by Teri Wilson
Needed. Craved.
He fixed his gaze on hers, staring into her eyes with such intention that she had no choice but to listen. “The last time I took you to bed, you were there because another man told you some things that were not only cruel, but also flat-out wrong. Maybe that wasn’t the only reason, but it was certainly one of them. And that was fine. Then. I’m not judging your decision process in the slightest. We hardly knew each other. We were strangers.”
She crossed her arms, but her hot gaze never strayed from his.
He continued, “Now I know you, Evangeline. I know you, and I want you now more than ever before. Hear what I’m saying—I want you so much that the next time I make love to you, there will be no one else in your head. Or your heart.”
He swallowed. His throat felt raw all of a sudden, his words like razors scraping away at his deepest regret.
Maybe his refusal to kiss her wasn’t as much about Jeremy as it was to do with Natalie. Either way, he was doing the right thing. Neither of them had a place here.
“The next time I kiss you...the next time I take you to bed...it will be about us. And only us. Just you and me.” His voice cracked on his parting words. “That’s a promise.”
Chapter Eight
In a perfect world, Evangeline would have called in sick the next day in order to avoid having to face her bachelor boss.
But she didn’t live in a perfect world. She lived in a crazy, mixed-up place where Jeremy had become a culinary superstar without even trying, where she’d resorted to sneaking her dogs out in the middle of the night to do their business and worst of all, where she’d humiliated herself by asking Ryan to kiss her, only to have him adamantly refuse.
No.
He’d said no.
She couldn’t believe it. He’d been the one who’d planted the idea in her head in the first place. He’d been the one who’d held her hand in the restaurant and given her that stirring speech about how passionate she was. And then he’d turned her down flat.
It was mortifying. Worse than mortifying. She’d never been so embarrassed in her life. Not even when Jeremy had confessed his affair.
She wouldn’t have admitted as much to anyone, of course, least of all Ryan Wilde. She’d known the man for less than two months. She absolutely shouldn’t be more emotional about his dismissal than she was about a breakup with someone she’d dated for two years.
And yet, she was.
Because he’d been right. She hadn’t wanted just a kiss. She’d wanted more. She’d wanted all of him. Again. And he’d been fully aware of her intentions. He’d stood there and looked her right in the eyes as she’d yearned for him, burning with desire while snow fell around them, dusting his hair in a fine veil of frosty white.
Then he’d turned her down.
He’d framed his refusal in a promise, but Evangeline knew a rejection when she heard one.
Now, in the cold light of day, she was almost grateful. Sleeping with him again would have been a massive mistake. Nothing was going to change the fact that he was her boss. He also moonlighted as an expert playboy, apparently. And he was so skilled at it that he managed to trick women into throwing themselves at him, Evangeline included.
God, it was nauseating. She felt a sudden stab of sympathy for the Ryan Wilde fan club that gathered in the hotel lobby every morning. Bile rose to the back of her throat as she rounded the corner near Grand Central Station and the Bennington came into view.
The irony of her predicament wasn’t lost on her. She legitimately felt physically ill, but calling in sick wasn’t an option. She wouldn’t have Ryan thinking she couldn’t handle seeing him again. She preferred him to stop thinking about her at all, actually.
And vice versa.
Note taken, self.
“Good afternoon, Miss Holly.” The general manager greeted her from behind the reservation desk as she clicked across the expansive lobby in her highest stilettos.
Power shoes.
“Good afternoon, Elliot.” Her stomach churned, but she ignored it and shot him her brightest smile.
I might have begged my boss to kiss me last night, but I’m a professional, darn it.
Elliot’s gaze flitted toward the hallway beyond the elevator bank. “Mr. Wilde would like to see you in the conference room adjacent to his office.”
Her smile froze into place. I’ll bet he would.
She shook her head. “I can’t. I have a meeting with a vendor in half an hour. Would you let him know, please?”
Elliot frowned. “I’m afraid he’s rearranged his schedule and stayed late specifically to meet with you and the other Mr. Wilde.”
“Oh.” He was talking about Zander, not Ryan. She really wished one of them would change his last name so she would stop getting them mixed up. “I see. Of course I’ll make myself available.”
Her tummy gave another sickening flip. Zander had rearranged his day in order to meet with her and Ryan the minute she walked in the door?
He knows.
Her humiliation was multiplied one hundred times over. Was she about to get grilled about her personal life? Was Zander going to make her explain the awkward events of the night before?
Was she about to be fired?
She couldn’t lose this job. She had an elderly grandfather and two dogs depending on her.
Relax. You’ve done nothing wrong.
True, thanks to Ryan’s sudden virtuous streak.
Still, her faith in her power shoes was beginning to waver. She swallowed and pressed a hand to her stomach as she neared the conference room.
“Hello, Evangeline. Come on in.” Zander waved at the empty chair beside Ryan when she poked her head inside the door.
She’d have preferred to sit someplace else. Anyplace else, actually. But at least she wouldn’t have to look at him.
She lowered herself into the designated seat. Ryan’s gaze swept over her, but she kept her attention fixed firmly forward.
