“You bought a business,” she reiterates directly, showing she’s been paying attention.
“Yeah. I set myself up with my dream job, babe. I love to box, work out, coach others. I’ll never be a millionaire doing what I do, but I’m happy. And as it grows and I make it bigger, it will provide for me and my future family.”
“Is that what you want?” Her voice is timid and unsure.
“Is what what I want?”
“A family,” she asks in a tone I can’t define.
“Yeah, someday in the not-too-distant future. I’m going to be thirty in a month. One of my sisters is married with a baby on the way, another about to get engaged, and heck, all of my friends are settling down. Just seems like it’s nearing the time to go that route. How about you?”
Honor shrugs noncommittally. “I don’t know what I want.”
“What did you want to do with your degree?”
Another shrug.
I’m beginning to loathe the shrug. It prevents her from speaking to me, and I prefer her talking. “Words, Dove.”
Honor lifts her arm and places an elbow on the side of the door, her fingers resting against her scalp. “Honestly, I didn’t have a plan. My father chose it because that’s what his degree is in, my brother’s, and all the rest of the Carmichaels before him.”
The dry, almost sad tone with which she responds has me scratching my head. “Did you like your coursework?”
“Not particularly.”
Alarm bells start clanging in my head. Why would she spend six years going to school to obtain a degree she didn’t want? “And now that you have this degree, you don’t know what to do with it?”
“You could say that.”
“I did say that. I’m just wondering, babe, what your plan is?” I grab for her hand, lift it, and kiss the back, letting her know I’m here for her and interested.
She sighs so heavily, I can sense the weight of it like a physical anchor landing in my own lap. “I’m working on that now, Nick.”
Her words are soft and laced with a brokenness I can’t quite understand, but I plan to get to the bottom of it very soon. Every question I ask her seems to bring on more questions about my shy girl. I wonder if I’ll ever get to the heart of her; I sure as hell hope so.
“I like the idea you had of investing my inheritance, though.” She offers a small smile.
I grin and kiss the back of her hand, feeling good that I may have helped her with something I can see she’s been struggling with.
“Now you just need to figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life. Or, at the very least, the next five to ten years.”
She nods and focuses her gaze front and center. Even though I think I may have helped her work out an issue she’s been having, our line of discussion also seems to have an adverse effect, making her overly quiet. Thankfully, we reach the restaurant, which I anticipate will break up some of the unusual anxiety surrounding her.
Like the gentleman my mama taught me to be, I open her door and help her out of the car. She smiles shyly and looks up at me. I was taken aback when she came out of the locker room after our kiss fest wearing a pair of skinny jeans, low, brown suede ankle boots, and a matching leather blazer with a colorful scarf around her neck. Simple but elegant at the same time. Perfect in every way. So much so, I can’t keep my hands and eyes off her. Since our kiss, I’ve had an overwhelming urge to hold her hand, touch her hair, keep her close.
Women don’t normally affect me this way. At least, none before her. Then again, I’ve come to realize, since the first minute I laid eyes Honor Carmichael, there is something unique about her. I can’t put her in the same round hole as other women because she’s more of a square peg. Hell, she’s a freakin’ trapezoid.
The hostess leads us to a small curved booth in the corner of the restaurant. The lighting is low but not so dark you can’t see well. Just enough to give the place a warm ambiance. There’s a white linen cloth on the table and a single candle. Next to it, a magnificent red rose has bloomed to full capacity, standing tall in a translucent vase.
Honor slides into one side of the booth and I into the other until we come around and our thighs touch. Honor immediately lifts her delectable ass, leans over, and sniffs the rose on the table, humming low in the back of her throat. That sound calls out like a siren to my dick, giving me a semi. I grit my teeth and breathe slowly through my nose, calming the urge to take, rut, and claim this woman beside me.
Once she settles back down, I place my hand high on her thigh and give it a squeeze. She doesn’t say anything or attempt to move it, thank God. I have to touch her. The urge is overwhelming.
