For 100 Nights by Lara Adrian
If Evelyn catches my disappointed look, her expression never falters. “You have excellent taste. This set is part of our signature collection. It’s a classic that will look beautiful on you for years to come.” When I only nod in response, she smiles kindly and gestures toward the front of the boutique. “If you don’t feel this one suits you, we have something similar in our everyday collection that you might like too. Just let me know if you’d like to take a look.”
“Thank you.” At that same moment, my phone chimes with an incoming call. Nick’s ringtone. I reach into my purse to retrieve it. “Sorry.”
“Take your time,” Evelyn says. She gestures to a brass hand bell sitting on the vanity. “If you need anything, just ring for me.”
She walks away, closing the dressing room door behind her as I swipe the screen on my phone and answer Nick’s call. “Hi.”
“I’ve been thinking about you all morning.”
Just the sound of his deep, raspy voice makes my pulse kick into a faster tempo. I glance at the decadent lacy underthings in front of me and smile wistfully. “I’m thinking about you too.”
He makes a low, approving noise in the back of his throat. “Tell me more. Are you touching yourself while you’re thinking of me?”
I laugh softly, a flush warming my cheeks. “Not at the moment. I don’t think it would be appropriate.”
“You know how I feel about being appropriate,” he murmurs, and I can picture the wry twist of his mouth as he speaks. “Where are you?”
“On my way back from Vendange. I popped in on Tasha for a little while.”
“I hear music in the background.”
“I’m in a boutique on Madison.”
“Which one?”
“L’opale.”
“Nice,” he says after a brief pause. “Find anything you like?”
I try to ignore the fact that he seems so readily familiar with the store. I know he’s had a sex life before me, but the idea of him buying any of these things for another woman puts a pang of jealousy in my breast.
“Avery?”
“Hm?”
“You said you’re shopping for lingerie and thinking of me. Christ, I’m already hard just picturing that.” His voice lowers to that silken tone that always leaves me weak in the knees. “Indulge me before I have to head into another damn meeting. What sexy little things are you looking at? Better yet, try something on for me and let me see you in it. We can switch to video chat and see where things go.”
Now the heat that had flushed my face travels down my neck and straight to my core. “I can’t do that,” I whisper, squirming a bit on the velvet bench seat. “Someone might see.”
“The dressing rooms are completely private,” he says with more certainty than I care to acknowledge. “Get into one, Avery.”
“I already am.”
“Then we’re halfway there.” He chuckles, but there’s more heat than humor in his voice. “Are you already undressed too?”
“No. I brought in a bra and panties to try on, but I’ve changed my mind about them. I was going to put them back before you called.”
“Why?”
I shrug, and even though he can’t see me, he seems to home in on my discomfiture.
“Put them on for me. I’ll call you back on video in two minutes.”
He ends the call on that demand, and I exhale a sigh as I glance at the beautiful lingerie I have no business pretending I can afford. But I know Nick was serious that he expects me to show him what I selected, and there is a part of me that’s hungry for his reaction. Hungry to see his desire for me, especially when he’s busy with work, yet making time to play naughty games with me.
Stepping out of my sandals, I take off my silk tank top and linen skirt, then slip out of my pastel peach department store bra. The first wisp of expensive champagne lace and burgundy satin against my bare breasts feels like a caress. I fasten the front closure and adjust the delicate ribbon straps, then scoop my breasts so they’re sitting high and plump in the pretty balconette cups.
Because I won’t be buying the lingerie, I leave the three-hundred-dollar panties on the vanity table and walk over to the mirrors to see how I look before Nick calls. I thought my lace-edged peach thong had been cute enough when I left the penthouse, but seeing it next to the stunning bra makes it look as mundane as a pair of cotton briefs. On a frustrated huff, I reach down to take it off, just as my phone chimes with Nick’s incoming call.
As promised, he’s calling from a video app. His handsome face fills the screen, making my breath catch even though I’ve had the privilege of seeing those dark-lashed cerulean eyes and brutally sensual features practically every day and night for the past four months.
“That wasn’t two minutes.”
He smirks. “I didn’t have the patience to wait that long.”
He’s not at his desk, but seated on the pale gray leather sofa in the conversation area of his large office. Behind him, a broad wall of gleaming silver granite soars easily fifteen feet from the floor to the ceiling. The wall serves as a backdrop for a single work of art—a Jackson Pollock original painted in black enamel. The tangle of chaotic lines and bold splashes are a stark contrast to the steady, in-control titan of business seated in front of the masterwork.
