The aroma was a mix of coffee, sausage and fresh bread, making her stomach react. She hadn’t eaten since she’d arrived in the United States. The entry was narrow, and it looked like there would be a long wait. Ricco didn’t try to push his way to the front of the line, but the moment they stepped inside, all conversation ceased. Enzo and Emilio had squeezed in behind them, blocking the door, and she felt claustrophobic. She detested small places and now they were packed in like sardines in a can.

One by one heads turned until it seemed that every single person was staring at her. Ricco seemed to sense her dismay and he shifted, putting his body between hers and the rest of the room.

“Mr. Ferraro,” the hostess said brightly. “Your table is ready. Emilio, we have yours ready as well.”

“Thanks, Imeldia.” Ricco sent the woman a smile and moved through the crowd, murmuring to several people.

Mariko noted Emilio and Enzo kept pace tightly behind him, as if they feared someone might try to hurt him – or that he might fall. She let her gaze sweep the restaurant as they followed the hostess back behind her small greeting table to another room that opened into a large floor space. The floor was tiled with wide red squares and the tables were very simple. Nearly every table was taken. Just as had happened in the entryway, every person looked up and conversation ceased.

“Does this always happen?” she asked as Ricco pulled out her chair. She was happy to see that the table was more secluded than the rest, one step up in a little alcove.

The hostess handed her a menu, hesitated, and when Ricco continued to look only at Mariko, walked away. Mariko realized that although Ricco had nodded to many of the customers, clearly knowing them, his attention had been centered on her. He made her feel as if she were the only woman he saw – maybe the only person.

“Does what always happen?” He seated himself across from her. “Everything is good here. Imeldia’s parents are phenomenal chefs.”

She picked up the menu because she needed to do something with her hands. She wasn’t the nervous type, but she couldn’t relax. She was just too aware of him and everything about him. She found herself looking for the shadows in the room. Immediately she realized this table was held for the Ferraros and it was where others couldn’t overhear what was said. The shadows blurred their images so they had a semblance of privacy.

“Everyone staring at you.”

He looked around. “I guess I don’t pay attention anymore. We’re in Ferraro territory, and most of those in here, I consider ours. If it bothers you, we can go somewhere else. I wanted you to get to know me, and these people are part of who I am.”

She looked around as well. Most of those in the restaurant had gone back to eating, but Ricco Ferraro was clearly considered a celebrity. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he had to sign autographs before he left. Enzo and Emilio were at a table close by and she realized they could – and probably would – stop anyone from bothering him as he ate.

“It doesn’t bother me. I’m just not used to it. And they aren’t just staring at you, they’re staring at me, too.”

“That’s because I don’t bring women home.”

The admission was said in such a low tone she almost didn’t catch it, but she heard the ring of truth. Her gaze jumped to his. “Never?”

“Never. This is part of my home. Our territory. My family owns quite a bit of the real estate here. I’ve known a lot of the business owners since I was a child.”

She couldn’t imagine him as a child. He was too intense. Even now, in a casual setting, he drew every eye. He exuded complete confidence, dominating the entire room without doing anything but sitting there. She knew she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“You didn’t ask me to take my clothes off,” Mariko blurted, her voice very low. He hadn’t, and she didn’t understand why.

He didn’t pretend not to understand. “You don’t know me. You would have been uncomfortable.”

He used that word often. Uncomfortable. As if her comfort meant more to him than anything else. “You’re not at all what I expected,” she admitted.

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know exactly. Not you. Someone much more…” She almost said dominant, but he was. He had a hard authority about him, and when he wanted something from anyone, she was certain he got it. Dominant was a very good way to describe him, yet at the same time, he seemed incredibly gentle and thoughtful.

He waited. When she didn’t speak he glanced up at the waitress, who’d brought him coffee and orange juice. Mariko knew immediately that he frequented Biagi’s often for breakfast. The waitress stared at him, her mouth open.

“Coffee? Tea? Orange Juice?” he asked Mariko. Ricco, not the waitress. The waitress was far too busy trying to get his attention by flipping her hair. Again, he seemed to only notice Mariko.

“Tea and orange juice would be lovely, thank you,” she said. If he could ignore the ridiculous eyes the waitress kept making at him, so could she. It was much more difficult to ignore the fact that so many of the other customers paid more attention to Ricco than to those sitting with them. She had no idea why the waitress annoyed her with her blatant flirting, as if she wasn’t even there, but for the first time in her life, she knew she didn’t want another woman to catch his interest.

“Would you have taken off your clothes had I asked?” Ricco inquired once they were alone again.

His voice was soft and dark with a sensual magic that sent heat rushing through her bloodstream. She felt that voice as if it had penetrated every inch of her body until he was stamped inside her like a brand. He wouldn’t have asked, she was certain of that. Had he wanted her to remove her clothes, he would have made it an order. The command would have come couched in a phrase that allowed her to make the decision, but she would know that if she didn’t do what he required, he would have been very disappointed in her. She didn’t know how he could do that with just his voice, but she found herself wanting to please him when she didn’t much care about pleasing anyone.

“I don’t honestly know,” she admitted, because he would wait forever for her answer. She was beginning to recognize that he was always patient. She noted he didn’t take anything in his coffee, just drank it black. “Will you ask me to be tied without clothes?”

“I would like that, but if we never get there, we don’t. It’s that simple. It isn’t in the contract that you have to take your clothes off.”

“Did you ask any of the other models applying to take their clothes off?”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t necessary. The female body is beautiful to me. There is beauty in any body type and it inspires me. Sometimes I can be moody and edgy and my art reflects that. The rope designs always look beautiful to me against bare skin, but again, it isn’t necessary. I might ask you, but Mariko, it is always your choice. Your decision. When I told you Shibari is a power exchange, that is exactly what it is. You have to get something out of it as well. Yesterday, when I tied your wrists, you liked it. You didn’t expect to, but you did.”