The Assassin’s Billionaire Bodyguard
Chapter 13

Joanie smiled brightly as she placed a round tray of crushed ice and six oysters on a half-shell in front of them. No utensils were provided. She had removed the single plate which had held the walnut and fig wrapped in prosciutto amuse-bouche and passed it to someone standing just outside the screen. "Hors d'oeuvres for this evenings are oysters and pomegranate. As delicious as the dish is beautiful, the vibrant sweetness of pomegranate juice coupled with the salty brininess of the oyster will cause a flavor explosion on the tongue. Some scholars believe the fruit in the story of Adam and Eve was actually the pomegranate." She smiled as if revealing a dirty secret, "perhaps the lady would entice her date to partake in a forbidden bite?" She stood preparing to walk away and then paused as someone passed her two flutes and turned back to put the glasses in front of them, "in keeping with a biblical twist, this is a variation of the cocktail, Nectar of the Gods. In place of the typical raspberry, we have substituted a house made pomegranate liquor." Isabella waited until the woman stepped away from the enclosed booth and looked to Cam with an exasperated expression, "come on, could this place be any more of a cliché? Oysters? Champagne?"

"Are you going to complain the whole evening or are you going to let go of your preconceived notions someone is out to pull one over on you and just enjoy the ride?"

"I," she started to protest and met his amused glance with a sigh, "fine, but it's cliché."

"I happen to love oysters, but I've never had them with pomegranate." He grinned wickedly, "does the lady want to tempt me with the forbidden fruit?"

"I'm not feeding you Torres," she felt her lips twisting in amusement.

"It's Cam and by the end of the night, I'm going to have you screaming my name and begging for me to feast off you."

"If I'm screaming it likely will be in running in terror through the streets."

"You'll eat your words," he smirked.

"I'll be eating oysters first," she laughed as he chuckled at her comment. She reached for an oyster on the shell and shook it around the shell.

"You look like you know what you're doing."

"I have two brothers who both are award-winning, Michelin starred chefs," she bragged. "I've been eating weird foods since I could eat solids." She paused as she took a tiny pomegranate seed in her fingers and held it up for perusal. "Although never this combination."

They clinked the shells as if they were glasses and then downed the briny and sweet substance. Isabella paused and then crunched the pomegranate seeds. She met his gaze and then wrinkled her nose. "It's weird, right?"

"It's really weird," he said with a laugh. "I want to like it, but I don't think I do. It's -"

"Strange," she finished his thought. "Maybe it's a you-need-to-do-it-twice thing?" she questioned curiously, giggling as he hesitantly reached for the second shell. She trapped his hand, "let's try the drink first and then go back for the second shell. Maybe the booze helps."

"It's a champagne cocktail," he made a face.

"Now who's complaining?" she taunted.

He held his glass up in her direction, "to the most beautiful woman in the room."

She laughed and tapped her glass to his and took a sip and c****d her head, "this is actually pretty good."

He shuddered, "it's so sweet."

"But it pairs well with the oyster," she urged him to take the shell in his hand. "Do the oyster again and then take a sip of the cocktail."

She watched as he did as she instructed and let the flavors roll around on his tongue. He ran his tongue along his teeth and then reached for his water glass. "Well?"

"It's better with the saltiness of the oyster but it's still weird."

"Well, we need to eat everything they put in front of us or someone from the kitchen comes out like an angry mother on Sunday dinner to yell at us for not clearing our plates," she giggled as she reached for another shell and threw it back down her throat. He watched her with a smile, "did your mother make you eat everything on your plate?"

"My mother, my grandmothers, my aunts," she shook her head and mocked her mother's accent, "Isabella, no man likes such skinny hips. You need to eat and put some meat on your bones, or you'll be alone like your Aunt Tilly until the day you die." "No," Cam roared with laughter, "you can't end up like Aunt Tilly."

