by Lara Adrian
“No, you’re right,” he tells Lily. “I should’ve called to let you know my plans had changed.” He listens for another moment, then exhales a short sigh. “Ah, damn. That’s tonight? No, I can’t make it. There are other things that I’ve already committed to do.”
As he says this, he walks back into the kitchen where I’m idly pushing my eggs around my plate. Our gazes connect, but I can’t hold his intense stare. Not while he’s got another woman on the other end of the line, pressing him to be somewhere else instead of with me. A very pretty woman whose face is now seared into my mind.
“I understand, but Mayor Holbrook’s gala is the least of my concerns. Tell him I’m still in London. Hell, tell him to make an appointment with me during business hours like everyone else.” Nick stares at me as he speaks to Lily, and there is no mistaking the sensual heat that’s still present in his eyes—all of it focused on me. “I’m sure there will be other opportunities for him to pick my pocket about the upcoming campaign. Well, what’s he going to do, tie up the permits on the rec center? If he does, I’ll just work around any roadblocks as they come.”
Nick pauses to listen some more, then gives Lily instructions to convey his regrets to the mayor and to shuffle a couple of meetings on his calendar for the week ahead. He ends the call and sets the phone back down on the counter.
“My assistant,” he informs me. “Lily likes to run a tight ship. She’s good at keeping me on track, but I don’t always make it easy on her. Needless to say, she isn’t happy that I cut London short without telling her I was back in the States.”
“Oh.” His assistant. I nod, astonished at the depth of my relief. But I can’t pretend I’m not also aware that he has business obligations waiting for him. Ones that evidently involve rubbing elbows with the city’s elite. I finish off the last swallow of my mimosa, feeling the gap between our two worlds more clearly than ever.
“What is it, Avery?”
I glance up at him, unnerved as always by those penetrating oceanic blue eyes that seem so adept at seeing through me. Seeing past the mask I’ve been able to hold up around everyone else. Nick’s sharp gaze sees too clearly. Still, I attempt to deflect him. “What do you mean?”
“Something’s changed in you just now. Was it the call from Lily?” His piercing eyes narrow on me. “You thought she was another woman—someone other than a colleague? Did it make you jealous?”
I shrug, but it’s a weak denial. “She’s very pretty. I didn’t mean to look at your phone when she called, but it was right there on the counter.”
“Lily is attractive,” he admits. “But she’s my employee. I don’t fuck my employees. And anyway, when it comes to beauty, she’s got nothing on you.”
He approaches me where I sit on the counter stool, his fingers threading into my loose hair, then trailing around to cup my nape. His touch enthralls me. My senses fill with the intoxicating scent of him—his warm, bare skin and clean, shower-damp hair. I look up into his bright blue eyes and I’m captivated, holding my breath for the moment I’ll feel his lips brush against mine.
He doesn’t disappoint. Bending toward me, he takes my mouth in a deep, bone-melting kiss. His large hands frame my face, holding me to him as his tongue sweeps past my teeth to stroke, and taste, and tease. I moan with the force of my desire for him. As our kiss turns molten, I wrap my arms around his neck, reveling in the feel of his muscled chest pressed against me, his erection a rigid demand at my hip.
But as good as he feels—as right as we feel together, like this—I am now reminded of the impossibility of us becoming anything more than what exists between us right now. He can touch me and kiss me, pleasure my body in ways no man ever has before, but that’s where Nick and I end. I can’t expect him to invite me into the other parts of his life when I damn well can’t invite him into mine.
I draw back, slowly shaking my head. When I pull in a breath, my lungs constrict as if they’re caught in a vise. “Nick, I’m sorry. I think maybe I should go.”
I watch his gaze narrow on me, his brow furrowing with a scowl. He isn’t pleased with this sudden change in my mood. He may even be suspicious. “Go? You’re mine for the day and the night, remember? You ditched work for me today. I mean to make it worth your while.”