Settled back against the clean lines of the sofa, Nick grips his phone in one hand as he loosens his tie with the other. His mouth quirks at one corner as he holds my gaze from inside his corporate headquarters across town. “Let me see you, baby.”
I slowly extend my arm, giving him a view of the gorgeous bra. His low exhalation and thickly uttered curse tells me he approves.
“More,” he commands over the lowered volume of the speaker. “Let me see all of you.”
“I’m not wearing the panties.”
“Show me.”
I shake my head. “I’d have to try them on over my own underwear unless I intend to buy them.”
Nick doesn’t seem to care about my explanation. His eyes are blazing hot on me. He leans forward as if he wants to crawl through the phone. “Let me see your pussy, baby.”
Pressing my lips together, I angle the camera so he can see all of me.
“Holy fuck.” There is a fevered edge to his voice, a raw current of need that ignites the same in me. “You’re so damn beautiful. You get me hot just thinking about you. I’m hard as fucking steel over here.”
My body responds to his carnal praise as if he’s here in the room with me, looking at me . . . caressing me. Wanting me.
“Touch yourself. I want to see you stroke that pretty little clit.”
“Nick,” I whisper, worried that we’ll get interrupted, yet astonished that it doesn’t stop me from obeying him.
With my free hand, I slide my fingers down over the trimmed patch of curls between my legs, then into the wet cleft of my body. I’m drenched already, my sex aching for him. I can’t hold back my moan.
His breath leaves him on a deep groan. “Jesus Christ, what you do to me.”
I angle the phone so I can see him too. His jaw is clenched, his brows lowered over the intensity of his stare. I see him shift on the sofa, the camera’s focus jostling with his movements. I hear the soft metallic jangle of his belt buckle, followed by the quiet rasp of the zipper on his suit pants.
The thought of him taking his cock in hand while I stroke myself several blocks away is almost too much to take. I want him so badly, I can hardly stand it. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep the cry from spilling off my tongue.
Nick hisses a sharp curse. “Fuck this. I’ve got a better idea.”
“What?” My voice is thick, my blood roaring in my ears as I draw my fingers away from my throbbing flesh.
“I’m going to send Patrick to pick you up. I want you in my office. Right now.”
“But your meeting—”
“Can wait,” he says. “I, however, cannot. Look for the car in ten minutes. Bring the bra and panties with you.”
I shake my head, emba
rrassed by the reminder that I’m out of my league in this shop and with this man. “Nick, I can’t afford them. They cost almost a thousand dollars.”
“Have the store put them on my account.”
His account? Disappointment does battle with my embarrassment, and I’m not sure which one bothers me more. “You have an account at L’opale?”
He arches a dark brow. “I have accounts at many nice places around the city.”
“I’ll bet you do.” I’m sulking a little at that admission, but it’s hard to be totally irritated with him when he’s looking at me like I’m the only woman he’s ever wanted this badly. The power of that heated, sensual smile is enough to melt everything except my desire for him.
“Ask for Evelyn, she’s the manager. She’ll take care of everything for you.”
My lips flatten in reaction to that telling statement. “How many other women have you outfitted with expensive lingerie?”
“Do you really want to know?” His eyes hold mine unflinchingly.
I remain mute, because, damn him, I don’t want to know the answer to that question. Not that it would change my mind, anyway. I trace my finger over one of the embroidered silk burgundy roses on the bra, taking far too much satisfaction in the way his hot gaze follows my every movement. “You’re sure you have the time for this? For me?”
The look he gives me is so possessive, it obliterates all doubt.
“Ten minutes. In my office. And Avery, I intend to show you just how sure I am.”
Chapter 4
Nick’s driver drops me off in front of the dark glass tower on West 57th Street that houses Baine International. Holding the door open for me as I climb out, he offers me a pleasant nod once I alight to the curb.
“Thank you, Patrick.”
“My pleasure, as always, Ms. Ross.”
I enter the lobby of the multi-use building—one of several Manhattan properties Nick owns—wishing I’d had the foresight to bring a larger handbag when I left the apartment this morning. My tiny cross-body is useless when it comes to concealing my boutique purchases, so I have no choice but to carry the pearl-white shopping bag from L’opale into the building with me, its logo emblazoned in gold foil on both sides for everyone to see.
