Blue eyes shining, he reaches out and caresses my cheek. He murmurs, “Beautiful Shayna. Thank you for coming. I love having you here.”
Emotion swells in my chest, expanding until it’s hard to breathe. I want to look away from him to hide, but I can’t. The force of his gaze is too powerful.
I don’t know what it is about him, but I’m drawn to him in a way I’ve never been drawn to anyone else. To his mysteries and his moods, his longing and his loneliness, all the parts he keeps hidden from everyone for reasons yet unknown.
I know he’s got secrets. I know he’s not perfect. But I’ve never known anyone I wanted to understand more.
“I could get addicted to the way you’re looking at me right now,” he says, his voice throaty.
“If I ask you something, will you answer honestly?”
“I’ll always be honest with you.”
“When you’re not sidestepping, you mean.”
That earns me a smile. “What’s the question?”
“Can I trust you not to break my heart?”
A look of pain crosses his features. He closes his eyes and exhales a quiet breath. When he opens his eyes again, they’re filled with anguish.
“Why do you think I keep saying we can’t have a relationship?”
That shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. I almost wish he’d lied to me. But I guess that’s what I get for asking the question.
I look away, out into the night. “Okay,” I whisper around the lump in my throat. “Fair enough.”
“Shay—”
“No, let’s not ruin this. We have tonight. And we have Shanghai lobster. And if you’re very, very good, I’ll let you convince me that we should go skinny dipping in that enormous pool.”
He gathers me into his arms and hugs me, pressing his face against my neck. We stand like that for a while, holding each other and breathing, until I feel tears well at the corners of my eyes and pull away.
He’s already breaking my heart, and we haven’t even eaten dinner yet.
Taking my hand, he leads me through a set of open French doors onto the terrace. The air is warm and still, perfumed by the cascading honeysuckle vines climbing the balustrade. We sit at a small round table draped in white linen and set with fine china and crystal. White tapers in silver holders add a romantic glow to the setting.
Overwhelmed, I take in the view.
“You’re quiet,” observes Cole, spreading a linen napkin over his lap.
“I’m processing.”
He nods, accepting that answer without pressuring me for more. Then he pulls his cell from his jacket pocket and dials a number. To whoever answers on the other line, he says, “We’re ready.”
He disconnects, shuts his phone off, and slides it back into his pocket. Then he takes my panties from another inside pocket and holds them to his nose. Looking at me, he inhales deeply.
Embarrassed, I shake my head and look away.
“Don’t be shy.”
When I glance back at him, he’s grinning.
“You’re strange.”
“You told me that the night we met. Do you remember?”
“Yes, and I was right. Put those away, please.”
He folds them carefully and places them in the outer breast pocket of his jacket, arranging them until the panties look like a pocket square.
“I don’t want to know how many times you’ve done that before, but you’re entirely too good at it. Please don’t tell me you’ll wear them into a meeting.”
“Oh, these are coming with me wherever I go.”
He laughs at my expression. I love his laugh, open and unguarded, loud and happy. The sound thrills me. I sit and stare at him, mesmerized.
Eyes glowing, he leans across the table and takes my hand. “There’s that look again.”
“What look?”
“The one I’m addicted to.”
“The one you said you could get addicted to, you mean.”
“Apparently, one hit was all I needed.”
Blushing, I look down at the table. “You’re just laying it on thick because I said that thing about skinny dipping.”
“You know I’m not.”
I glance up. Our gazes lock. My nervous system slams into high alert and starts lighting my body parts on fire. How does he do this to me?
“You’re so fucking beautiful. Goddamn, Shay. Goddamn.”
His voice is low and vehement, and his eyes are shining. I wish I could take a picture of his face so I could remember him at this moment, so I could look at it when things get rough between us, which I know they will.
I whisper, “Thank you.”
He leans over and kisses my knuckles just as two young men arrive at our tableside. They’re wearing long-sleeved white dress shirts, black slacks, and black vests with the word Spago sewn in white lettering on the chests.
“Good evening,” says the taller blond one. “I’m Brett. I’ll be serving you this evening. Christian is assisting me.” He nods toward his companion, a slender young man with a beautiful smile and big, dark eyes.
Cole leans back into his chair, crosses his legs, and folds his hands in his lap. He watches me with unwavering intent as our servers set plates of food in front of us and pour wine into the crystal goblets.
Brett gestures toward my plate. “For our first course, we have pork belly dumplings with black vinegar, chili oil, and ginger, paired with Wolfgang’s favorite dry Austrian Riesling. Bon appétit.”
They withdraw, leaving me more overwhelmed than before.
Because of course he would, Cole notices.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. This is just…incredible. You went to a lot of trouble. I hope you don’t think I’m the kind of girl who wouldn’t be happy getting takeout from a pizza joint.”
His voice turns soft. “I know what kind of girl you are. And don’t worry about the effort. It’s my pleasure.”
“Still, Cole. This is a lot.”
“It’s worth it just to see your expression.”
“Well, thank you. For everything. But don’t think I expect—”
“I’m going to give you things,” he interrupts. “Nice things. Things you deserve, things it will make me happy to give you because I know you’ll appreciate them, but also selfishly because I know how good it will make me feel to provide them for you.”
I exhale a shaky breath, wishing I didn’t feel so unsteady. “Okay, but don’t be disappointed when you come over to my place and I serve you SpaghettiOs from a can.”
“Are you kidding? They’re my favorite.”
Smiling, he picks up his wine glass and takes a sip of wine. I do too, glad for a distraction from the whirlwind of emotions crashing through me. Then I decide to be bold and just say what’s on my mind.
“I’m not sure how this is supposed to work. You don’t want a relationship, but you want to give me things. You said I don’t ever have to worry about anything again, but you also said that thing about only having a series of one-night stands.”
“You said that. I just agreed with it.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Eat your dumplings before they get cold.”
Another sidestep. How annoying. I keep that thought to myself as I pick up my fork and stab a fat little dumpling. I’m aggravated for all of ten seconds until I start to chew, and the flavors explode on my tongue.
“Oh. Oh my God. This is…holy wow, this is good.”
“Holy wow?” he repeats, chuckling.
“Don’t make me throw a dumpling at you.”
“You can throw anything you want at me, baby.”
His voice is so soft and stroking, his eyes so warm, it makes me shiver. I drop my gaze to my plate to avoid giving him a glimpse of everything I’m feeling. If he does, he lets it go without comment, instead pausing to take another sip of his wine.
We finish the first course in comfortable silence. Well, he seems comfortable. I’m bursting with questions I have to swallow along with my food. The second course arrives just as I’m about to ask him about Axel again, which hopefully would give me an opening to ask about Emiliano…and then everything else.
Christian clears our plates. Brett sets two new ones in front of us.
“Shanghai lobster with curry sauce and crispy spinach. Bon appétit.”
Bemused, I watch him leave. “Do you think he gets in trouble if he doesn’t say bon appétit every time he sets a plate in front of someone?”
“It’s just a fine dining thing. Oh shit.”