“Bergdorf’s? How boring,” he said. “I’ll get you a list of better places.”
“They had a huge golden tree and the place was a madhouse,” I replied.
“It always is at this time of the year,” he nodded.
“Did you get what you needed?” he asked, his eyes raking over the tight black dress I’d bought. I thrown a long camel colored cashmere coat over it and left it open. Thankfully, the limo was warm.
“I did,” I said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, his warm hand landing on my bare knee. Shivers of pleasure shot through me and I felt the wetness seep into my panties at his touch.
He smiled slowly and his hand began trailing up my thigh, pushing my skirt up with it. I moaned quietly as his fingers brushed against my bare skin.
“Mmm,” he moaned approvingly. “Are you always this good at following orders?”
“Are you always this good at giving them?” I quipped.
He pulled his hand away and laughed.
“I guess I am,” he said. “I’m not much for negotiating.”
I smiled and pulled my skirt down over my thighs. He beamed back at me, then leaned over and kissed my cheek.
“You look incredible, Chloe,” he said.
“So do you,” I replied, my eyes trailing over his suit admiringly. It fit him like a glove, outlining the smooth muscles of his thighs, framing his wide shoulders perfectly.
Of course, in my mind, I was ripping that damned suit right off of him, remembering the perfect flesh beneath it. I was much more interested in his skin and everything under that. The rest was just for show.
“You’re sweet,” he said.
“Thank you,” I replied, shrugging.
“Nothing wrong with being sweet,” he said.
“I’m not so sure about that,” I replied. “Ask my mother. Sweet isn’t one of her most valued traits in a person.”
He laughed and nodded.
“You obviously don’t get your sweetness from her,” he said.
“No, I don’t,” I agreed.
“So, where do you get it?”
“I don’t know, actually. I wouldn’t really call myself sweet, if you want to know the truth. Shy, quiet? Sure, but sweet isn’t something I’ve ever strived for. In fact, I like to think of myself in fiercer terms.”
“Fierce?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes,” I said, raising my chin, “Contrary to how I might appear to you, I’m actually a feminist.”
“A feminist, huh?” he asked. “Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you be? So am I.”
It was my turn to laugh.
“What?” he asked. “You think just because I like to be in control, I can’t be a feminist?”
“I didn’t say that,” I replied. “But since you brought it up, what exactly is the deal with you?”
He blinked, his eyes widening for a second before wrinkling up at the sides while he laughed again.
“Oh, Chloe, you do have questions, don’t you?”
“So many,” I smiled.
He patted my knee and brushed a quick kiss across my lips.
“Hold that thought,” he said. “We’re here.”
The limo slowed in front of an old building with big iron gates surrounding a patio and a line of small jockey statues adorning the top balcony.
“Come on,” Bear said. “It’s a little fussy and the crowd is ancient, but they have the best steak in Manhattan.”
We slipped out of the limo and he grabbed my hand as he led me inside like he owned the place.
Chapter 11
The restaurant was packed. Like something out of a movie, the lights were low and the entire place was surrounded by the dark wooden panels of the walls. And Bear was right—everyone in there, except the wait staff, appeared to be at least over fifty. I hadn’t seen this much white hair since my Great Aunt Sally’s funeral last year.
Unfortunately, the tables were insanely close together and all my dreams of asking Bear dozens of probing personal questions flew right out the door.
We were seated right away, because as soon as the maître d’ saw Bear, he sprang into action. Bear pulled out my chair, waiting for me to sit down before sitting down himself.
We were seated between one very old couple on our left and a couple of businessmen deep into a discussion about the stock market on our right.
“Remember, we’re here for the steak,” Bear reminded me with a wink.
“I guess my questions can wait till later,” I replied.
“We have all the time in the world, Chloe,” he said, sending a shiver of electricity through my body with those piercing eyes of his. He was by far the handsomest man I’d ever seen, surpassing even my old go-to movie stars. George Clooney and Brad Pitt had nothing on this guy. “Let me order for you. You do like steak, right?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I love it. Rare, please.”
“Good girl,” he said, flashing me a smile. I blushed, remembering all the other times he’d called me that.
My eyes trailed across the restaurant as he perused the menu and what a strange place it was. Dozens of old, vintage toys hung from the ceiling, which I thought was odd for such a fancy place. The waiters bustled around carrying silver platters and winding through the busy dining room. Glasses clinked and the low buzz of conversation created a frenzied energy that made it hard to relax.
Bear put down the menu and a waiter appeared immediately. I watched him order, lost in the way his lips formed the words and I couldn’t help but anticipate when those lips would be on me again. When the waiter disappeared, I leaned over to him.
“Why are you single?” I whispered.
He smiled and shook his head.
“I’m a bit of a handful, if you hadn’t noticed,” he said.
“Still,” I replied. “A man like you…rich, handsome…”
“You think I’m handsome?” he asked, striking a funny pose.
“You know you are,” I laughed.
“Well, I could ask the same of you, Chloe,” he said.
I shrugged, thinking of Harlan and immediately wishing that I hadn’t.
“I’m newly single,” I said. “Not soon enough.”
“Ah, yes, the ex-boyfriend,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “What’s his name?”
“Harlan,” I muttered. “But let’s not talk about him.”
“Okay, what would you like to talk about?” he asked.
I stole a quick glance over at the couple next to us. The old lady smiled and leaned over.
“You two are a very handsome couple,” she said, her voice shaking as she caught my eye.
“Oh!” I replied, shaking my head, “we’re not —.”
“—Thank you, ma’am!” Bear interrupted. “I think so too!”
“Oh, you’re quite welcome, young man. Treat her well, good women are hard to find!” she said.
Bear laughed, pouring on the charm.
“Don’t I know it!” he exclaimed, before turning to address her husband. “Looks like we lucked out, Sir!”
“Oh! You!” the old lady admonished him, blushing slightly.
I sat there, smiling like an idiot, falling victim to Bear’s charms, too.
When the waiter returned, he had a bottle of wine in his hands. He presented the label to Bear with a formal bow and I did my best not to giggle.
“Sir, as you requested. A 2006 Chianti Classico Riserva.”
The waiter poured a tiny bit in a glass and handed it to Bear. He sniffed it and took a sip, nodding approvingly.
“That’ll do, thank you,” Bear said. The waiter poured the wine into our glasses and left the bottle on the table. I reminded myself not to drink too much again, wondering exactly how much that one bottle cost, at the same time. Probably a month’s rent at my old place in Portland. I felt guilty wasting it, but hopefully Bear would drink most of it, because if I had anymore wine I was going to be sliding under the table in a drunken puddle of embarrassment.