Rhodium

by Elise Noble

  Finally, my customers began to leave, filing out one after the other. I counted up to seven, and then the damn buzzer went off.

  Oh, how I longed to ignore it, but if I hoped to get another shift here, I couldn’t afford to. Butterflies with razor-sharp wings flew around my stomach as I pushed the door open.

  “Can I help?”

  Oliver leaned back in his chair at the far end of the table. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether you still wish me bodily harm. I saw the look on your face earlier.”

  “With the things you do to me, are you really surprised? And why are you here? Are you stalking me?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. First, you turn up at the coffee place I’ve used for years, and now you’re in my restaurant.”

  “Your restaurant? Isn’t that overstating things a bit?”

  “I’d have thought the name would have given the game away.”

  I thought back to the menu I’d studied earlier in the evening. The silver logos on the plates and cups. The embroidery on the apron I’d been given to wear. Rhodium.

  I collapsed on an empty seat with a bump. “I thought Gaston owned it.”

  “He owns a percentage. I’m the majority shareholder.”

  A tear dripped down my cheek unbidden. “I’d never have come here if I’d realised.”

  Oliver moved from his seat and crouched in front of me, caging me in with a hand on each of the chair arms. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to be near you.”

  “Why?”

  He reached a thumb out and wiped the errant tear away.

  My voice dropped to a whisper. “Because you’re bad for me.”

  “Sometimes bad can be good.” He smiled and my insides flipped. “And I noticed you used the present tense earlier.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You said ‘the things you do to me.’ Not ‘the things you did to me.’ In your mind, it’s still ongoing.”

  I shook my head. “You’re wrong.”

  He moved his hands from the chair to my legs. “No, I’m not.”

  His thumbs ran up my thighs, stopping just short of the crease where my legs met my body. Heat burst through me like a bomb going off, and it probably left as much damage in its wake.

  “You can’t do this.”

  He leaned forwards until his lips were half an inch from mine. “You want me to stop?”

  I hesitated too long. I knew that, but my mouth wouldn’t say yes. Even though my brain instructed it to. Even though it was the only sensible option. Even though I strongly suspected how this would end.

  “No,” I whispered. “I don’t want you to stop.”

  I thought Oliver would kiss me, and I closed my eyes, waiting for that spark to ignite, but instead, he took my elbows and helped me to my feet.

  What was he doing?

  “Sit up on the table.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m asking you nicely.”

  He didn’t wait for me to comply, just lifted me until I was positioned the way he wanted—facing him, my legs spread as he pulled the chair closer and sat on it.

  One leg at a time, he lifted my feet and positioned them on the arms of the chair so this time I caged him in. Although that didn’t feel like the case, because we both knew it was me who was trapped.

  And when he reached forwards and pulled me along the polished surface, I realised what was going to happen.

  “No,” I whispered. “You can’t.”

  “I can, and I will. Now lie back.”

  Everything about this screamed bad idea. What if someone walked in? I could hear people moving around on the other side of the door—the voices of other customers and my colleagues. Imogen was out there, for crying out loud. And Oliver was an asshole. But as he caressed my thighs with magic fingers, the devil inside me threw caution to the wind and I did as he said.

  The cool wood was a contrast to the warmth of Oliver’s fingers as he inched my skirt higher, and I tingled just from the anticipation. How could a man do this to me with barely a touch?

  Ripping filled the air as he tore apart my pantyhose, and I nearly fell off the table when his fingers brushed my nub through my panties.

  “You’ll notice I didn’t order dessert tonight, princess. I decided to save myself for you.”

  I gasped at his words. “You knew this would happen?”

  “From the moment you walked in that door.”

  “You bastard.” I tried to get up, but a row of his kisses on my inner thigh stopped me. “I hate you,” I mumbled.

  “So you keep saying.”

  My back arched as he moved my panties to the side and blew warm air over me.

  “It’s true.”

  He just chuckled. “Pity. I’m enjoying myself. I knew it was a good decision to offer a private dining room. And this buzzer system? Genius.”

  He unclipped the box from my waist and pressed it between my legs. Then he pushed his button, and I bit my tongue to stop myself from screaming.

  “I enjoy seeing you like this, Steffie.”

  “What? Out of my mind?”

  “No, turned on. Aroused. Your cheeks go pink and your breasts get fuller.” He pushed my panties aside again, only this time he swiped his tongue across my sweet spot. “And you taste delicious.”

  He quickly followed up his tongue with a finger, pushed deep inside me. “And judging by the state of you, I’m not the only one who was looking forward to the end of dinner.”

  “I was not.”

  His finger made a squelching sound as he removed it, and he trailed its wetness across my skin. “Liar.”

  The buzzer came back, and it turned out it kept vibrating the whole time he kept his button pressed. By the time he let up, juices ran down me, and I’d stuffed my own fingers into my mouth to keep from crying out. And when he sucked my most sensitive spot, long and hard, I could take no more.

  I fell apart on the table, next to a half-empty glass of wine and a vase of black-and-white flowers, crystal sparkling overhead. Freaking hell, I couldn’t even remember my own name.