Efficiently, she removes her scarf and slides off her blazer, setting it over the hook next to the booth. The top she’s wearing underneath catches my eye. It has cutouts running from the shoulder down to her wrist. It’s whimsical, pretty, and looks great on her. Especially the deep, plunging scoop neck that gives me a healthy eyeful of her sinful tits. Hot damn, they look good enough to eat. My mouth waters at the sight of the pillowed globes, and I know I’d give my eyeteeth if I could take a single bite…or ten. Instead, I lift up my hand and bite down on my knuckle.
Fuck, this woman is going to kill me with blue balls, and we haven’t even made it through our first date. More reason to never date and just get to the filthy parts. The part where I slam her up against my bedroom wall and put my hands all over her while my mouth is busy with her sizeable rack.
I grip my hand into a fist and clear my throat, once more trying my damnedest to calm the lustful beast inside, the one dying to get out and play.
“Did I tell you how gorgeous you look this evening? That color looks amazing on you.” I dip my gaze down to her chest again. It’s like I can’t stop. They’re calling out my name, begging for attention. Inherently, I know it’s a douche move, but it’s like she’s put them on display for my eyes only. Bravely, I force my gaze to hers.
Her entire face lights up at my compliment. “Thank you. I got this while shopping with Grace.”
I chuckle and place my elbow on the table to lean more fully into her space. I want her feeling, smelling, and seeing as much of me as she’ll allow. “Gracie is good at many things; shopping is high on the list. I usually employ her help with buying birthday and Christmas presents for the family.”
Her eyes sparkle when I speak. “You mentioned you have another sister who’s having a baby?”
I grin and rub the pad of my thumb along my bottom lip. Her gaze goes there, watching every movement. Mission accomplished. I close my eyes and sigh, reminding myself to be good.
“Yeah, Dawn. She just announced it last weekend at family dinner night.”
“Are you excited?” She fiddles with the menu.
“We all are. It’s the first in our family, so it’s a big deal.”
“How many are in your family?”
Oh boy, now there’s a loaded question. “My mother, Josephine, and my father, Sal, had six of us. I’m the only boy.”
Her doe eyes widen so large, they remind me of one of those squeeze dolls where you squash the body and the eyes poke out of the head.
“You have five sisters!”
“Yes, ma’am. All younger.”
“Wow. That must be something.”
“Something else!” I quip, and she giggles. Her laughter is music to my ears.
The waiter comes over and asks what we’d like to order.
“Do you mind if I order for us?” I ask, knowing what are absolutely the best, most authentic Italian dishes on the menu.
“Sure.”
“Anything you don’t like or have an allergy to?”
She shakes her head.
“We’ll take a bottle of my family’s Cabernet, the manicotti with Bolognese, the bleu cheese chicken gnocchi, and the house salads. Family style, please.”
“What does family style mean?” she asks when he leaves.
“They bring enough food for the ent
ire table to share. Italians are fond of food, and we like having options. Except, of course, when it comes to our women.” I curl my hand around her nape and bring her close, tipping her chin up with my thumb. “No sharing there.”
She swallows, and I watch as her delicate neck moves. “That’s, uh, good. I think.”
“Oh, it is. Means once you’re mine, you’re mine. Do you want to be mine, Dove?”
She licks her lips, and my dick throbs. I lean into her, our lips a scant inch from one another.
“Yes,” she says breathily, her eyes a dark, gunmetal gray.
“Good answer,” I whisper against her lips before kissing her.
With this kiss, I explore her lush taste, licking inside and enjoying the sweetness her mouth has to offer. The little nymph sucks my tongue and swirls her own in tantalizing figure eights across my bottom lip. Just when I’m about to plunge my tongue into heaven more fully, the waiter clears his throat.
I reluctantly pull back from that tasty appetizer to find her eyes are still closed. A rosy hue covers her otherwise pale cheeks. She opens her eyes slowly, looking a bit dazed and thoroughly kissed. Smugness creeps into my chest while I chuckle and hold out my glass for the steward to fill it.
“As requested, your family’s wine. Is it to your liking?”
