Shattered

by Janet Nissenson

  She felt her cheeks grow warm beneath his regard. “Thank you – for all of this. Everything is gorgeous, but you shouldn’t have spent so much money on me.”

  He shrugged carelessly. “Why not? I wanted you to have a particular look tonight so the best way of ensuring that was to hand pick the outfit. Including the undies. I take it they fit okay?”

  Angela was flabbergasted at the forthright way he demanded answers. “Uh, yes. Just fine.”

  “Pity. I was almost hoping they’d been the wrong size so you would have had to go commando. After all,” he added in a husky voice, “it would be so damned easy to just cop a feel while you’re wearing this dress, wouldn’t it?”

  Without warning, he banded an arm around her waist and hauled her against him, at the same time inserting his hand into the low back of her dress and sliding it down to fondle her buttocks.

  “Next time,” he murmured in her ear.

  Before she had a chance to respond, he was taking her key and locking the door, then dropped the key into his own pocket. As usual, she wasn’t given the opportunity to protest his high-handed behavior as he grabbed her hand and tugged her along in his wake, taking the stairs so briskly she was half-afraid she’d stumble and twist her ankle in the high heels she wasn’t quite used to.

  Expecting to see the scarlet Ferrari, she was surprised when Nick led her instead to a much more conservative silver gray Jaguar.

  “Do you collect cars or something?” she asked half-jokingly as he opened the passenger door.

  Nick smirked. “I don’t know if collect is the right word. Besides the Jag here and the Ferrari, I have an SUV and a classic Corvette – a 1963 with the split-back window. Now my friend Dante, he’s what you’d call a collector. Last count I think he had more than a dozen.”

  “Wow.” She shook her head in disbelief as she eased herself into the car. The tight fitting dress slid even higher up her thighs, almost to the crotch, and Nick’s eyes gleamed at the sight.

  “Yeah, definitely commando next time, Angel,” he told her with a wink. “The only sight more erotic than these long, gorgeous legs would be your bare, pretty pussy.”

  She gasped as he ran a hand up her leg from the knee to the very top of her thigh, his knuckles brushing over the crotch of her new panties. Panties, she realized with a gulp, that were already wet.

  Nick drove across the city with an almost careless skill, somehow knowing the best route to take to avoid the worst of the evening traffic. She was puzzled as he pulled up in front of an elegant, multi-storied, Georgian-style mansion that had no visible signage.

  “This is a restaurant?”

  He shook his head at her question. “Not exactly. It’s a private club – a very discreet, exclusive club – that happens to have an excellent dining room for its members. Come on, you’ll enjoy it. Some of the best food you’ll ever eat.”

  Nick got out of the car as the valet assisted Angela, and then they were walking inside the most beautifully appointed, discreetly extravagant building she’d ever seen. The doorman and the receptionist both knew Nick by name, calling him “Mr. Manning” in awed, almost respectful tones.

  He ushered her over to the elevators, his hand on the small of her back. His fingers seemed to be burning an imprint into her bare skin and she couldn’t help the little frisson of excitement that rippled through her.

  He smiled down at her knowingly. “Cold, Angel?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Not in the least.”

  As they stepped inside the elevator, Nick bent his head to murmur in her ear, “No, I agree. You’re hot as hell, Angel. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since Tuesday night. And that’s not something I ever tell a woman.”

  Angela smiled up at him. “I’m flattered then. And the feeling is mutual. I’ve thought about you a lot, too.”

  “Have you?” His hand slid from her back to clasp her hand in his. “And yet you didn’t try to get in touch with me to let me know how you felt.”

  Her spine stiffened in alarm at the somewhat sarcastic tone of his voice. “I wasn’t under the impression that you expected me to,” she replied carefully. “And from the little I know of you I just assumed you’re the sort of guy who prefers to make the moves.”

  Nick gave her hand a squeeze. “You assumed right, Angel,” he replied gently. “And you’re one of the very, very few women I’ve known who’s both realized and respected that. I can’t tell you the number of others who’ve pestered me with phone calls or texts or who just happened to be in the neighborhood where we’d be sure to run into each other.”

  She shrugged. “Not that I would have tried contacting you anyway, but you never gave me a phone number or email address.”

  “When there’s a will there’s a way, Angel. You do know where I work and how to contact me there. You could have easily obtained my extension from the employee directory, or just stopped by my office.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “You’ve made it very clear that you like to keep your private life private, so there’s no way I would have done something like that. Besides, you told me you’d call and whatever else you might be it isn’t a lying dickwad.”

  Nick gave a shout of laughter. “Never forget that, Angel. Honesty always, that’s my motto. And,” he added in a low voice. “the fact that you didn’t make any attempt to contact me is one of the reasons I did call you again.”

  Angela arched a brow at him. “Oh? And what exactly would the other reasons be?”

  He whispered to her. “I still need to fuck you with these incredible legs wrapped around my neck. Soon, Angel, very, very soon. And you’ll wear those fuck-me shoes while I’m doing it. If not this particular pair then another.”

  Once more she was left with her jaw dropping open, but seemingly lacking the inability to utter a coherent response. Still holding hands, they walked off the elevator directly to the hostess stand where a slim, exquisitely dainty Asian woman greeted Nick by name.