I know all too well how worthwhile he can make it, and I have to work hard to ignore the eager pulse of my body in the wake of his erotic promise. “Nick, if you have somewhere you need to be tonight instead . . . If the mayor—”
“Fuck the mayor.” He draws me closer to him, stroking his hand along my cheek. I tremble with arousal as his fingers skate down onto the swell of my breast. “I am where I need to be,” he insists, his voice thick and rough with need. “Right here, with you.”
“What about the rec center?”
He pulls back and now I see some of the disregard fade from his demeanor. “What about it?”
“It sounds like it’s important to you.”
He nods. “It is. I’ve had the plans for a children’s recreation center on the drawing board for nearly two years. I’m funding the entire project. Building it from the ground up, which isn’t my usual mode of operation. But I want this done right. I want it to be perfect.”
His candor surprises me. More than that, so does his vulnerability. I can hear his commitment to the project in every word. I can see his determination—his passion for it—in the steady, unblinking gaze that he holds me in now.
“I heard what you said to Lily about potential roadblocks if you don’t have the mayor’s support, Nick. If the event tonight is something you should attend, then I don’t want to be the one standing in the way of your being there.”
He frowns, studying me closer. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
“Yes.” I reach up to stroke the dark stubble on his jaw. “I want you to go.”
He considers for a long moment, then finally nods. “All right. If that’s really how you feel.”
“It is.”
He kisses me, then reaches down to pick up his cell phone. “Lily’s extremely efficient. I’d better tell her about the change in plans before she sends my regrets to Mayor Holbrook’s people.”
He hits a number on the phone, all the while stroking my thigh with his free hand. As much as I want to spend the rest of the day—and the night—with him, I know he’s a busy man with significant obligations. And if the rec center means as much to him as he’s conveyed to me just now, then he should do everything in his power to make it happen.
“Lily,” he says when she picks up a moment later. “I’ve reconsidered tonight’s event. I will be attending after all. And I’m bringing a date. Please have Patrick pick us up at seven-thirty.”
Chapter 21
We spend the bulk of the day naked together in Nick’s penthouse. True to his word, he makes it his mission to keep me well-pleasured and multi-orgasmic both in—and out—of his bed.
After the hours of creative, vigorous exertion, I’m not sure how I have the strength to stand upright as we ride the elevator down to the lobby to meet the limousine waiting to take us to the gala. I can’t deny that I’m anxious about tonight as well. The closest I’ve ever gotten to an elegant black-tie gathering is the handful of weddings I’ve worked as a part-time bartender on those rare occasions when the opportunity arose and my schedule at Vendange allowed. Now, here I am, attending possibly the social event of the year as Dominic Baine’s date.
Standing next to me in a black tuxedo, starched white shirt, and black silk tie, Nick is the epitome of confidence and class. He’s attractive no matter what he wears—and even more so when he wears nothing at all—but seeing him dressed in formal attire is a revelation. Like this, the wealth and influence he commands is unmistakable. Although his stance is relaxed beside me, his long legs slightly apart, power vibrates off every inch of his tall, athletic form.
I notice how his hands are folded loosely in front of him, the unmarked one resting lightly atop his scarred one. It’s a st
ance I’ve seen in him before, and I realize only now that this is part of his mask. He looks so handsome and commanding, there’s little chance that anyone would notice his flaw. But he hides it anyway, as if the damage shames him.
It doesn’t diminish him at all in my eyes. I see a survivor. I see a man with secrets and hauntedness of his own, and I want to understand him. I want him to know that there is nothing about him that I find displeasing. In fact, he’s so magnificent, he takes my breath away.
He’s so damn sexy, he makes me hunger for him all over again, even though I’ve certainly enjoyed my fair share of him already today.
“Keep looking at me like that, Ms. Ross, and we won’t make it into the car, much less to the party.” When I glance up, I find a spark of humor in his eyes, and in the smirk that tugs sensually at the corner of his mouth. “On second thought, keep looking. I’ll call Patrick and tell him he can return the car to the fleet garage.”
I laugh and give his biceps a light smack. “You will not.”
