Creatus (Creatus Series) by Carmen DeSousa

dying under his hands and now she was on his arm. It felt surreal, and for a moment, he also wondered if it was real. The day had been going great; until he’d gone and offered that he’d tell her everything later and then practically growled at the valet, that is. Even though she didn’t seem uncomfortable touching him, he felt like a moron. He could only hope that his tiff wouldn’t fuel her alarm when he told her the truth.
    He pulled out a chair for her to sit and then took a seat across from her. “I’m sorry, Kristina. I didn’t mean to be brash with the valet.”
    She shrugged. “I’m okay,” she said in a soft whisper, leaning forward. “He just looked so scared that it sort of took me by surprise. I’ve never thought of you as scary; though, I guess I should have.”
    “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
    Kristina reached across the table and ran her fingertips across his hand, sending a thrill through his chest, and surprisingly, an ache in his heart. It was already happening , he thought. He’d been with women before. It shouldn’t be happening from a simple kiss. Of course, the kiss wasn’t simple. He’d tried to play if off, but it had unlocked something within him. And for some reason, he would have sworn that she had felt it too.
    She tilted her head as if to get his attention, but waited to speak until he locked eyes with her. “I’m not afraid of you, Derrick.”
    He nodded and turned his arm so he could take her hand in his. “Thank you.”
    The waiter bounced over to the table. “Top of the day to you. Will you be starting off with a cocktail or beer?”
    Derrick glanced up at the rail thin college kid with a white shirt and green bow tie. Ah, right. St. Patrick’s Day. “Water’s fine.”
    “Umm...” Kristina looked over the menu and his eyes jolted to hers. Certainly she couldn’t be thinking about drinking. It could kill her. She’d be able to drink again, but not after drying out in just two days. “Water for me too, please,” she finally answered, allowing him to relax.
    “And two orders of oysters on the half-shell,” Derrick added before the waiter skipped off.
    “Two?”
    “I’m hungry.” He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. “Can I ask you something?”
    She nodded.
    “Were you thinking about drinking?”
    “Only fleetingly. I remember what you said. But I don’t need it. I know I drank a lot. Every night for the last few years, in fact. But I’m pretty sure I’m not an alcoholic.”
    “People often confuse ‘use’ with alcoholism,” he said. “They don’t understand that your body becomes reliant on it. It doesn’t mean you can’t ever drink again—if in fact you aren’t an alcoholic—but you need to wait.”
    “I’m fine,” she said as a dismissal, glancing toward Long Wharf and then to the aquarium. Everywhere but him.
    Derrick squeezed her hand to get her attention. “I won’t ask again.” Though he’d been her protector, he wasn’t her guardian. And he didn’t plan to treat her as though he was, but he was still concerned for her health.
    She retracted her hand under the guise of unwrapping her silverware, but he could hear her irritation as she ground her teeth together. “So something else I remembered from the other day has been bothering me, Derrick. About how you always knew where I was. Something about tracking my cell phone?”
    “I only did it when you didn’t come home . It’s not as though I watched you every minute of your life. I do work,” he ground out, a bite in his voice that he had no right to utter. She had every right to be nervous. He softened his tone and tried again. “I’d just got in the habit of driving by your place. And if you didn’t come home, I looked for you.”
    “I want you to turn it off,” she snapped.
    “Okay.”
    She bit down on her lip, nodding as if pleased, even if somewhat confused. “That was easy enough.”
    He reached for her hand again. “You’re here. You’re safe.