“I’m fine,” I said, shrugging out of his reach, feeling a small flash of irritation.
He followed me to my desk, watchful gaze nearly burning a hole through the back of my head.
“You haven’t been . . . running up stairs?” he asked haltingly, as if he knew it wasn’t quite right.
“No, I . . .” I considered lying, but knew he’d never buy that. “Jesus, you’re like a dog with a bone. Can we change the subject, please?”
His eyes softened as they scanned my face, and then he inhaled sharply, glancing over my shoulder as if remembering where we were. “Come on then. Out with it.”
“I was . . .” I started, wondering who I’d have to kill to get the ground to just open up and swallow me whole. Seriously, this playing field was starting to feel a little uneven. “I was just . . .”
“You were . . .” His brows drew together and his gaze flickered to my hand at my throat as he seemed to understand. “In the ladies’ room? Just now?”
“Yes.”
“At work?”
Ugh.
“I’m sorry . . . After last night and then today . . .”
“Wait,” he said, swallowing thickly. “You were thinking of me in there?”
“Of course, I—” I began and then stopped, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. How did he stay so quiet, so still? “You touch me, but then you turn aloof. The mixed signals make me feel crazy.”
And now I felt crazy with a side of humiliation.
I almost jumped when I felt the gentle prod of his finger under my chin. “Did you come, my darling?”
Fire slid into my veins, and when I looked up at him, I saw the same burning in his.
I licked my lips, nodding.
“Tell me specifically what were you thinking about.”
“Touching you,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry. “Kissing you.”
He nodded, eyes unfocused as he stared at my lips.
It was all the invitation I needed. I stood on my tiptoes, running my nose along the warm skin of his neck. He made a sound that was something between a whimper and a groan, and tried to put the smallest amount of space between us. Looking down at me, he seemed to struggle to work through a hundred different things. I could immediately tell he was torn. Maybe I was right, and post-divorce, he felt a little gun-shy. Maybe he was worried this was all moving too fast. Or maybe he simply wasn’t comfortable doing things my way: sprinting headlong into what was sure to be mind-blowing sex and staying in bed until our return flight left for London.
In that moment, I felt like I’d take whatever I could get, even if that meant ten years of flirtation leading up to a single, careful kiss.
“Are you okay?” I asked quietly.
“I just wonder if we should . . .” He swallowed, wincing slightly.
“Ship me back to London and never speak to me again?”
He laughed but shook his head. “Please, no.”
“Talk about what happened last night?”
He reached up, ran his thumb across my chin. “Yes.”
Relief and anxiety threaded together in my chest. “My mom always said if you can’t talk about it, you shouldn’t be doing it.”
His brow lifted at this, and he studied my face, lips curled up in the sweetest, hopeful smile. “Quiet dinner it is, then.”
Niall met me at my hotel room door, dressed again in my favorite charcoal suit and tie. It was cut perfectly for his long, muscular frame and the gray brought out the yellow in his honey-brown eyes. Those eyes would be focused on me all night. Just me.
I might combust.
We took a cab to Perry St, an upscale restaurant housed in a high-rise glass building just off—you guessed it—Perry Street. It was elegant and chic, with floor-to-ceiling windows and minimal décor. Tables and earth-toned booths packed with diners filled the large dining room, and I was suddenly worried we wouldn’t be able to get a table.
“Table for two,” he told the hostess. “Reservation under the name Stella.”
I tried to ignore the way my heart leapt at the idea of him making dinner reservations for the two of us.
We followed her to a small booth in the very corner of the room.
“Oh my God, this is gorgeous,” I said, taking in the breathtaking view of the Hudson River. “How did you know about this place?”
“Max, of course,” he said, taking his seat.
“Right. Max,” I said, praying that didn’t sound as breathless to his ears as it did to mine. He’d called his brother asking about dinner. If I couldn’t feel his foot pressed up against mine under the table, I might have floated away. “Has he lived here long?”