I take a sip. “Always, my man. Always. You can’t go wrong with Salerno Hills, can you?”
He nods. “Not in my time here serving it.”
Honor glances at the wine and then at me. “Your family owns a winery?”
I smile with pride. “Yep. Best damn red in the Bay.”
“That’s fantastic!” She picks up her glass, takes a healthy swig, and rolls it around her mouth before swallowing. Looks like she knows a thing or two about wine as well. “And it’s really good!”
“You act surprised. Of course it’s good. We’re Italian. My family has been making wine for decades. Centuries, really, if you go back to our family tree in Italy.”
“My family owns things too. This is so wonderful.” Her voice is a higher volume than normal, showing her excitement.
For the life of me I can’t figure out why she’s so happy my family owns Salerno Hills winery, but I don’t question it, wanting her to offer information instead of me having to drag it out of her.
Her smile is so bright, I fall in love with it instantly, wanting to see it on her face all the time. My new goal will be to put that smile on her face as much as possible.
“Really glad you think so. What does your family own?” I swirl the red in my glass, allowing it a little time to breathe.
She raises her glass and waves her other hand in the air nonchalantly. “Oh, a third of the real estate in San Francisco, another quarter in Los Angeles, and an entire five-square city block in New York. Bunch of other stuff too, businesses overseas, some sports teams, I think. Not really sure anymore.”
I set down my glass of wine and stare at her for so long, all the light leaves her eyes. Holy fuck. She doesn’t just have an inheritance. Honor Carmichael is wealthy. Insanely wealthy.
Shit. Fuck. Damn.
Chapter Ten
Plow Pose (Sanskrit: Halasana)
An inverted pose that lengthens the spine and stretches the shoulders while rejuvenating the nervous system. It’s considered an intermediate pose. Beginners should start with an assisted shoulder stand by placing a chair in front of your head. Placing your feet on the seat of the chair and stretching the body up high while supporting the lower back with your hands. Once you are comfortable, ease the legs over the head, starting with knees first and then full legs. The head and neck should be completely relaxed to allow for the throat chakra to open.
HONOR
The darkness swirling in Nick’s eyes after I blurted out some of my family’s holdings makes my stomach clench and twist. Dread prickles along my spine like tiny demons marching up and down, stabbing me with their pitchforks.
Why did I admit that?
He told me his family owns a winery. They sell the wine at this restaurant, which doesn’t look too shabby, even though it has a more casual appeal. I guess I assumed that meant he came from a financially stable background. From the hard look in his eyes, the firm set of his jaw, I’m not so sure.
“Does, um, my family’s wealth shock you?” I ask, eyes on my red wine.
Nick lifts his hand and rubs at his scruffy chin. It reminds me of how good that hair felt against my mouth when he kissed me earlier. Makes me dream of it brushing against other places. I swallow around the lump in my throat and bring the wine to my lips.
He pauses my hand at the wrist, and I place the glass back down, wrapping my fingers around the thin stem.
“Shock? No. Not a lot shocks me. Surprise? Damn straight. You just don’t seem like that type of woman.”
In a normal situation, this kind of statement would make me unerringly happy. Right now, it’s confusing, and his tone borders on condescending.
“And what type of woman would that be, Nick?” I raise my chin and focus on his hard jaw and chiseled cheek bones. The Italian Stallion nickname is accurate on so many accounts. He’s hard, dark, and beautiful at the same time.
He lifts his gaze and smirks. “Hey, hey, now. Don’t get your panties in a bunch. It’s just I’ve been around a lot of women in the past who wanted a guy with a heavy bankroll. Those are not circles I play in.”
No, no, no. He’s misinterpreting and turning things around.
He continues before I can stop his line of thinking. “I’m ex-military. I own a boxing gym. My office is a run by me, not a board of directors wearing five-thousand-dollar suits.” His gaze is sincere and sad at the same time.
I have to fix this. The last thing I want is for him to see me as a type of girl who thinks money matters more than happiness. Money has practically ruined my life. It did ruin Hannon’s. I grip his hand between both of mine.