  “A pleasure to have you dining with us this evening, Mr. Manning,” she told him, her accent vaguely British. “Please follow me to your table. It’s the one you requested, sir.”

  Angela thought of asking him why he’d reserved a particular table, then thought better of the idea. She was fairly certain Nick wouldn’t like being questioned too often, and she realized that even this early on in their – relationship? acquaintance? – that she’d need to carefully pick and choose her battles.

  The petite hostess – who made Angela feel like a brawny Amazon in comparison – led them smoothly through the dimly lit, dark wood paneled dining room. From her peripheral vision she caught glimpses of other couples or small groups seated around tables or booths, and at first glance everyone seemed to be exceptionally well dressed. The whole place was giving off a vibe of old money – lots of it – and she was glad now that Nick had sent her the dress and shoes. She had some nice things of her own, of course, but nothing even in the neighborhood of what she was wearing tonight.

  They were ushered to a high-backed, very secluded booth with thickly padded brown leather seats. Located in a corner of the spacious dining room, the booth would afford them the privacy she sensed Nick insisted on having wherever he went.

  The smooth leather was cool against the backs of her bare legs, and she couldn’t help shivering just a bit as she sat down. A busboy appeared almost immediately to fill water glasses and set out a basket of assorted rolls and breadsticks.

  “So what do you think?”

  She looked at Nick and blinked. “About what?”

  “The club. The dining room. What’s your first impression?”

  Angela took a sip of the ice cold water, wondering briefly if she ought to couch the truth, but then decided to throw caution to the wind by telling him bluntly, “It’s classy and expensive but it’s also stuffy as hell. Someplace you’d expect to see your grandparents eating at.”

  Nick chuckled. “I knew you wouldn’t bullshit me, Angel. The women I’ve b
rought here in the past have all oohed and ahhed about it, probably because they knew how exclusive the place is. But not you. And you’re right, it’s the epitome of class but not exactly the most happening place in town.”

  “So why do you come here?”

  His answer was succinct. “Privacy. No one here would dare to gossip about who they saw at dinner or an event. The staff has to sign all sorts of non-disclosure agreements, and there’s something of an unspoken pact among the members to mind their own business.”

  She couldn’t resist teasing him a bit. “So what you’re saying is that what happens in – uh, whatever the name of this club is – stays here? Though, honestly, I can’t imagine anything too controversial or even exciting going on.”

  He smirked. “Exactly. And this is the Biltmore Club. Very, very elite, extremely expensive to join, and nearly impossible to gain admittance to.”

  “Hmm. So how did you get in? Was it because you were a former football player or is it your current position at Jessup Prior?”

  A closed-off expression crossed Nick’s features, his mouth tightening in displeasure. “Neither one. I got admitted here courtesy of a family member. My father, to be exact. And before you ask, I don’t discuss my family. Ever.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask,” she whispered, more than a little intimidated by the dark look on his face. “But it seems that we have one more thing in common, though. I really don’t like discussing my family, either.”

  She could sense he was about to ignore her statement and start asking her about them anyway when he was interrupted by the arrival of their waiter. Like the hostess had done, he greeted Nick by name before handing them menus and asking for their drink order.

  “Absolut Citron on the rocks. Make that two.”

  Angela waited until the waiter left before daring to frown at Nick. “Aren’t you making assumptions here? What if I’d wanted something different tonight?”

  “Did you?” he asked casually, reaching for a roll and starting to butter it.

  She gave a little huff. “Well, no. At least I don’t think so. But it might have been nice if you had thought to ask first.”

  He gave a careless shrug. “I’m rarely nice, Angel. And you told me the other night that was your drink of choice so I just took the initiative and ordered. But if you really want something else, I’ll get it for you. Easiest thing in the world.”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I just – well, I’m not used to someone taking charge the way you do.”

  “Yeah, I sort of get that feeling. But you secretly want someone to do just that, don’t you, Angel? “

  Her gaze flew up to his in alarm. “What?”

  Nicked chewed on his roll slowly. “You heard me just fine. And you know it’s true. You might deny it, most people would, but deep down you know you actually like it when I get bossy. Were your parents strict with you?”

  “No.” The reply slipped out automatically. “Not in the least.”

  “Hmm.” He finished the roll and picked up a long, thin breadstick, tapping one end on the table before taking a bite. “So you were a spoiled, indulged little brat then?”

  “I wouldn’t say that either. In a nutshell, my parents – mostly my mother – just didn’t give a rat’s ass about me. I was – an accident, one that my mother rarely failed to remind me about.”

  She was saved from further questioning by the arrival of their drinks, which she suddenly felt in dire need of. She took an ungainly gulp and then promptly opened up the leather bound menu, very intentionally hiding her face from Nick.

  “We won’t talk about it again tonight,” he told her quietly. “I can already tell it isn’t your favorite topic of conversation. But we will have a conversation about it one of these days, Angel. Now, what looks good to you on the menu? I can recommend a number of things, especially the sea bass or the pan seared scallops.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a big fish eater actually.” She didn’t add that her distaste stemmed from childhood memories of watching her father gutting and cleaning some freshly caught fish, and her mother cooking it up with garlic, tomatoes and olive oil before rather resentfully plunking a plate in front of her, not especially caring if the strong taste was appealing to a five year old’s picky palate.