  As I floated back to earth, Oliver leaned forwards and kissed me hard on the mouth.

  “Taste yourself,” he told me.

  Like I had a choice.

  Once again, it wasn’t as disgusting as I thought, and if I was honest, my arousal combined with the faint taste of Scotch from Oliver took me halfway to heaven again. I was still shaking when he pulled me upright.

  “Princess, I just found my favourite dessert, but that one’s not going on the menu.”

  I didn’t have words. None of my senses worked. “Mmmm.”

  “Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself?”

  A fraction of my faculties returned. “I think so. Yes.”

  He knelt down and peeled off the remains of my ruined pantyhose, removing one shoe at a time then kissing my insteps before he replaced them.

  “Can you stand up?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Try.”

  I slithered off the table and balanced on wobbly legs as he tugged my skirt into place. Didn’t he want anything in return? Most men I’d met liked to bask in their own pleasure, and any the women got was merely incidental. But apart from a significant bulge in his pants, Oliver showed no signs of being affected.

  “I’ll call you a car,” he said.

  I’d been expecting something like that, but I couldn’t deny how much it stung. I simply didn’t understand the man. How could he be so into me then switch all that off?

  “Don’t.”

  “Steffie, I don’t want you travelling home alone.”

  “I won’t be. My roommate works here too, and I’m going home with her.”

  He looked me in the eye. “Really?”

  “I’m not a liar.”

  How dare he doubt me that way? I may have been stupid and weak-willed around him, but never dishonest.


  He ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. Shall I arrange transport for both of you?”

  “No, because then she’ll ask questions.”

  He grinned, and it made him look years younger. “So now I’m your dirty little secret?”

  “Whatever. This isn’t happening again.”

  He didn’t say a word, just held the door open as I marched from the room, praying I didn’t smell too much like sex. With that in mind, I scurried to the ladies’ room and fished around in my bag for the tiny bottle of perfume I always kept in there. I’d just given myself a couple of squirts when Imogen walked in.

  “How did it go? I didn’t see much of you.”

  “Okay. One of them was a little demanding, but the rest were fine.”

  “Sounds typical. Say, weren’t you wearing pantyhose earlier?”

  “I got a huge run and thought I’d better take them off. Good thing I shaved my legs this afternoon.”

  Imogen laughed. “Always good to be prepared. You never know, you might even get lucky. There’s some decent men in a place like this.”

  “You read too many romance novels.”

  “Tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

  “Not really. Hey, did you get to see Scott Lowes?”

  “OMG! Louis assigned me his table, and when Scott passed me his credit card, he touched my hand. I’m never washing it again.”

  I swung my bag over my shoulder. “That’s not very hygienic.”

  “I don’t care. I mean, Scott Lowes.”

  By the time we got out to the restaurant floor again, only a few patrons remained at scattered tables and Oliver was long gone. But what came in his place was a sense of disgust. How could I have let him use me like that? I couldn’t even claim ignorance this time, because I knew damn well how it would end.

  Never again, I promised myself. Never again.

  CHAPTER 15

  IMOGEN WAS STILL talking about Scott Lowes over breakfast the next morning. His eyes, his hands, his smooth voice.

  “Didn’t he have his wife with him?” I reminded her.

  “Yes, and the way he looked at her broke the heart of every other woman in the restaurant.” She looked downcast for a second, then perked up. “But I forgot to tell you, we have dates tonight.”

  I spluttered on my orange juice, nearly losing it over the kitchen table. “Did you just say ‘we’?”

  Imogen grinned and bobbed her head. “You can thank me later.”

  Two slices of toast popped out of the toaster, and she abandoned her mug of coffee in favour of slathering them with butter. It took me a few seconds to process everything.

  “But I don’t want to go on a date.” Curiosity got the better of me. “With who?”

  “Aha, I knew you couldn’t resist.” She waved a slice of toast around after she’d taken a bite from it, and I groaned at the crumbs now dotting the kitchen I’d spent ages cleaning yesterday.

  “I can resist. I’m just interested in finding out how much of a disaster you’ve tried to set me up for.”

  “Don’t be like that. You liked him.”

  “Who?”

  For a moment, a picture of Oliver popped into my head, but I soon blocked it. Imogen didn’t know anything about my involvement with him—I’d been very careful to avoid any mention of the man I absolutely shouldn’t be thinking about, especially after what he did to me last night.

  And in a freaking restaurant! The door wasn’t locked, and anyone could have walked in. What would have happened if one of his dining companions had forgotten their umbrella or something? And the buzzer… Someone would be wearing that clipped to their waistband tonight, completely unaware of where it had been. That thought alone should have made me feel ill, but I felt a tingle between my legs reminiscent of that caused by the buzzer itself. What the hell was wrong with me?

  Imogen finished chewing her mouthful of toast, blissfully unaware of the disaster my sex life had become. “Two of the guys we met in the club on Tuesday night. Well, Wednesday morning. Landon was really into you, and the way you danced with him, I could see the feeling was mutual. So I accepted on your behalf.”

  Try as I might, I couldn’t recall anything of the early hours after nearly singeing my eyebrows off with a flaming sambuca. “I don’t remember anyone called Landon.”