As I walk to the security desk in the lobby, I wave to the guard on duty. It’s the same man who was posted here last week when Nick brought me to his office after-hours to pick up some last-minute paperwork he needed to sign. Late-twenties, his hazel eyes sharp and serious beneath a crown of brown hair cut just a shade longer than military high-and-tight, there’s no mistaking the muscular Baine International security guard for anything other than a recent veteran.
“Hello, Gabe.”
“Morning, Ms. Ross.” As I approach to sign in, he stands up and gestures me on to the elevators. “No need to register. Mr. Baine called down a few minutes ago to say he was expecting you.”
“Oh. Okay, thanks.”
I have to admit, it feels good to sail through the Baine International lobby as if I’m not just another random visitor to the building or guest of the very eligible bachelor who commands half the city from his office on the top floor. Of course, I don’t imagine many of Nick’s visitors come to see him at work carrying a bag of expensive lingerie in their hand.
At least, they damn sure better not.
Since I have no choice but to own the situation, I ride the elevator to the thirty-fourth floor with the ribbon handles of the shopping bag held casually in my grasp. Lily Fontana, Nick’s personal assistant, is just finishing a phone call as I emerge from the lift. We’ve never been introduced, but I know of her through Nick, and, by accident once, I saw her pretty, heart-shaped face and long ebony hair in a photo on his phone’s contact directory.
She catches my gaze and continues talking to the person on the other end of the line. Her voice is professional, but cool, in contrast with the pleasant smile she gives me as I walk farther into the private reception area.
“Unfortunately, as I informed your press secretary earlier this week, Senator McCormack, Mr. Baine’s calendar is quite full. He’s asked me to convey his regrets that he will be unable to attend. Of course. Yes, I’ll be sure to let Mr. Baine know.”
Lily politely ends the call and turns the full impact of her dazzling smile on me.
“You must be Avery,” she says, coming around her desk to offer me her hand in greeting.
I take it, surprised by her directness and the firmness of her grip for such a petite woman. Diminutive in size only, Nick’s longtime assistant is clearly a force to be reckoned with—which makes sense. I know from experience that shrinking violets would not last long in Dominic Baine’s world.
“Nice to meet you, Lily.”
“Nice to meet you too. Nick should be out shortly,” she tells me. “He’s finishing up in the conference room down the hall. He said he’d like you to wait for him in his office.”
“Okay.”
“Been out doing a little shopping?” She glances at the bag in my hand as she leads me toward Nick’s corner office at the end of the corridor. “I adore L’opale. But then, what woman wouldn’t, right?”
I nod noncommittally, and, before I can reply, I hear Nick’s voice coming from somewhere ahead of us. He steps out of a meeting room accompanied by three other men in suits and a middle-aged woman dressed in a blue nun’s habit and white long-sleeved blouse. I recognize one of the men as Andrew Beckham, Nick’s lawyer. The handsome black attorney helped orchestrate the purchase of Vendange. The other men are unfamiliar to me, but the way they defer to Nick leaves no question as to who’s in charge.
They all look our way, and I’m not sure what makes my face turn redder with self-consciousness—Nick’s smoldering glance, or the sister’s curious stare from behind her round, wire-rimmed glasses.
Shit. Of all the damn luck.
Why couldn’t I be strolling in with a bag of library books or baked goods in my hand? Or clothes to donate for the needy?
Lily keeps walking, and I have no choice but to follow.
Smiling and murmuring a polite, “Pardon us, please,” she leads me past the group while I do my best to pretend I’m not heading into Nick’s office with the full intent to sin as soon as I can get my hands on him.
His deep voice does little to help my focus. “Again, Sister Margaret, Commissioner Rhodes, gentlemen—I do apologize for cutting today’s meeting short. Something urgent arose a few minutes ago and I must take care of it personally.”
I barely stifle the grin that tugs at my lips over his very deliberate choice of words. Although I don’t dare look behind me, I’m certain I feel the heat of Nick’s gaze on my ass as I walk with Lily the rest of the way down the corridor.
She lets me into the expansive office and indicates the seating area in front of the Pollock painting. “Can I get you anything to drink while you wait, Avery?”
I return her smile and shake my head. “No, thank you.”
Giving me a slight nod of acknowledgment, she leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind her. The far wall of Nick’s office is one immense window affording the kind of spectacular views I’ve come to expect of the places he spends any significant amounts of time. Yet as large and impressive as the space is, it’s almost clinical in its lack of personal effects or expressions of individual style.
