Chapter Forty-Three
I take a final look at my reflection: black skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder fine knit sweater. City chic and very much in tone for an evening of dancing, after Niamh demanded a few twirls around the dance floor as compensation for spoiling our girly night out. She knows how much I hate dancing but took full advantage, saying I’d manage to bust a few shapes with a bit of liquid confidence. As it turns out, Kai can’t stay for dinner and is just meeting us for a drink, not that Niamh complained he’d changed the venue. I surmise it has something to do withwherewe’re going.
Dancing aside, my primary objective for this evening is to get Niamh and Kai to be friends, or at least friendly. Not that either party is aware of my nefarious plan. Kai knows she’s my best friend and I guess he found out she’s fiercely loyal, judging by the talking to he seemed to be on the receiving end of at the pool. Though he must’ve said something right; she did, after all, give him the key pilfered from my bag. But I still feel anxious, nervousness bubbling as lively as any cheap bottle of fizz. Blame Niamh. Though she’s promised to play nice, I don’t believe her one bit.
We enter Kai’s selected restaurant and I’m immediately blown away. Opulent doesn’t even cover it. Huge, magnificent chandeliers, white fur, blinging walls, and waterfalls adorn the place. The level of opulence rising on each of its three floors. It’s over-the-top elegance but also a little bit mad.
‘Club Cavalli. I came here once before but got turned away at the door by some snotty bint.’ Niamh sniffs disdainfully. ‘I said I’d never come again, but I suppose I can manage it for my best friend.’
I slide her a significant look. Sure, she’ll suffer the opulence. Just for me.
The maître d’ leads us across a small but empty dance floor and up several stairs to a raised platform or kind of dais. The music is quite subdued, the lights low and the restaurant moderately busy. Kai is already at the table. He stands to greet us before we reach him and my breath is quite literally taken away. He loosens the single button of his slim fitting evening suit, his black skinny tie contrasting against the white of his shirt. He could’ve easily stepped directly off the catwalk in Milan or Paris. Exquisitely handsome, all lean and elegant angles, and good enough to lick.
‘Close your gob, you’re drooling,’ Niamh mutters. My mouth snaps closed as we approach.
I’m not sure about drooling but my skin flushes with pleasure as a slow, seductive smile rises on his mouth, almost as though he can read my mind. I lean into him, laying my hand against his tie as his lips meet mine in a chaste greeting. Fuck chaste right now; I want to loosen the tie from his neck, strip him bare, make him think only of me.
‘Thank you for the croissant,’ I murmur instead.
He doesn’t answer but smiles, heart-stoppingly so. ‘A pleasure to see you again, Niamh.’ His arm now around my shoulder, he turns, still smiling, and holds out his other hand to Niamh. ‘And thanks for loaning me Kate’s key.’
‘Kai.’ Niamh’s response is barely cordial as her hand briefly meets his. ‘What?’ she says taking in my expression. ‘Are you complaining? No, I didn’t think so.’ She purses her lips.
Kai holds out our seats by their backs— low-backed zebra skin covered chairs—more madness. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to see the Mad Hatter swing by, especially looking at how some of the patrons are dressed. Signalling the waiter almost invisibly, Kai asks, ‘What would you ladies like to drink?’
‘What’ve you got there?’ Niamh asks, peering at his glass.
‘A single malt.’ He holds the glass aloft, as though studying the colour, the containing liquid reflecting the amber of his eyes.
‘Is it a whiskey with an e or without?’ She narrows her eyes at him, daring him to ask for an explanation. And I roll my eyes, not needing one: whisky is from Scotland whereas whiskey, note thee, is from the far superior motherland of Niamh.Ihave already been indoctrinated into the world of scotch, or to put it another way, I’ve been bored to death already. And I call it scotch just to piss her off, because scotch is Scottish, not Irish, see? Anyway, goading her now would induce a war I don’t need.No Niamh sized tantrums needed tonight.
‘With. Bushmills, twenty-one year old.’
Her eyes slide to mine. ‘I like him more already. Uisce beatha will do nicely, thank you, Kai.’ Her expression is reduced to a small smile, one of appreciation with more than a touch of surprise. Kai has passed the first test, though I doubt he realises.
‘U what?’ I ask, bewildered.
‘Usice beatha... aqua vita, heathen,’ she prompts almost disparagingly.
‘Water of life, heathen!’ I scoff, adding a roll of my eyes, for shits and giggles; the former hers, the latter mine. ‘Just say whiskey, we’re not all experts, and I for one can’t stand the stuff, so stop showing off.’
‘Two Bushmills, no ice.’ Kai addresses the waiter, looking to Niamh as he orders. She concurs with a nod of her head. ‘And a martini. Make it dirty,’ he adds silkily.
My stomach flips, his words an echo in my ear.A dirty martini for a dirty girl.My cheeks burn immediately. There’s no reprieve for me when he’s near and I never know when he’s going to jump from light to shade.
‘Best not have too many of those, ‘cos those shoes and drinking are a recipe for disaster. You’ll break your neck.’
I blink as I ingest Niamh’s words, distracted immediately as Kai tilts his head to one side and strokes his chin, his eyes lustrous with desire. Or maybe mirth.
‘I think Niamh could be right. Those shoes look more suited to a chair than dancing.’
Something dark and sweet unfurls in the pit of my stomach as images of a particular chair—of silks and mirrors—flash through my mind. These shoes are suited to Kai, this much I know. Well, obviously they aren’t suited for him to wear, just to his esoteric tastes.
‘Some things are worth suffering for,’ I murmur in reply, turning my heated cheeks from his gaze. I can almost feel his eyes burning into me as an urgent desire climbs through my veins.
Leaning forward, he pushes a lock of hair behind my ear, the pad of his thumb lightly caressing my cheek on withdrawal. It’s an act so intimate, so personal, it might’ve easily been a hand moving between my legs. Then Niamh clears her throat and I’m immediately uncomfortable. Kai leans back into his seat, our trio’s embryonic conversation having died and left an uneasy silence in its place. I’m frantically scanning suitable topics of conversation when Niamh casually breaks the silence.
‘So, Kai, what do you actually do for a living? Kate says you’re a lawyer, though first she said you were a teacher. Which is it?’