  She giggled, and more crumbs dropped onto the floor. “Boy, you really got wasted, didn’t you?”

  “That part I know.”

  “Good thing I can hold my drink, isn’t it? Landon’s a cutie, and his friend and him want to take us out for dinner.”

  How did I feel about that? At that stage, it would have been easy enough to back out claiming alcohol-related amnesia. But I hadn’t been on a proper date for ages, and no, Oliver most certainly did not count. Perhaps I needed this? An evening with a normal guy, doing normal things like dinner, dancing, and maybe more without money changing hands, and definitely without me coming over the dining table.

  “And you’re sure I liked him?”

  “Honey, you grabbed his ass in the club and told everyone it belonged to you.”

  Hear that thunk? That was my jaw hitting the table. “I didn’t.”

  “Oh yes, you did. Don’t worry, he saw the funny side.”

  “And he still wants to take me on a date?”

  “You do yourself down. You’re smart, pretty, and funny, and most guys would kill to have a girl like that. So yes, he wants to take you out on a date. Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”

  I mused over Imogen’s comments as I curled my hair into soft waves that evening. She’d been way off base with her “most guys” comment. I seemed to attract the weirdos like a damn magnet—one of those huge electromagnets, sucking in every pervert and fetishist for miles around.

  Other than the men who’d paid for me through Rubies, I could count the number of guys I’d dated since I started college on one hand, and none of them lasted more than a month. Then there were the men who wanted something else. Randy, who’d been obvious in his demands, and Oliver, who I still didn’t understand. The only guy who’d showed any interest in the real me had ended up dead. I didn’t have a great track record, did I?

  So perhaps this would be my chance? Dinner with an average guy, and as Imogen had arranged it as a double date, I’d have moral support if it turned out terrible.

  “Almost ready to go?” she asked, appearing in my doorway.

  “Five minutes.”

  “That dress suits you. I never had the chest to carry it off, but on you, it’s perfect.”

  I wasn’t quite so convinced. The clingy dark-green velvet looked the part, but it felt like my girls were about to fall out of the plunging neckline despite the toupee tape Imogen had used to stick them in.

  “I’ll need to be careful if we dance.”

  She shook her own smaller pair, safely encased in a high halterneck that she’d teamed with capri pants despite the cold weather. “Just stick close to Landon, and that way if there’s a wardrobe malfunction, nobody’ll see.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to live by those words of wisdom, but Imogen wasn’t a girl to argue with over things like that. And now she stepped into my room and started rooting through my make-up bag.

  After a few seconds, she held up a tube of mascara in triumph. “You need more of this. Or false lashes. Do you have any of those?”

  “I hate wearing them. I always worry in case they fall off.”

  “I went out to dinner with a client once, and another girl at the table had an enormous pair decorated with tiny crystals. One of them landed in her soup.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  “Sorry. Okay, no false lashes, but you need to add more mascara. And darker lipstick.”

  Fifteen minutes later, once Imogen had “let my inner vixen out,” I shoved my arms into my coat and walked out the door. The black trench wasn’t particularly warm, but since my stint as Sable, I’d abandoned faux fur for good. I didn’t
need another reminder of my past life.

  We splurged on a cab to take us to the restaurant, and I spent the trip racking my brain for some memory of Landon, however vague. But there was nothing. I only hoped Imogen’s assessment proved correct.

  The driver drew up outside Iberico, a mid-priced Spanish restaurant I’d never been to. It was too cheap for my ex-clients to consider eating there and out of my price range on a normal day. But with the extra money I’d earned at Rhodium, I figured I deserved a treat. And I had to smother a giggle at the irony—spending the money I’d made waiting on a man who was totally wrong for me on a date with a man who just might be right.

  Imogen led me into the dimly lit bar, and I scanned the place for possibilities. Had Landon even arrived yet? The answer appeared to be yes, because when she led us towards a pair of men leaning on the bar, their eyes lit up in recognition.

  The guy on the left wore blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and a leather jacket—the biker look—but I figured him as too clean-cut to ride. His friend’s style tended towards preppy, with skinny jeans and a Pringle sweater. Now, I hadn’t dated enough to have a type, but if I had, I’m not sure either of them would have been it. The question was, which of the two was Landon?

  I soon found out when Imogen marched up to Biker Guy and planted a smacker right on his lips. That left me with Mr. Abercrombie & Fitch. Now what? No way was I about to kiss him like Imogen did, but a handshake seemed weird.

  Thankfully, he saved the day by leaning forwards and kissing me softly on the cheek.

  “It’s good to see you again, Stef.”

  “Likewise.”

  Imogen spun me around. “You remember Jamie?” she asked, knowing full well I didn’t.

  “How could I forget?”

  I got a kiss on the other cheek from him, and then he motioned to his glass. “What can we get you ladies to drink?”

  “Two glasses of white wine,” Imogen told him, then added, “Not each.”

  He chuckled and ordered from the bartender. I’d already warned Imogen I’d be staying off the hard liquor tonight, even if I didn’t have another appointment with Oliver tomorrow.

  “We’ve booked a table,” Landon said. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”