When he brought me here briefly a few nights ago, I hadn’t really paused to absorb the details. Or, rather, their lack. Now, I notice little else. There are no photographs or trinkets on his desk. No mementoes or objets d’art on any of the consoles or cabinets. Except for the multimillion-dollar canvas that consumes nearly all of one wall in the room, there is nothing that provides so much as a glimpse into Dominic Xavier Baine the international business magnate—or the man.
And while his office is comfortably appointed and impeccably situated in one of the finest areas of the city, I feel an unshakable sense of sadness as I stand in the middle of so much emptiness. I feel alone and
lost. Solitary.
Imprisoned, despite the openness of the city all around me.
Does he feel it too?
Will he ever allow me close enough to him to find out?
This isn’t the first time I’ve wondered about his seemingly impenetrable remoteness and isolation. Not the first time I’ve questioned if allowing myself to fall for a man with the kind of demons and dark secrets I suspect Nick is harboring can be anything but foolish—even dangerous—when I have so many of my own.
If my heart would have it any other way, I’d have never let Nick in.
If I were smart, I’d still try to find the strength to walk away—now, before my past catches up with me. Before it has the chance to hurt Nick the way it’s hurt everyone else I’ve loved.
If I didn’t think he would come after me again, maybe I would go.
But there’s an even more cowardly part of me that’s terrified he won’t.
Not if he knew the truth.
I’ve set my bag and purse down on the sofa to drift in front of the massive windows when I hear the door snick open behind me a few moments later. Every nerve ending in my body responds as if trained to know Nick’s presence. I hold still, my breath caught in my lungs, waiting for the moment I feel him come close.
His arms wrap around me from behind. I sink into his embrace, my demons chased back into the shadows now that he’s here. I exhale on a deep, tremulous sigh I feel I’ve been holding since I stepped out of the dressing room at L’opale. His warmth and strength engulf me, comforting me as much as he arouses me. The rigid pressure of his growing erection resting snugly against my ass sends fire licking through my veins.
God, how I want him.
The need he stirred in me over the phone roars back tenfold now that I’m standing in his arms.
He nestles his face into the crook of my neck and nips my tender flesh. “Do you have any idea how awkward it is sitting across from a nun when you’ve got a rampant hard-on hidden under the table?”
I laugh as I pivot in his loose grasp to face him. “You’re the one who started it, insisting on a private peep show in your office.”
“Thank you.” At that same moment, my phone chimes with an incoming call. Nick’s ringtone. I reach into my purse to retrieve it. “Sorry.”
“Take your time,” Evelyn says. She gestures to a brass hand bell sitting on the vanity. “If you need anything, just ring for me.”
She walks away, closing the dressing room door behind her as I swipe the screen on my phone and answer Nick’s call. “Hi.”
“I’ve been thinking about you all morning.”
Just the sound of his deep, raspy voice makes my pulse kick into a faster tempo. I glance at the decadent lacy underthings in front of me and smile wistfully. “I’m thinking about you too.”
He makes a low, approving noise in the back of his throat. “Tell me more. Are you touching yourself while you’re thinking of me?”
I laugh softly, a flush warming my cheeks. “Not at the moment. I don’t think it would be appropriate.”
“You know how I feel about being appropriate,” he murmurs, and I can picture the wry twist of his mouth as he speaks. “Where are you?”
“On my way back from Vendange. I popped in on Tasha for a little while.”
“I hear music in the background.”
“I’m in a boutique on Madison.”
“Which one?”
“L’opale.”
“Nice,” he says after a brief pause. “Find anything you like?”
I try to ignore the fact that he seems so readily familiar with the store. I know he’s had a sex life before me, but the idea of him buying any of these things for another woman puts a pang of jealousy in my breast.
“Avery?”
“Hm?”
“You said you’re shopping for lingerie and thinking of me. Christ, I’m already hard just picturing that.” His voice lowers to that silken tone that always leaves me weak in the knees. “Indulge me before I have to head into another damn meeting. What sexy little things are you looking at? Better yet, try something on for me and let me see you in it. We can switch to video chat and see where things go.”
Now the heat that had flushed my face travels down my neck and straight to my core. “I can’t do that,” I whisper, squirming a bit on the velvet bench seat. “Someone might see.”