Zander sat back in his chair, a little too relaxed for a CEO who was about to fire someone. “Well?” he prompted. “How was last night? Give me the debrief.”
Evangeline released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. This was a simple discussion about Mon Ami Jules, not a termination. She could do this. Easy-peasy.
Where shall I start? With the fact that the chef was my ex or the part where a tiny brush of Ryan’s thumb against the palm of my hand gave me goose bumps?
“The wine was substandard,” she said flatly.
“I disagree,” Ryan countered with a lazy shrug.
Of course he did. Would it kill him to cooperate with her on one tiny thing? Especially when that thing was her area of expertise?
Zander frowned and consulted the stack of papers spread across the table in front of him. “I’ve got a copy of Carlo Bocci’s review for the Times, and he specifically mentions the excellence of the sommelier’s recommendation.”
He glanced at the printed page on top of the stack again. “It was a Côtes du Rhône.”
Evangeline asked him to name the vintage, and he rattled off the information that matched the wine the sommelier had poured for her and Ryan the night before.
“Interesting.” She pulled a face. “I wasn’t particularly impressed with it.”
Zander’s attention shifted toward Ryan. “But you liked it?”
“I did,” he said slowly. “But I’m not the expert.”
That’s right. You’re not.
But Carlo Bocci sort of was, and he disagreed with her, too.
Evangeline’s smile grew tight. She wished they’d move on to a critique of the meal. But now that she thought about it, she’d barely eaten anything. She hadn’t had much of an appetite lately.
“Do we have this wine in-house?” Zander asked.
Evangeline nodded.
“Yes, we do. Would you like me to pour a glass for you?”
Zander held up three fingers. “Pour one for each of us. I think a tasting is in order.”
“Very well. I’ll be right back.”
It was a relief to escape the room for a few minutes, even though she was beginning to feel like her job was indeed on the line. Her taste was being questioned. That’s what was happening, wasn’t it?
Fine. She had the utmost confidence in her ability to evaluate wines. She’d grown up surrounded by grapevines. She knew wine like the back of her hand. More so than Carlo Bocci, probably.
She returned to the conference room holding a decanter, a trio of balloon-style wineglasses and a bottle of the red in question. Once she’d placed the items on the conference table, she gave Zander and Ryan a brief lesson on Côtes du Rhône varieties. If she was going to present a wine for tasting, she insisted on doing it right. Like a proper sommelier, because that’s what she was.
For the time being, anyway.
“A good Côtes du Rhône will never upstage a meal, but was instead created to enhance it,” she said. “It’s a fruit-driven, quiet wine. Medium-bodied with an earthy flavor.”
She uncorked the bottle, and to her great dismay, realized that her hands were shaking. She blamed Ryan. His unwavering stare as she spoke was beginning to unnerve her. She felt exposed...vulnerable, as if she were standing naked at the head of the table.
“Are you feeling okay, Evangeline?” Zander asked. “You look rather pale.”
She glanced up from the bottle in her hands, her rebellious gaze veering straight toward Ryan. His brow was creased in concern.
“I’m fine, thank you.” I’m blowing this.
Her original plan had been to stick to her guns and convince them she was right. The wine was bad, plain and simple, even though she ordinarily enjoyed a nice glass of CDR. And the vineyard that had produced this vintage had a sterling reputation.
She realized now that she was going to have to switch gears. Bocci was a Michelin star reviewer. The reviewer who’d hopefully be dining at Bennington 8 sometime in the coming weeks. Arguing against his opinion would be pointless.
She was going to have to fake it. She’d sip the wine and pretend it was the best Côtes du Rhône she’d ever tasted. It was her only option.
Easier said than done.
When she poured the wine into the decanter so it could breathe, she was hit with an aroma so strong that it nearly knocked her over. Fermented grapes, black plum, candied berries—she could smell it all. And everything seemed...off. The fruity notes were so pungent they almost smelled rotten. When she swallowed, she tasted vinegar at the back of her throat.
She covered her mouth with her free hand in an effort to stop herself from gagging. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. Côtes du Rhône shouldn’t have such a strong bouquet, even if it had somehow gone bad. It wasn’t a heavy wine. Many experts called it cabernet light.
There was nothing light about the overwhelming smell of alcohol burning Evangeline’s nostrils. She forced herself to breathe only through her mouth as she swirled the wine in the decanter so it could properly aerate.
“Evangeline.” The silence in the conference room was broken by Ryan aggressively clearing his throat. “Can I see you in private for a moment?”
Seriously?
She stared at him and shook her head as subtly as she could manage.
No. Absolutely not.
Zander glanced back and forth between them. “What is it, Ryan?”
Ryan’s gaze remained steadfastly fixed on Evangeline’s face when he answered. “It’s personal.”
She was going to kill him. She was going to strangle him with his fancy Hermès tie right then and there.
“I’m sorry, Zander. I have no idea what he’s talking about.” A hysterical laugh bubbled up her throat. Get it together. She addressed Ryan without bothering to look at him. “I’m sure whatever you need to discuss with me can wait until after the tasting.”
