“You function well enough for me,” he says with a suggestive smile, making me blush. “I love the fact that you blush. Underneath all your bravado you’re really a prude.”
“We both know you couldn’t be further from the truth.”
“You know how you can show me how wrong I am.” His hand curves around the swell of my ass and he leans in to whisper in my ear. “In fact I think you should remind me now, how far from a prude you are.”
I ignore the frisson of excitement that moves through me as well as the sweet ache that begins between my legs, and concentrate instead on adjusting Landon’s tie. “You’re unbelievable,” I tell him, “and if we don’t leave now, we’ll be late.”
Wilson and Betsy are waiting at the restaurant, and the attentive manager leads us to a table with a spectacular view of the park. After we greet each other and take our seats, we talk about the play and about Aidan, who they saw at lunch. