by Lara Adrian
Tasha swears under her breath. “A point he demonstrated quite plainly when he pulled out that gun. My God, Avery. You and Nick are lucky to be alive. Your mom too.”
“I know.” I take a long drink of my wine, all too aware that my secrets might have taken the two people I care about most if Rodney hadn’t been stopped. “Nick saved both of us that day. I have no doubt about that. I owe him so much, Tasha. I owe him . . . everything.”
She gives me a warm, understanding smile. “Pretty sure that man is counting his blessings that he’s got you too. He loves you, you know.”
“He hasn’t said it,” I admit, tracing my finger along the rim of my wineglass.
She waves her hand dismissively. “I couldn’t get Tony to say the words out loud for six months after we started dating. But I knew. I’ll bet where Nick is concerned, you know too.”
I shrug, wanting to believe she’s right. In my heart, I know I’m the only woman Nick wants.
From the beginning, he’s been nothing if not single-mindedly consumed with me. Obsessed, even. Just as I have been with him.
He needs me. Those are words he’s given me freely, passionately. Leaving no room for doubt.
But love? That’s the one threshold he hasn’t crossed.
There’s a part of me that’s not even certain he can.
Every time I see the torment in his gaze, I wonder if it’s going to take him away from me one day. Every time I see the hauntedness—the scars that don’t ride his skin, but lurk inside of him—I worry that I will never be enough to heal him.
That he won’t ever let me get that close.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try. After all that we’ve been through these past few months, the one thing I’m sure of is that I want Nick in my life. I need him in my life, just as he needs me.
I have to trust in him.
I have to keep proving that he can trust me.
That’s a task I intend to devote myself to completely now that I have the chance.
My phone rings on the table next to me. It’s Nick, which doesn’t surprise me, even though we’ve already spoken a couple of times since he left for the office this morning.
Since the confrontation with Rodney, Nick’s been even more protective than usual. As much as I would have chafed against that kind of dominance and control at one time in my life, now, with him, it comforts me.
Tasha starts to get up. “Go ahead and take it. I have to get back to work, anyway. Tell the bossman he’s my new hero. Just don’t let Tony know I said that.”
I’m laughing as I grab my purse and slide out of the booth to answer the call. “Hi, baby.”
“I sure like the sound of your smile,” he says. “What’s got you so happy?”
“You.” I glance over my shoulder and wave goodbye to Tasha. “I miss you.”
“What a coincidence. I’m missing you too, Ms. Ross.” He pauses for a moment, no doubt hearing the clamor of the bustling restaurant in the background. “You’re still at Vendange?”
“Just leaving. I’m sure Patrick must be bored out of his mind waiting for me the past twenty minutes. You really don’t have to make him cart me around on every little excursion or errand I run.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he replies, his tone stern. “We’ve already covered this, haven’t we? You’re mine, and I protect what’s mine.”
I smile, warmed by his possessiveness. “Yes, sir.”
He grunts. “That’s my girl.”
I step outside and nod to Patrick, whose holding the backseat door open for me. “Thanks,” I say, slipping inside. “So, Mr. Baine, where are you at the moment?”
“Sitting at my desk with half a dozen proposals to review this afternoon and wondering why I’m not spending the day with you instead. How do you feel about dinner?”
“I’m generally in favor of it. I’m pretty fond of dessert too,” I add, smiling at the memory of some of our more creative uses for sweets and toppings.
Nick’s low chuckle tells me he’s in total agreement. “I’ll meet you at the penthouse in an hour to pick you up.”
“Isn’t that a little early for dinner?”
“By the time we get where we’re going, it won’t be. I’ll see you soon, Ms. Ross.”
I can hardly curb my grin. “I’ll be ready for you, Mr. Baine.”
Chapter 24
Nick arrives at the penthouse looking freshly showered and mouth-wateringly sexy in a pearl gray shirt with the collar opened and one of the dozen or so bespoke suits he keeps in the private dressing room of his office. The black pants and jacket fit him to perfection, making me yearn to put my hands—and mouth—all over the muscled, male beauty of his body.
His dark gaze seems to approve of my appearance as well. “Maybe dinner plans should wait. You look good enough to eat,” he says, catching my hand and rotating me in front of him. “New dress?”
I nod, glancing down at the silky, wine-colored halter dress and sparkly designer sandals I bought on the way home with some of the money from my paintings. It’s a splurge I probably shouldn’t have indulged in, but I want to look good for Nick. “You like it?”
“Oh, yeah. Not as much as I like what’s in it, though.” He lifts my chin and brushes his lips over mine. “We should go before I change my mind and keep you here.”
If he thinks I would have complained about that, he’s mistaken. I’ll go or stay anywhere so long as it means being close to him. “Where are you taking me?”
His smile is cryptic. “You’ll see when we get there.”
We step into the private elevator and take the lift down to the lobby. The limousine waits for us outside. With a wink from Manny, I feel like a princess being led to her carriage as Nick strolls with me past the handful of well-dressed people who all pause and look our way.
I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the attention that comes with being on Dominic Baine’s arm, but right now I feel miles away from the uncertain, out-of-place imposter who stepped through these doors less than five months ago.
Not because of his money or his recognition as one of the most powerful men in this city, if not the world. I don’t feel different because of the luxury and all of the fine things that are becoming my new normal.
I am different because of him.
Better because of him.
Stronger.
And, yes, happier.
So in love with him I’m sure it’s written all over my face as he links his fingers through mine and walks me out to the waiting car, pausing to kiss me once more before we both slide into the backseat and leave our gawking audience behind.
I notice Nick doesn’t give Patrick directions anywhere. They’ve obviously already discussed the plan.
I slant a glance at Nick. “You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Someplace I think you’ll enjoy.”
The car heads into the evening traffic and I settle against Nick for the ride. It doesn’t take long for me to realize that instead of navigating deeper into the city, we’re driving out of it. Heading for the airport.
I frown at him. “Nick—”
He silences me with a deep, breath-stealing kiss. “Trust, Ms. Ross.”
That phrase and the heated, confident look he gives me transport me in an instant to another moment like this one—to another time when he surprised me with an excursion that brought us to the private charter terminal of this same airport, followed by three weeks of tropical bliss and sheet-scorching, adventurous sex.
I sit back and try to exercise patience I seldom have, watching as Patrick drives us around to where a large jet waits. A jet with the Baine International logo emblazoned on its fuselage.
This is not the aircraft we took before. That chartered plane was a ten-seat miniature compared to this sleek, formidable looking bird.
The limo comes to a halt near the stairs leading up to the aircraft. Patrick comes around to Nick’s side of the car and opens the backse
at door.
He nods as we climb out and wishes us a safe trip.
Nick guides me ahead of him when we reach the female attendant waiting for us at the bottom of the steps. She wears a midnight blue uniform consisting of a vest and skirt and a crisp white blouse. Her smile is both warm and professional as we approach.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Baine. Good afternoon, Miss Ross.”
“Hello, Pamela.”
I shouldn’t be surprised that she knows my name. After all, Nick thinks of everything. And he’s clearly clued in everyone but me as to what this trip is about.
With his palm a warm, reassuring presence at the small of my back, he urges me up the stairs ahead of him.
Trying to mask my awe would be impossible, so I simply stare in astonishment at the elegance of the immense, beautifully appointed cabin and its soothing, neutral palette.
“Wow.” I glance back at Nick. “This is incredible. I could live here.”
He chuckles. “There have been times when it feels like I do. Since I spend so much time flying back and forth from the States to my other business locations and clients, I prefer to do it in comfort. Would you like to look around before we take off?”
“Sure.” I arch a brow at him. “So, are we going to be in the air for long?”
“Nice try.” His hand comes down with a firm swat to my backside, his look pure wicked amusement. “Come on, let me show you around.”
Before we get started, Pamela returns to offer us cocktails or champagne. I opt for the latter and Nick requests sparkling water. With our cold drinks in hand seconds later, he leads me through the spacious home with wings.
Creamy leather sofas with pale gray accent pillows and cocktail tables in a sleek, glass-topped cube design comprise one section of the main cabin. A large, polished wood conference table surrounded by eight chairs is the focal point of another area. Toward the rear of the jet is a wall-mounted, large-screen television with a matched grouping of leather recliners in front of it.
Behind that is a short hallway that terminates at the open doorway of what appears to be an impressive stateroom.
“Saving the best for last?” I ask him playfully as he takes my hand and we stroll into a bedroom that’s got to be twice the size of my entire old apartment in Brooklyn.
As soon as we enter, he wraps his free arm around my back and draws me against him. His lips take mine, possessive and consuming, making my blood quicken and my core clench with heated desire.
Somehow, he manages to remove my champagne glass from my hand and sets it down on a nearby bureau along with his crystal tumbler of water. Then his hands are in my hair, disheveling the loose twist I’d worked on for fifteen minutes to get right, but I don’t care.
I don’t care that we’re far from alone right now, with the flight attendant somewhere in the cabin outside and with probably mere minutes before we’ll be directed to take our seats and prepare for departure.
I don’t care about any of that.
All that matters is his touch, his kiss . . . us.
I am panting when he pulls away from me, my vision hazing over with desire. So much so, that at first I don’t register what I’m seeing on the other side of the stateroom. A single work of art has been granted the entire wall.
It’s far from remarkable.
Just a simple self-portrait—amateurish in my opinion—yet it hangs there like a cherished treasure.
“Nick . . . “ I swivel my head toward him, stunned. Confused. “That’s my painting.”
It’s the first one I’d ever done when I came to New York. The first—the only—piece that sold out of all of the work I’d had on display at Nick’s gallery. Which means he’s had it for more than a year.
Including the nearly five months we’ve been together.
“You’re the one who bought it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” I have to ask. At the time, he hadn’t held my art in very high regard. “You said you didn’t like my work.”
“This piece was different. It wasn’t like the others.”
I frown, acknowledging the truth in that. I painted the self-portrait just after I arrived in the city. It was meant to be an experiment, a diversion. Just me and a mirror and a pot of black paint. The brush lines are crude, hasty. The image is more suggestion than accurate reflection, my downcast face and tumble of loose hair the primary focus, as if the rest of me were dissolving into the canvas.
Nick takes me back into his arms. His expression is sober, his voice earnest. “This painting is good, Avery. This was the gift I saw in you. The gift I see in you even more now.”
“You never said anything. You never told me you had it.”
I’m astonished to think that he’s been seeing my painting—this personal expression of myself—each time he’s been on this plane . . . in this room.
He holds my shocked gaze as he smooths a loose tendril of hair from my cheek. “You’ve been mine longer than you know, Avery. I didn’t plan on any of this happening between us. Ah, Christ . . . I didn’t plan on falling in love with you.”
My breath catches at his soft confession, my heart swelling, soaring inside my breast. “Nick . . . I love you too. I love you so much.”
I wrap my arms around him as our lips meet, emotion swamping me. I’ve never known this joy, this hope, this soul-deep love. I’m so swept up in Nick’s kiss, his embrace, that I hardly register the quiet sound of approaching feet on the carpeted cabin outside.
Pamela’s awkward inhalation breaks through my haze. “Oh, excuse me, Mr. Baine, Miss Ross. I’m so sorry for the interruption.”
Nick clears his throat. “It’s all right.”
We glance at the attendant, who stands sheepishly at the open doorway of the stateroom. “The captain says we’re cleared for the runway. We can begin departure as soon as you’re ready.”
“Thank you, Pamela.”
As she leaves us, I look back up at Nick and his cryptic smile. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going, or am I going to have to wheedle the information out of the crew?”
He smirks. “I already told you. I’m taking you to dinner. I know this nice little place with a great view and a duck specialty that’s out of this world.”
I tilt my head, brows raised. “The last time we flew to one of your favorite places we ended up in Miami.”
He kisses the tip of my nose, then pulls something out of his back pocket.
My passport.
“Tonight we’re going a bit farther than Miami.”
Chapter 25
“You certainly do know how to impress a girl.”
It’s morning in Paris—although, admittedly, at ten minutes before noon, it’s barely morning anymore. After arriving from New York after midnight, Nick whisked me off to a dinner at a beautiful historic restaurant that truly did serve a fantastic pressed duck. Although we had arrived long past closing time, Nick had arranged for a private table to be waiting for us with a spectacular nighttime view of Notre-Dame Cathedral and the glistening Seine.
As if my introduction to the City of Light wasn’t jaw-dropping enough, Nick then brought me home to his penthouse flat on the other side of the river, where he proceeded to make me come no less than three times before we both finally collapsed into a heavy, sated sleep.
I sigh just thinking of it, my body still thrumming and eager for more.
Nick walks out of the kitchen to join me at the open French doors of the rooftop terrace. He looks decadent and far too sexy wearing just a pair of loose black lounge pants, his dark hair sleek and damp from our recent shower.
He presses a steaming cup of coffee into my hands and kisses my temple. “Learning to love surprises, are you, Ms. Ross?”
“I’m learning to love a lot of things where you’re concerned.” I sigh and lean against him in a fluffy white spa robe, not yet motivated to think about clothing.
Just beyond the terrace, the postcard landscape of the Paris skyline spreads out in all
directions for as far as my eyes can see. From Nick’s premium location on a picturesque side street off the famed Avenue des Champs-Élysées, our multimillion-dollar view is flanked by a soaring Gothic church spire to one side, and, to the other, the bronze-colored, delicate wrought iron latticework of the iconic Eiffel Tower. On the avenues below us, countless five-star hotels and world-renowned designer boutiques stretch from one end of the pavement to the other.
“Hungry?” he murmurs, his arm wrapped around me.
“I shouldn’t be, but whatever you’re making smells delicious.” The buttery, vanilla aroma has my mouth watering in spite of how much food and wine we indulged in last night.
I follow him back to the kitchen where he whips up a batch of crêpes with fresh berries and cream, and another with eggs and ham and cheese. With plates full of sweet and savory temptations, we step out to the little table that’s been set for brunch on the terrace.
“Best seat in the house,” I say, smiling as we get settled.
Nick returns my smile, his gaze holding mine. “Definitely the best view.”
I dig in to the most amazing crêpes I’ve ever tasted, practically embarrassing myself with the orgasmic sounds I can’t even begin to contain. Nick grins, making quick work of his meal then excusing himself to fetch a carafe of coffee.
I’ve just popped the last bite of strawberry and cream goodness into my mouth when he returns. Instead of returning with coffee, he comes up behind me and crouches at my back. I start to turn, but his low command halts me. “Close your eyes, sweetheart. Give me your hands.”
His deep voice ignites my senses. I obey him without hesitation, my pulse thrumming, my skin heating from just those wicked, whispered words. I am attuned to him on a primal level now, eager to go wherever he leads me.
He’s ruined me for any other man, and right now there is no fear in that realization. Only desire. Only love.
His fingers push up the loose sleeves of my robe, baring my forearms. He strokes me, his mouth pressing a gentle kiss to the side of my neck. Something cold and metallic wraps my left wrist.