“The dressing rooms are completely private,” he says with more certainty than I care to acknowledge. “Get into one, Avery.”
“I already am.”
“Then we’re halfway there.” He chuckles, but there’s more heat than humor in his voice. “Are you already undressed too?”
“No. I brought in a bra and panties to try on, but I’ve changed my mind about them. I was going to put them back before you called.”
“Why?”
I shrug, and even though he can’t see me, he seems to home in on my discomfiture.
“Put them on for me. I’ll call you back on video in two minutes.”
He ends the call on that demand, and I exhale a sigh as I glance at the beautiful lingerie I have no business pretending I can afford. But I know Nick was serious that he expects me to show him what I selected, and there is a part of me that’s hungry for his reaction. Hungry to see his desire for me, especially when he’s busy with work, yet making time to play naughty games with me.
Stepping out of my sandals, I take off my silk tank top and linen skirt, then slip out of my pastel peach department store bra. The first wisp of expensive champagne lace and burgundy satin against my bare breasts feels like a caress. I fasten the front closure and adjust the delicate ribbon straps, then scoop my breasts so they’re sitting high and plump in the pretty balconette cups.
Because I won’t be buying the lingerie, I leave the three-hundred-dollar panties on the vanity table and walk over to the mirrors to see how I look before Nick calls. I thought my lace-edged peach thong had been cute enough when I left the penthouse, but seeing it next to the stunning bra makes it look as mundane as a pair of cotton briefs. On a frustrated huff, I reach down to take it off, just as my phone chimes with Nick’s incoming call.
As promised, he’s calling from a video app. His handsome face fills the screen, making my breath catch even though I’ve had the privilege of seeing those dark-lashed cerulean eyes and brutally sensual features practically every day and night for the past four months.
“That wasn’t two minutes.”
He smirks. “I didn’t have the patience to wait that long.”
He’s not at his desk, but seated on the pale gray leather sofa in the conversation area of his large office. Behind him, a broad wall of gleaming silver granite soars easily fifteen feet from the floor to the ceiling. The wall serves as a backdrop for a single work of art—a Jackson Pollock original painted in black enamel. The tangle of chaotic lines and bold splashes are a stark contrast to the steady, in-control titan of business seated in front of the masterwork.
Settled back against the clean lines of the sofa, Nick grips his phone in one hand as he loosens his tie with the other. His mouth quirks at one corner as he holds my gaze from inside his corporate headquarters across town. “Let me see you, baby.”
I slowly extend my arm, giving him a view of the gorgeous bra. His low exhalation and thickly uttered curse tells me he approves.
“More,” he commands over the lowered volume of the speaker. “Let me see all of you.”
“I’m not wearing the panties.”
“Show me.”
I shake my head. “I’d have to try them on over my own underwear unless I intend to buy them.”
Nick doesn’t seem to care about my explanation. His eyes are blazing hot on me. He leans forward as if he wants to crawl through the phone. “Let me see your pussy, baby.”
Pressing my lips together, I angle the camera so he can see all of me.
“Holy fuck.” There is a fevered edge to his voice, a raw current of need that ignites the same in me. “You’re so damn beautiful. You get me hot just thinking about you. I’m hard as fucking steel over here.”
My body responds to his carnal praise as if he’s here in the room with me, looking at me . . . caressing me. Wanting me.
“Touch yourself. I want to see you stroke that pretty little clit.”
“Nick,” I whisper, worried that we’ll get interrupted, yet astonished that it doesn’t stop me from obeying him.
With my free hand, I slide my fingers down over the trimmed patch of curls between my legs, then into the wet cleft of my body. I’m drenched already, my sex aching for him. I can’t hold back my moan.
His breath leaves him on a deep groan. “Jesus Christ, what you do to me.”
I angle the phone so I can see him too. His jaw is clenched, his brows lowered over the intensity of his stare. I see him shift on the sofa, the camera’s focus jostling with his movements. I hear the soft metallic jangle of his belt buckle, followed by the quiet rasp of the zipper on his suit pants.
The thought of him taking his cock in hand while I stroke myself several blocks away is almost too much to take. I want him so badly, I can hardly stand it. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep the cry from spilling off my tongue.
Nick hisses a sharp curse. “Fuck this. I’ve got a better idea.”
“What?” My voice is thick, my blood roaring in my ears as I draw my fingers away from my throbbing flesh.
“I’m going to send Patrick to pick you up. I want you in my office. Right now.”
