was giving me a slow, sensory ambush—one I’d never seen coming.
I thought I had seized control, but. . .Nyomi was disarming me with warmth, food, and feminine power.
And. . .I was enjoying it.
Interesting.
There was danger here—no blade in sight, no gun at my back—but the kind of danger that crawled beneath the skin.
Emotional exposure.
Trust.
The terrifying ache of wanting to belong to someone who could break me open with a sweet smile.
Have I been the prey since the meal began? Or did it start when I walked over the threshold?
It didn’t matter what the answer was to those questions because I had no one to protect me from this, not my Roar, Fangs, Claws, nor Eyes.
Goddamn it. No wonder Hiroko stopped clearing her throat. She knew I was trapped.
I glanced at the shadows where Hiroko watched me with this victorious smile.
Well. . .
Frowning, I took another bite of the black-eyed pea cake, already accepting my delicious defeat.
I can’t even think. Her food is so good. So perfect. She really can fucking cook.
I closed my eyes for a long breath and then opened them again.
Fine. They win this round also. Although. . .I feel like they’ve won other rounds that I didn’t even know were there.
Chapter thirty
Sip. Sway. Sin.
Kenji
Soon, one waitress silently appeared, bowed, and began to remove the trays.
The other waitress returned and placed two cocktails in front of us.
Hmmm. My Tiger is pairing the meals too?
Each glass was a small work of art—delicate crystal, filled with something the color of fire. There was a curl of orange zest floating on top, and the glass was so cold it clouded near the base.
I studied it. "What is this?"
"It’s the Bronx Cocktail. Which is funny since it was invented in Philadelphia, not New York.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. A Bronx restaurateur discovered it in 1905 while visiting Philly.”
“What’s in it?”
“So. . .the cocktail is four parts gin, one part orange juice, and one-part Italian vermouth."
I stared at her. "You memorize cocktail trivia?"
"Only the ones that matter."
"And this one matters?"
She shrugged. "This was the first alcoholic drink I ever had."
I lifted the glass and swirled the liquid gently. "When did you have it?”
"My parents had this huge party at our house. Black-tie. Politicians. Business moguls. Basically, all these important people my father wanted to impress. I was thirteen. They told me to stay in my room. But I snuck downstairs in my pajamas and socks like a damn spy, and when one of the servers wasn’t looking, I swiped a glass of this."
"You’re a thief."
"I would like to say I am sneaky when necessary.”
I took a sip. The taste was stronger than I anticipated, biting at the back of my throat with a tangy twist that left an aftertaste of sweet vermouth.
I quirked my brows. “You drank this at thirteen? How did that go for you?"
“I was fucked up for days.”
"I bet you were." I sipped more, enjoying the taste. Cold. Crisp. Citrusy with that vermouth depth curling through it. "This is very good."
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I do.” I lifted my glass toward her. "To rebellious tigers and stolen cocktails."
She clinked hers against mine. "To dragons with rose-pierced cocks."
I blinked. “Careful, Tora. I’m very close to taking it out.”
We both laughed.
Then she added, "your turn. What’s your first drink story?"
“No. It’s bloody.”
“I still want to hear it.”
“Yours is sweet and innocent—”
“I want to learn more about you, Kenji. That’s why people sit down together and eat.”
“Hmmm.” I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling for a beat. The lights were dim and golden. The whole club felt like it floated somewhere between sin and memory. "I was fifteen. We were in Kyoto. A deal had gone sideways and my older brother, Jobon had to clean up the mess. I was supposed to just watch. Be quiet. But things escalated."
Her gaze softened. "Someone died?"
"Three people died. I didn’t pull any triggers, but. . .my hands and face were covered in blood.”
“Oh my God.”
“I told you it was bloody.”
“But then what happened?”
“I helped my brother clean everything up.”
“All the blood and bodies?”
“Yes.”
She widened her eyes. “Holy shit.”
“When we got back home, my brother drank from a whole bottle of whiskey but handed me a glass of lychee sake and said, ‘This is what men do. We bury one thing and drink the other.’"