“You’re what makes me happy” is on the tip of my tongue, and I swallow the words. They seem…so vulnerable. Like saying them would strip me of every defense I have.
I don’t want to leave myself that open. Nicholas would never hurt me on purpose, but I’ve always thought that about the men I’ve dated. And every time I let my guard down, they did end up hurting me. Even the most casual strike from Nicholas would hurt more than anybody else because he means more than anybody else.
The steakhouse is gorgeous—I can see why there’s a huge waiting list to get in. The place doesn’t have the stereotypical dark wood and brass feel. It’s airy, with three floor-to-ceiling glass sides of the restaurant open to a stunning view of downtown Los Angeles. White and red dahlia blossoms are set in centerpieces on tables covered with thick white cloths that reach all the way to the floor. Next to them, small tea candles cast a soft glow. On a small stage is a live performance featuring a jazz singer in a glittering red dress.
The air is replete with the scent of sizzling meat and freshly baked bread. Wine flows freely. A crisply dressed maître d’ checks our reservation, and we’re shown to an intimate table by the window.
Nicholas and I walk to it together, our hands linked. I only let go when we’re seated.
“This is gorgeous. Thank you.” I smile.
“A gorgeous dinner for the most sought-after bachelorette.”
I laugh. “Only because you were bidding so shamelessly. I still can’t believe it.” I remember what Dad texted, and my laughter dies.
“What?”
“Nothing, really. I think people noticed me a little too much when I got the crazy-high bid.”
“Theyshouldnotice the lady who was the biggest prize of the night—and who won her.” His possessive tone says,Mine,which sends hot shivers through me.
Our waiter appears. Witty and energetic, he recommends all steaks equally, but suggests we also try their South African lobsters drizzled with herb and lemon butter. The sauteed mushrooms are “exceptional,” the truffle mac and cheese “can’t be beat” and their oysters on the half-shell are “extra fresh and succulent.”
We order seafood bisque, a platter of oysters, steak, lobster, loaded baked potatoes and the truffle mac and cheese. Nicholas asks if I want champagne or red wine. I feel like a red, so he selects a bottle of Bordeaux. It’s all smooth and easy, like we’ve been with each other forever and eaten out together millions of times.
While we wait for our food to arrive, I ask Nicholas exactly what he does, because it’s not something I’m really familiar with.
“Initially, I invested my money in the market, and then with my brothers at GrantEm. They’re really good at picking winners. And once I’d made more than I knew what to do with, I started to buy mid-sized companies that have growth potential but are somewhat mismanaged.”
“Like…a corporate raider?”
He laughs. “No, not like that. I don’t strip companies of their assets and sell them for a quick profit. The idea is to shake things up, improve the management and make the whole enterprise more profitable. Once that happens, I’ll sell my stake. But then I got interested in private equity, so I started a PE fund on the side. I have a partner who helps with it, and I might get another manager, mainly to lighten my workload.”
“I thought you liked working.” Georgia told me Nicholas spends a ton of time in the office. Even blamed it for his short-lived relationships.
“It’s fulfilling. But now I have something I like more.” He gives me a gorgeous smile.
When he gazes into my eyes like this, I feel like we could be a forever kind of couple. The only question is…am I reading him correctly? Isooowish I could see into his mind.
Our food starts to arrive. The bisque is exceptionally flavorful. The waiter wasn’t kidding about the oysters, either. They’re mildly salty, with a clean aftertaste and a hint of lemon.
As Nicholas and I have the last of the oysters, I wonder if he knows that they’re considered an aphrodisiac. Not that he needs one. His problem—assuming it really can be considered a problem—is that he can’t stop. He’s absolutely relentless in bed. I actually looked around in the bathroom and cabinets to see if he’s taking something special. But no. Just a bottle of plain multivitamins from Costco, and I’m sure his stamina in bed isn’t coming from that. Otherwise, Costco would be making a fortune.
Am I going to have another hot, sleepless night?
Our waiter clears the table to bring out our steaks, lobsters and sides. Nicholas’s mouth glistens in the candlelight. He licks his lips, then reaches for the wine. I take a quick sip of my red. The taste of dark berries, currants and smoky oak coats my tongue. It isn’t overly dry, but not too sweet, either. He takes another slow swallow, and I can’t tear my gaze from his mouth, the way a bit of wine lingers on his lips, making them look so wet.
It reminds me of how they looked after he went down on me. For some reason, he really enjoys the act, like he can’t go a day without putting his face between my legs and devouring me until I’m a mess. My face heats for reasons that have nothing to do with the wine flowing warmly in my veins. I squirm.
“What?” he says.
“What what?”
“You’re staring at me.” His gaze drops to my mouth.
He knows.His playful smile eases something inside me. Suddenly, I feel like teasing. And being more honest than I might otherwise. “Your mouth makes me think of what you did to me last night.”
“I did a lot of things to you last night.”