“No, but I should.” He reaches over to smooth the backs of his knuckles gently along the side of my face. The look he gives me is as solemn as it is heated. “You look beautiful, Avery.”
“Thank you.”
I want to look good for him. I’ve spent the past forty-five minutes getting showered and ready back at Claire’s apartment, both excited and apprehensive about the prospect of arriving anywhere on Dominic Baine’s arm. Although I would give anything to be wearing something as elegant as the designer cocktail dresses and couture gowns that fill Claire’s walk-in closet, my budget runs more toward department store discount racks.
I’m anxious as I stand beside Nick in the little black dress I bought on clearance with Tasha last year and the strappy black Jimmy Choo sandals I got for a steal at a second-hand store in Park Slope not long after I settled in Brooklyn. Will everyone sense the imposter in their midst tonight? For that matter, will Nick?
Whether he senses my nerves or not, as the elevator chimes with our arrival on the street level of the building, Nick takes my hand in his and leads me out to the lobby. Manny is there at the main door as we stroll across the gleaming marble toward the sleek black limousine waiting just outside. I detect the faintest lift of the doorman’s brows as we approach, but it’s there and gone in an instant.
A consummate professional, Manny merely smiles, then smoothly opens the door for us. “Good evening, Ms. Ross. Mr. Baine.”
“Evening, Manny.” Nick nods in greeting, placing his hand at the small of my back to allow me to exit ahead of him.
As I pass through, I offer Manny a smile that feels a little awkward, considering our conversation the other day and the fact that the doorman is probably aware of the time I’ve been spending in Nick’s apartment. His face shows no judgment. If anything, I can’t help thinking there is a small note of approval in his kind eyes.
“Have a pleasant evening, Miss. Sir,” he says, escorting us to the standing limo where Nick’s driver waits with the back door open.
We climb in and are quickly on our way. It doesn’t take more than a few minutes to make the drive down Park Avenue to the five-star hotel that’s hosting the gala. If my nerves were jangling before, they spike with new apprehension as the limousine pulls in behind a parade of similar glossy black vehicles at the hotel’s entrance.
Clumps of reporters and media personnel are gathered behind crowd control barriers, the cacophony of their shouts and chatter audible even through the glass and steel of the limo. Cameras, cell phones, and tablets flash like strobe lights as the press attempts to get their shots of the arriving guests. No sooner does Patrick roll forward, closer to the fray, than another limo rolls right up behind us.
“Apologies, sir,” he says from up front. “We’re not going anywhere fast, unfortunately.”
“Not your fault,” Nick replies, but I can see the displeasure in his face. I can feel it in the tension of his body beside me.
At that moment, one of the men with cameras jumps the line and snaps a photo through the windshield of our car. I see Nick drop his head to avoid the shot, but the flash of the camera is faster.
“Shit,” he hisses, as his name goes up in a holler among the crowd.
Like a cloud of locusts, a number of reporters now break away to converge on the limousine. The barrage of flashes outside the windows is blinding. The voices rising to a chaos of indistinguishable shouts.
“Oh, my God.”
I swallow, both astonished and repulsed by the feeding frenzy that awaits on the other side of the limousine doors. If this is what it’s like to travel in Nick’s circle—to have his wealth and social standing—no wonder he holds his privacy so close to his vest. I suddenly regret pushing him into attending this party. Not only for Nick’s sake, but my own, as well.
Old, rusty memories of another time slash through my mind, uninvited. Camera flashes snapping and exploding in my face. Relentless, demanding shouts from reporters—interrogations, accusations—their terrifying voices ringing in my ears. And I remember my own cries too. The wracking sobs that felt as though they would split me in half.
I close my eyes, trying to keep the ordeal banished to my past, but the memories are too strong. Too raw, even after all these years.
Mama, no! Mama, please, don’t go! Don’t leave me!
Nick growls from beside me, startling me back to reality. “Fuck this.” He glowers at the clamoring madness outside the vehicle. “We’re getting out here, Patrick.”
“Very well, sir.”