He nodded, taking a sip of his water. “A few years.”
“He seems so happy,” I said. “They all do.”
He smiled. “They are, it seems. Max and Sara just had a baby, you know?” I nodded, and he hesitated a moment before asking, “Would you like to see a picture?”
“I’d love to.” Love to might be too small an exclamation, dying to might be a bit more accurate.
Niall retrieved his phone and flipped through his camera roll.
“There she is,” he said, fondly, finger running along the edge of the screen. It was a picture of Niall holding a tiny bundle, a small hand reaching out from the blanket to grip his thumb. But it wasn’t the beautiful baby that had my heart dropping into the depths of my stomach—though she was gorgeous—it was the look of adoration he wore as he looked down at her. The Niall in this photo was happy, practically blissed out. He was relaxed and smiling and absolutely in awe of the little girl.
“What’s her name?” I asked, looking up to find him wearing the exact same expression now.
Dear God.
Ovulation in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .
“Annabel Dillon Stella. Beautiful little thing, in’t she?”
My eyes widened at the softening of his accent. “Gorgeous. She looks a little like you, I think. Look at that nose.”
If possible, his expression grew even happier. “Yeah?”
I nodded.
“The Stella nose, she’s got, lookit that.”
The server came by, asking if we’d like to order cocktails before dinner. We both laughed, and then our eyes met across the table. With the mention of drinks, the memory of last night was laid bare between us.
I held my breath.
“Maybe a bottle of wine?” Niall suggested quietly, glancing to me for agreement before he quickly studied the wine list. He ordered a bottle of a pinot noir and handed her the menu. “A few minutes before we order, then, yeah?”
After the server disappeared, he seemed engrossed with the condensation on his water glass for several breaths.
“I know last night was probably really wild for both of us,” I said, addressing the elephant sitting on the table, “but I hope you don’t regret it. I would feel terrible.”
His head shot up, brow tight. “Not at all,” he said, and I exhaled in relief. “I was the one who came to your room, if you recall.”
I did recall.
The seconds ticked by as he looked back down at his hands and failed to say anything else. With each passing moment of silence, I couldn’t help thinking, That’s it? I gnawed at my lip, studying him.
He took a calming breath, laughing a little self-deprecating laugh. “This is all very new to me, Ruby; forgive me if it takes a while to find the words.”
I wanted to be patient, but the quiet was torture. In professional situations, Niall was entirely self-possessed and capable. The few times he’d relaxed enough to touch me, he was all confidence and command. But when it was like this—personal and relying on expressing things verbally—he seemed unable to communicate a single private thought. Maybe Pippa was right and this sort of emotional reserve was only sexy in a book or movie. Here it was torture to my hammering pulse.
“It must have been weird,” I said, unable to take the silence anymore. “To do that. I mean, to watch me do that.”
Oh, God.
He gazed at me, waiting to see where I was going with this. Hell, I was waiting to see where I was going with this.
“With someone totally different, after the divorce,” I babbled. “Or, to just be back in the swing of things . . . Like that. With me.”
Gah, if this were a football game, it would be the kind where I fumbled the ball, it exploded, and the entire stadium burst into flames.
He ran a finger over his eyebrow and gave a tiny smile. “Back in the swing of things,” he repeated. “Not sure what I’ve done since the divorce could be classified as such.”
The server stopped by our table to take our order, and we both opened the menus, scanning quickly.
I ordered the first combination of words I could coherently string together. “I’ll have the salmon.”
Niall stared blankly at the choices before he snapped his menu closed and handed it to her, saying only a distracted, “Steak.” She opened her mouth to begin listing the choices and he cut her off with a gentle “Whichever you recommend. Medium rare, please.”
We waited patiently for her to leave and then our eyes met again.
“Where were we?” he asked.
“We were breaking down the meaning of ‘back in the swing of things.’?”
He laughed. “Right.”
“You don’t date much?”