  “You’re something of a fussy eater, aren’t you? I could tell the other night by the way you pushed the food around on your plate. You know, you’ll never gain those ten pounds I mentioned if you keep doing that. Here, I want you to eat one of these rolls – with butter – and then humor me by letting me order for you tonight, okay? I promise if you don’t like what I choose you can get something else.”

  Reluctantly she selected a roll and began to spread butter over it. “Fine. But nothing too fishy tasting.” She swallowed a bite of bread before glaring at him sulkily. “And I don’t really agree about the ten pounds. I’ve always been a little on the slender side but it’s not like I’m skinny or anorexic looking.”

  Nick set the menus aside and regarded her carefully, as though he was mentally stripping off her dress down to the bare flesh he was already very familiar with. “You’re not skinny, I’ll agree with that. But you are too thin. For someone of your height, you should be more like a size six instead of a four. Those ten pounds will fill you out a little in all the right places.”

  And it seemed as though he was intent on having her gain nearly half that number of pounds in one sitting, judging by the meal he ordered up. They dined on lobster bisque, a huge wedge salad, and the pan seared scallops with rice pilaf and sautéed vegetables, all accompanied by a crisp Chardonnay. She was conscious throughout the entire meal of Nick’s watchful gaze, making sure she didn’t push her food around, and that she ate what he considered an adequate amount.

  They didn’t talk much during dinner, and when they did it was mostly small talk about such mundane topics as an economics professor they’d both taken class from at Stanford, or the 49ers chances this season of making the playoffs, or Nick quizzing her in more detail about her Olympic experience.

  She had nearly cleaned her plate before setting her fork down with a sigh. “I can’t eat another bite. The scallops were delicious but I’m really getting stuffed.”

  He eyed her mostly empty plate assessingly. “All right. That’s enough for now. After all, there’s still dessert.”

  Angela stifled the little groan she longed to make, her flat belly already starting to bloat up a bit from the rich meal she’d just consumed. But Nick was ruthless, ordering her some mile-high concoction of chocolate cake layered with mousse, ganache, and whipped cream, plus a frothy cappuccino served in a cup the size of a soup bowl.

  She could only stare at the monstrous piece of cake. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  Nick grinned, already digging into his own bowl of apple cobbler. She had noticed that his appetite for food was just as big as it was for sex, and she guessed that a man of his height and weight would need to consume several thousand calories a day.

  “Take your time, Angel. We’ve got this table reserved for the entire evening so there’s no rush.”

  She took a bite of the fabulously rich dessert and almost sighed with bliss at how delicious it was. “This is amazing. I’m still not sure how much of it I can actually eat but I’ll give it the old college try. And why,” she added with a little frown, “is the table reserved for the whole evening? There is no way I can eat anything else after this.”

  “No worries on that count. After all, we can’t have you getting sick, can we? No,” he continued calmly, “the reason I asked to have the table all evening was so we could talk. And we’ll be assured of our privacy here. “

  “Okay.” Her senses immediately went on high alert, not at all sure what he really meant by “talk” or exactly what he planned to discuss.

  He sipped his coffee leisurely. “You’re not going to ask what I want to talk about?”

  She pushed another forkful of cake/mousse/ganache
into her mouth and shook her head. “No. Because I’ve got this feeling it wouldn’t do me any good. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

  He clapped his hands together lightly in mock applause. “Very good, Angel. You catch on quickly. Yes, I have a real good feeling about this. Glad I trusted my instincts with you. So, you finish at least half that cake and then we’ll talk. Or at least I will. You’re going to listen – very, very carefully – and when I’m done you can ask questions. Sound good?”

  She nodded, already eating another bite of dessert. And even though her stomach was beginning to protest having more food crammed inside of it, she continued to dutifully pick away at the cake, barely tasting it now but anxious to eat enough to satisfy Nick so that he could tell her – what?

  Angela tried hard not to make assumptions while she kept working on her dessert. If Nick didn’t plan on seeing her again after tonight, he would have zero compunctions about coming right out and telling her, so she honestly didn’t think it was that. But what else –

  “Okay. I think that’s enough dessert if you’re full. Would you like to have the rest wrapped up so you can take it home?”

  She shuddered as she pushed the plate away. “No, thank you. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat again for a couple of days.”

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Angel. You will eat tomorrow, and every day after that. You seem to get full rather quickly, so it will have to be small, frequent meals, but healthy ones, too. I’ll have you draw up a meal plan with a nutritionist I know of. And work with a personal trainer as well.”

  “Huh?” She stared at him in bemusement.

  “Guess I’m getting ahead of myself a bit. Let me start at the beginning, all right? And pay attention, because there’s going to be a lot of shit for you to consider. Here goes.”

  Nick took another drink of his coffee before setting the cup down and reaching across the table for her hand. All hint of teasing or laughter was gone from his expression, his eyes dark and deadly serious.