“It can’t,” he countered.
She pretended not to hear him as she poured three glasses, sliding two of them across the table toward the men.
Zander kept glancing around, appeared thoroughly confused, albeit handsomely so. The Wilde family had clearly lucked out in the genetic lottery.
“Evangeline,” Ryan said tersely.
“Ryan.” She pasted a smile on her face and fixed her gaze with his. Would you kindly shut up?
Zander held up his glass. “Cheers?” It sounded more like a question than a proper toast.
Evangeline reached for her drink, more than ready to get the tasting over with. She had no intention of speaking to Ryan one-on-one afterward. If he thought she was going to discuss anything remotely personal with him at work, he’d lost his arrogant mind.
She didn’t ever want to speak to him alone again, and definitely wouldn’t be asking him to kiss her again. No. Way. She just wanted to forget last night ever happened.
A glass of wine suddenly seemed like an excellent idea, even though the smell made her stomach turn. But just as her fingertips were about to make contact with the crystal stem of her wineglass, Ryan reached for it, too. It almost seemed as if he did it on purpose, she thought.
Red wine splashed all over her, from the cowl-necked top of her white angora sweater to the tips of her suddenly drenched power stilettos. As she stood there with Côtes du Rhône dripping from her hair, a wave of nausea hit her hard and fast, and she no longer cared whether or not the spill had been intentional. She needed to get to a bathroom.
Immediately.
She’d worry about pummeling Ryan Wilde later.
* * *
Well, that didn’t turn out quite like I planned.
Ryan closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. When he opened them, red wine was dripping from the conference table onto the plush dove-gray carpet. Zander was looking at him as if he’d just sprouted another head.
Evangeline was nowhere to be seen.
“Sorry,” he said. “We reached for the same glass and...”
He didn’t bother finishing. There was no way Zander would buy such a flimsy explanation. Not when every visible surface was drenched in Côtes du Rhône.
He’d panicked. He’d never intended to make such a mess. Obviously. He’d just wanted to stop Evangeline from taking a sip.
Mission accomplished, idiot.
“I should go check on Miss Holly.” He turned and headed for the door.
He couldn’t get into a discussion with Zander about this disaster. Not now. He could barely think straight, let alone come up with a reasonable excuse for his behavior.
He’d explain everything eventually. If what he suspected was true, he wouldn’t have a choice.
“Send for housekeeping while you’re at it, would you?” Zander said calmly.
Too calmly.
“Will do.” Ryan strode out of the room.
He flagged down the closest hotel employee and requested help in the conference room, then headed for the nearby ladies’ room. He didn’t linger. Didn’t think twice about what to do next. He ignored the feminine stick figure sign and pushed his way inside.
By some miracle, the restroom was empty, save for one stall with its door closed. He settled against the marble counter, crossed his arms and waited.
Sure enough, Evangeline emerged seconds later, looking as white as a sheet. Ryan’s heart gave an undeniable tug. She was like a very lovely ghost of her very lovely self. Pale, fragile, delicate. All words he normally wouldn’t associate with Evangeline.
Then she caught sight of him and managed to muster enough strength to narrow her eyes in fury.
“Get out,” she croaked.
He shook his head. “We need to talk. Now.”
“Do you have any idea how crazy you’re behaving? You j
ust tossed a glass of wine at me, and now you’ve ambushed me in the women’s restroom.” She waved her arms around the restroom’s serene interior. “Is it even legal for you to be here?”
He didn’t know. Nor did he care.
“I’m sorry about your clothes. I’ll replace them with whatever you’d like. Take my Bloomingdale’s card.” He started to reach for the inside pocket of his suit jacket, then stopped.
What was he doing? He’d barged in here because he had something to say. Something important. Something that would change her life in a profound way. His, too, possibly.
If what he suspected was true.
How could this be happening again?
Sitting beside Zander while Evangeline poured the wine, struggling not to gag, Ryan had a deep sense of déjà vu. He was being revisited by his deepest desire and his worst nightmare, all rolled into one. Of course he’d panicked. It was a wonder he’d managed to hold on to anything remotely resembling sanity.
“Save it. I don’t want your money. I just want you to let me do my job.” Evangeline lifted her chin in defiance, but there was a telltale wobble in her bottom lip that told him that wasn’t all she wanted. Like him, she wanted more. But for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to admit it.
The urge to close the distance between them and take her in his arms was overwhelming.
He didn’t dare.
The door to the restroom flew open, and a woman holding a little girl by the hand stepped inside.
The young girl’s eyes went as big as saucers. “Mommy, why is there a man in here?”
Ryan’s throat clogged. Mommy.
He sighed mightily and tried his best not to look like a weirdo who cornered women in restrooms on a regular basis. “I’m sorry. Could you give us a minute? Please?”
After casting a questioning glance toward Evangeline, the girl’s mother seemed satisfied nothing untoward was going on. She nodded. “Fine. One minute. But we’ll be right outside.”
“Thank you.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. Super. Now he was being timed.