“But your meeting—”
“Can wait,” he says. “I, however, cannot. Look for the car in ten minutes. Bring the bra and panties with you.”
I shake my head, emba
“Have the store put them on my account.”
His account? Disappointment does battle with my embarrassment, and I’m not sure which one bothers me more. “You have an account at L’opale?”
He arches a dark brow. “I have accounts at many nice places around the city.”
“I’ll bet you do.” I’m sulking a little at that admission, but it’s hard to be totally irritated with him when he’s looking at me like I’m the only woman he’s ever wanted this badly. The power of that heated, sensual smile is enough to melt everything except my desire for him.
“Ask for Evelyn, she’s the manager. She’ll take care of everything for you.”
My lips flatten in reaction to that telling statement. “How many other women have you outfitted with expensive lingerie?”
“Do you really want to know?” His eyes hold mine unflinchingly.
I remain mute, because, damn him, I don’t want to know the answer to that question. Not that it would change my mind, anyway. I trace my finger over one of the embroidered silk burgundy roses on the bra, taking far too much satisfaction in the way his hot gaze follows my every movement. “You’re sure you have the time for this? For me?”
The look he gives me is so possessive, it obliterates all doubt.
“Ten minutes. In my office. And Avery, I intend to show you just how sure I am.”
Chapter 4
Nick’s driver drops me off in front of the dark glass tower on West 57th Street that houses Baine International. Holding the door open for me as I climb out, he offers me a pleasant nod once I alight to the curb.
“Thank you, Patrick.”
“My pleasure, as always, Ms. Ross.”
I enter the lobby of the multi-use building—one of several Manhattan properties Nick owns—wishing I’d had the foresight to bring a larger handbag when I left the apartment this morning. My tiny cross-body is useless when it comes to concealing my boutique purchases, so I have no choice but to carry the pearl-white shopping bag from L’opale into the building with me, its logo emblazoned in gold foil on both sides for everyone to see.
As I walk to the security desk in the lobby, I wave to the guard on duty. It’s the same man who was posted here last week when Nick brought me to his office after-hours to pick up some last-minute paperwork he needed to sign. Late-twenties, his hazel eyes sharp and serious beneath a crown of brown hair cut just a shade longer than military high-and-tight, there’s no mistaking the muscular Baine International security guard for anything other than a recent veteran.
“Hello, Gabe.”
“Morning, Ms. Ross.” As I approach to sign in, he stands up and gestures me on to the elevators. “No need to register. Mr. Baine called down a few minutes ago to say he was expecting you.”
“Oh. Okay, thanks.”
I have to admit, it feels good to sail through the Baine International lobby as if I’m not just another random visitor to the building or guest of the very eligible bachelor who commands half the city from his office on the top floor. Of course, I don’t imagine many of Nick’s visitors come to see him at work carrying a bag of expensive lingerie in their hand.
At least, they damn sure better not.
Since I have no choice but to own the situation, I ride the elevator to the thirty-fourth floor with the ribbon handles of the shopping bag held casually in my grasp. Lily Fontana, Nick’s personal assistant, is just finishing a phone call as I emerge from the lift. We’ve never been introduced, but I know of her through Nick, and, by accident once, I saw her pretty, heart-shaped face and long ebony hair in a photo on his phone’s contact directory.
She catches my gaze and continues talking to the person on the other end of the line. Her voice is professional, but cool, in contrast with the pleasant smile she gives me as I walk farther into the private reception area.
“Unfortunately, as I informed your press secretary earlier this week, Senator McCormack, Mr. Baine’s calendar is quite full. He’s asked me to convey his regrets that he will be unable to attend. Of course. Yes, I’ll be sure to let Mr. Baine know.”
Lily politely ends the call and turns the full impact of her dazzling smile on me.
“You must be Avery,” she says, coming around her desk to offer me her hand in greeting.
I take it, surprised by her directness and the firmness of her grip for such a petite woman. Diminutive in size only, Nick’s longtime assistant is clearly a force to be reckoned with—which makes sense. I know from experience that shrinking violets would not last long in Dominic Baine’s world.
“Nice to meet you, Lily.”
“Nice to meet you too. Nick should be out shortly,” she tells me. “He’s finishing up in the conference room down the hall. He said he’d like you to wait for him in his office.”
“Okay.”