"I found out," she pointed her glass in his direction, "Aunt Tilly was wild. At her funeral three different men were all there as her companions. She was an artist, sculpted and painted and apparently used them for inspiration. She lived off vodka and cigarettes and died at sixty-eight from a heart attack. She was in bed with one of her companions when she passed. The three men got into a fist fight at her funeral over who she loved most. Joke was on all three of them because she left everything to her cat." "Sounds like Aunt Tilly was a scoundrel."

"But she wasn't alone like my mother suggested," she grinned wildly. She sipped her drink and shook her head. "She gave the best Christmas presents. When Raoul came out, she made him a sculpture of a naked man with a huge erect p***s she painted the colors of the pride flag. It sat on his mantel for years until he had kids. My mother was mortified."

Cam threw his head back and laughed at her story. She watched his wide mouth as he laughed merrily and the sound of his baritone rumbling chortle echoed around them in the confined area. His laugh made her heart leap joyously and she couldn't help but smile in response.

He motioned to the last two oysters on the tray, "shall we?"

She picked a few of the pomegranate seeds up with her fingers and dropped them into her mouth, "these I like a lot. If I had these," she chewed carefully, "separate from these," she pointed to the shells, "I would have been happy."

"Tough," Cam nudged the shell in her direction with the one he held in his hand. "Bottoms up."

She tossed the oyster back to her throat and swallowed it and then choked at Cam's statement. "You're good at swallowing Isabella."

She thumped her chest with her closed fist as he smirked, and his eyes were devilishly teasing. "Not cool Torres," she croaked.

Joanie stepped into their space with a smile, "how are things going in here?"

"Great," Cam smiled warmly at the hostess.

Isabella drank a mouthful of water and smiled tightly, "all good." She kicked Cam under the table as he took delight in his own joke.

"The next course will be out shortly, I'll clear these away," she looked between them as if sensing Isabella's embarrassment and then left.

Cam leaned back and kicked his legs under the table, encroaching on her side of the table and brushing against her legs. "I'm only learning about your skills Isabella, nothing to get all choked up over. Unless you like choking?"

"Oh my god," she knew her cheeks were bright red, "you're terrible."

"Oysters are an aphrodisiac."

"You're a dirty old man."

"I'm not old."

"You sure? Forty's creeping around the corner."

"The men in my family live well into their nineties and my grandfather is alive at ninety-nine and will celebrate a centennial in the New Year." His green eyes danced, "and he swears the secret to a long life is lots of whiskey and s*x. He has a girlfriend in his retirement home."

She threw her hands up in the air, "I can't even come up with a response."

"Give in Isabella, I promise you won't regret it."

Before she could answer, Joanie was back with the next course. She set down two small bowls of soup and a pair of spoons nestled between the two bowls. "This dish is a sweet potato and ginger cream soup. The aroma of ginger coupled with the creaminess of the root vegetables is an aromatic fusion of spicy and sweet. Enjoy."

Isabella leaned over the bowl, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. "Ginger is my favorite."

"Really?"

"Yes," she opened her eyes and met his curious gaze. "My heritage is Spanish, but my brothers tell me my palate is more Southeast Asian than Mediterranean." She lifted her spoon and took a sip of the creamy broth and moaned, "I'm not sure who the chef is back there but this is amazing."

Cam watched as she savored the dish, each spoonful, her eyes closing as she swallowed the creamy liquid and sighing contentedly.

Isabella realized she was three-quarters of the way through her bowl and Cam hadn't even lifted a spoon. "Are you going to try this?" She turned her spoon upside down and licked the back of it, so not to waste a drop.

"I've never in my life wanted to be a spoon so badly," his voice was low and deep as he shifted in his seat. "When she set soup down, I almost laughed wondering how this was going to be erotic, but I stand corrected." "Cam," she whispered, flushing and she set the spoon in the bowl.

"No," he lifted the spoon and put it back in her hand. "Eat every damn drop of it please."