“I’m not that girl, but I can’t change where I came from.”
He swallows and purses his lips. “Neither can I.”
The waiter chooses this moment to bring our food. He sets down the manicotti and gnocchi at the top of the table and then places our salads in front of us.
I let go of his hand, putting both of mine into my lap.
Nick curls his hand around my nape. “How’s about we eat, continue our date, and let the chips fall where they may, huh?”
Hope rings eternal in my chest. I nod and offer a small smile.
“Okay, now let me get you plated up.” He lifts the manicotti and places a rolled-up stuffed noodle thing smothered in meat sauce onto my plate. Steam billows around the top, sending mouthwatering scents into the air. “Manigot.” He says the word with an Italian flare, pulling me out of the weird funk we’d entered minutes ago with our heavy discussion. “Have you ever had gnocchi?” He lifts the bowl and scoops some of the potato pasta and chicken onto the side of my plate.
“I think so, but it was square and pillowed looking.” I frown and use my fork to turn over the rolled potato.
He grins. “This place is the second-best place to eat Italian food in town.”
“Second-best? What’s the first?” I ask while he plates his own food. As much as I want to dig into the succulent-smelling food, my manners override my senses, and I wait for him to serve himself.
He flashes a sexy grin my way. “My mother’s kitchen, of course!”
We both laugh, and I poke a piece of gnocchi, blow on it, and put it into my mouth. A taste sensation explodes across my taste buds. The mixture of alfredo, blue cheese, and the potato pasta is utter perfection. “I don’t know about your mother’s cooking, but this is incredible.”
He takes a bite of his own and smiles around it. When he finishes, he nudges my shoulder. “This is good. Ma’s is unparalleled. Swear.” He crosses his heart with an index finger.
“Maybe one day I’ll be lucky enough to taste it. Then I’ll be able to compare.” I cut into the manicotti, and the ricotta oozes out o
f the shell, tantalizing my eyes as well as my taste buds.
Nick doesn’t take another bite, just watches me eat. “Oh, I think you might be able to compare the food sooner rather than later.” He issues the statement almost like a warning. One that heightens my nerves and sends a little thrill shooting down my spine.
“Should I be scared?” I ask, actually thinking I might be scared already. I’ve never been taken home to meet the parents. The men I dated were in college. We’d have a couple dates, a handful of intimate times, and they’d move on.
What would Nick’s mother think of me? A dowdy, shy, woman with no job and no talent. I frown and prod my food, trying not to let my fear override the discussion. It’s not like it’s happening today.
Nick takes a large bite, chews, and ends with a smirk. “Absolutely. Ma’s a handful.” He answers my question about being scared. His response does not make me feel any calmer.
“Is she like Grace?” I smile, thinking of my new best friend. Her words, but I’m starting to wish they were true.
He chuckles. “Gracie is a ball of energy for sure. My mother is that, times a thousand, but armed with a wooden spoon or a spatula. She’s always cooking.” He shakes his head and spins his wineglass.
“Is that her favorite thing to do?” I want to know more about his family. They sound so down-to-earth and real. The exact opposite of mine.
Nick sips his wine and leans back. “Yeah, I’d say cooking is way up there, along with being judgy.” He chuckles, but I am not laughing in return.
“Why, um, is she judgy?”
“Because she’s a Catholic, guilt-driven, Italian mother of six. She’s got nuthin’ better to do than get all up into her children’s lives.” He chuckles.
I frown. “Why does she care?” My mother hasn’t even realized I’ve moved out, and it’s going on a week.
Apparently that question rattles Nick, because he turns in the booth and focuses on me and not our dinner. “She’s a mom. She cares too much. From whether or not we’re sleeping well, to having a good job, to food in our bellies, to time spent on things we love. Then there’s the hugs and kisses.” He shrugs. “All good moms worry, poke, and prod their children, wanting the best for them. I’m sure your mother does too.”
Silent Sins: A Lotus House Novel: Book Five Page 12