“Been out doing a little shopping?” She glances at the bag in my hand as she leads me toward Nick’s corner office at the end of the corridor. “I adore L’opale. But then, what woman wouldn’t, right?”
I nod noncommittally, and, before I can reply, I hear Nick’s voice coming from somewhere ahead of us. He steps out of a meeting room accompanied by three other men in suits and a middle-aged woman dressed in a blue nun’s habit and white long-sleeved blouse. I recognize one of the men as Andrew Beckham, Nick’s lawyer. The handsome black attorney helped orchestrate the purchase of Vendange. The other men are unfamiliar to me, but the way they defer to Nick leaves no question as to who’s in charge.
They all look our way, and I’m not sure what makes my face turn redder with self-consciousness—Nick’s smoldering glance, or the sister’s curious stare from behind her round, wire-rimmed glasses.
Shit. Of all the damn luck.
Why couldn’t I be strolling in with a bag of library books or baked goods in my hand? Or clothes to donate for the needy?
Lily keeps walking, and I have no choice but to follow.
Smiling and murmuring a polite, “Pardon us, please,” she leads me past the group while I do my best to pretend I’m not heading into Nick’s office with the full intent to sin as soon as I can get my hands on him.
His deep voice does little to help my focus. “Again, Sister Margaret, Commissioner Rhodes, gentlemen—I do apologize for cutting today’s meeting short. Something urgent arose a few minutes ago and I must take care of it personally.”
I barely stifle the grin that tugs at my lips over his very deliberate choice of words. Although I don’t dare look behind me, I’m certain I feel the heat of Nick’s gaze on my ass as I walk with Lily the rest of the way down the corridor.
She lets me into the expansive office and indicates the seating area in front of the Pollock painting. “Can I get you anything to drink while you wait, Avery?”
I return her smile and shake my head. “No, thank you.”
Giving me a slight nod of acknowledgment, she leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind her. The far wall of Nick’s office is one immense window affording the kind of spectacular views I’ve come to expect of the places he spends any significant amounts of time. Yet as large and impressive as the space is, it’s almost clinical in its lack of personal effects or expressions of individual style.
When he brought me here briefly a few nights ago, I hadn’t really paused to absorb the details. Or, rather, their lack. Now, I notice little else. There are no photographs or trinkets on his desk. No mementoes or objets d’art on any of the consoles or cabinets. Except for the multimillion-dollar canvas that consumes nearly all of one wall in the room, there is nothing that provides so much as a glimpse into Dominic Xavier Baine the international business magnate—or the man.
And while his office is comfortably appointed and impeccably situated in one of the finest areas of the city, I feel an unshakable sense of sadness as I stand in the middle of so much emptiness. I feel alone and
Imprisoned, despite the openness of the city all around me.
Does he feel it too?
Will he ever allow me close enough to him to find out?
This isn’t the first time I’ve wondered about his seemingly impenetrable remoteness and isolation. Not the first time I’ve questioned if allowing myself to fall for a man with the kind of demons and dark secrets I suspect Nick is harboring can be anything but foolish—even dangerous—when I have so many of my own.
If my heart would have it any other way, I’d have never let Nick in.
If I were smart, I’d still try to find the strength to walk away—now, before my past catches up with me. Before it has the chance to hurt Nick the way it’s hurt everyone else I’ve loved.
If I didn’t think he would come after me again, maybe I would go.
But there’s an even more cowardly part of me that’s terrified he won’t.
Not if he knew the truth.
I’ve set my bag and purse down on the sofa to drift in front of the massive windows when I hear the door snick open behind me a few moments later. Every nerve ending in my body responds as if trained to know Nick’s presence. I hold still, my breath caught in my lungs, waiting for the moment I feel him come close.
His arms wrap around me from behind. I sink into his embrace, my demons chased back into the shadows now that he’s here. I exhale on a deep, tremulous sigh I feel I’ve been holding since I stepped out of the dressing room at L’opale. His warmth and strength engulf me, comforting me as much as he arouses me. The rigid pressure of his growing erection resting snugly against my ass sends fire licking through my veins.
God, how I want him.
The need he stirred in me over the phone roars back tenfold now that I’m standing in his arms.
He nestles his face into the crook of my neck and nips my tender flesh. “Do you have any idea how awkward it is sitting across from a nun when you’ve got a rampant hard-on hidden under the table?”
I laugh as I pivot in his loose grasp to face him. “You’re the one who started it, insisting on a private peep show in your office.”