She couldn't refuse his command, his green eyes deepening to a hue reminding her of lush tropical rainforests as she finished her soup, very aware as she enjoyed the heat of the ginger dancing on her tongue, Cam was enjoying watching her. "I feel like the subject in a voyeur film."

"I've never been one to just watch but I could be persuaded," he whispered back.

"Eat your soup."

"I might let you eat it."

She shoved his spoon in his direction and he shook his head. "Eat," she whispered, "or they'll kick us out and ban us." She giggled at his expression, laughing when he left the spoon, picked up the bowl and drank the soup. "You're a child." "I'm desperate for the next course," his wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin. "Who knew food was such a turn on?"

Isabella laughed at his disappointment when the next course was an arugula salad with fresh strawberries, a little pile of leaves chopped in a teeny-tiny dish with a drizzle of balsamic trailed over it. He whined it wasn't sexy and she laughed at his behaviour. Joanie arrived promptly to remove the salad plates and placed a glass of red wine in front of each of them. "Your first of two main courses will arrive shortly. I encourage you to talk and relax for a few moments and enjoy the wine," she left them alone again. Isabella sipped her wine and looked at Cam and realized how relaxed she was. It had been a long time since she'd been on a real date and an even longer time since she'd been on one where she felt so comfortable. "I'm having a good time." "You sound surprised." Cam teased her as he lifted his wine glass.

"I hate to admit but I am surprised," she shrugged, "I tend to struggle in social situations. I'm not always comfortable with people I'm not familiar with and it takes me a long time to warm up. I tend to have my defenses up."

"I'm glad you're comfortable with me Isabella."

"Me too." She turned the stem of the glass in her fingers and watched the wine swirl in her glass. "Do you date a lot?"

He paused midway of lifting his glass to his lips and set the gla*s back down. "I meant it when I said exclusive today on the phone."

"You won't date anyone else while we are dating?"

"No and I expect the same of you. I have a remarkably busy life, Isabella. It means when I have time to see you, I want to be able to see you and not have to wait in line for you to be free from someone else. In turn, I expect your life is also busy. I don't want to leave you waiting for me to return your call or have you wondering if I'm screwing someone else while you're waiting on me to call you. Know, if you're waiting for me to call and I don't call right away, it's business, not someone else."

His words impacted her, and she set her glass down. "You mean it, don't you?"

"I do," he nodded.

"You're right when you say my life is also busy," she said quietly. "I work a lot at Draxton and it's never forty hours a week. It's rare I don't bring work home with me in the evenings. I also do a lot of special projects for Clara. Also, Edward Draxton has pimped out my services to a lot of his friends," she saw his eyebrows raise, "I mean my brain not my body. I'm exceptionally good at my job and assessing risk. I've started to make a name with some of his international friends at assessing insurance and financial risk. He told to make sure I charge them obscenely and he set my first rate for me. He's encouraged me to make money off my brain. He can be a weird old man but he's quite good at sussing out someone's strengths and then pushing them to explore them in all kinds of different ways." "What about fun? Do you date a lot?" he returned her question to her. "Any serious relationships?"

She shook her head, "I have a close group of girl friends and we do a lot together. Exercise and martial arts are especially important to me. Mostly though, my family consumes a lot of my time. My mom calls me at least twice a day. My dad calls me every day. My brothers are stupidly overprotective, and my sisters are always on my case because," she shrugged, "to answer your question, I don't date a lot and they think in order for me to be fulfilled I somehow need a spouse." "You don't believe them?"

"No," she chuckled, "don't get me wrong. I would love to have what my parents have but I also know it's a rarity. I also know I have a lot of quirks and issues and so it would take someone destined for sainthood to put up with it. I also never want children. I can't tell you how many times I've been on a first date and the guy asks me how many kids I want, and I say zero and then I get ghosted."

Cam was quiet as he processed the information she shared. "I also never intended to have kids. Portia was a surprise and I've never been one to shirk responsibility and I have no regrets, but she'll be an only child."