When I glance uncertainly at Nick, his determined gaze locks on me. It grounds me, even though he can’t possibly know how desperately I need it right now. “You give me your hand as we get out of the car. Just keep your head down, hold on tight, and follow me. All right?”
I nod. He opens the door on his side and helps me across the seat to exit with him. His strong hand is wrapped around mine, just as he promised. He doesn’t let go, not for a second.
I hurry alongside him as he weaves us through the logjam of vehicles and the gauntlet of yammering press and media. We head for the pair of doormen who have their hands full admitting arriving guests and dignitaries while a small security detail barks for the media to stay on the other side of the barriers.
As soon as we approach, one of the doormen greets Nick by name and lets us inside. We enter the hotel, leaving the bedlam behind us, and my relief is instant and profound. Soothing classical music plays softly in the background as we step into the opulent lobby. Some other couples in formal wear walk ahead of us, clearly heading for the same event we are.
As we approach the check-in stand outside the Grand Ballroom, I can’t help noticing that the hem of my dress is shorter than most, the cut of it skimming my curves a bit more snugly. With one hand still caught in Nick’s grasp, I use my other to smooth the skirt down and subtly tug at the hem.
“Relax,” Nick murmurs. He leans toward me with a smile that sends heat arrowing through my veins. “If anyone here had your legs, they’d be showing them off too.”
“Good evening, Mr. Baine,” says one of the tuxedoed hosts as we approach the front of the line. “Mayor Holbrook wants you to know that he’s honored you were able to make time to be here tonight.”
“Of course.” Nick’s tone is level, his smile perfunctory, as we step away from the stand and walk through the soaring double-door entrance to the ballroom.
I don’t miss the fact that more than a dozen heads turn as we enter—or, rather, as Dominic Xavier Baine enters the room.
Men and women pause in midsentence or look away from their companions as he strides into their midst with the unapologetic confidence of a king. Or a god. It’s mesmerizing to watch the effect he has on the mere mortals who surround him.
Men stand a little straighter, their chests puffed out as if subconsciously compelled to at least attempt to measure up to him—no matter how futile. Women lower their chins and gaze coquettishly at him from under their lashes, fing
ers reaching idly up to touch their mouths or toy with the ends of their hair. A few even lick their lips, desire sketched across their faces no matter their marital status or age.
Nick’s presence is magnetic, his orbit all-consuming, attracting everyone and everything in his path, drawing all of those lesser objects into the heat of his sun. I’m no more exempt than anyone else. He has a hold on me I can’t even begin to deny anymore. Each time we’re together, I feel that hold tighten, drawing me closer, pulling me onto a path that I’ve been warned may destroy me.
I know I should be wary of those warnings.
I should resist this pull I feel with him. I should fight it with everything I have before I drift too close and end up burned to ashes.
Instead of resisting or fighting, I let go of a small sigh when Nick releases my hand and turns to face a big man in a dark gray suit who’s approaching us from across the ballroom. If the man’s size and demeanor didn’t give him away as security, his headset and wireless microphone do.
“Good evening, Mr. Baine. Mayor Holbrook would be pleased if you’d join him for a moment. He’d like to thank you personally for coming out to support his campaign tonight.”
Nick grunts. “Let me guess. He’d like to thank me in front of the cameras over there?”
Although the big man doesn’t confirm nor deny, I glance past him to where a cluster of reporters are interviewing the ambitious young mayor who’s currently running for his second term in office. I have no doubt that having Nick’s endorsement—implied or absolute—is worth more than most of the contributions that will be pouring in during tonight’s gathering.
Nick turns to face me. “Will you be all right for a few minutes without me?”
“Sure. Of course.”
From the look he gives me, I know he’s tempted to touch me. Maybe even kiss me. But his demeanor has grown more cautious since we arrived. Whether that’s to protect me from the glare of the spotlight he has to endure or to protect himself, I can’t be sure. Right now, though, it doesn’t matter. We’re here to help the rec center. My insecurities and desires are insignificant compared to that goal.
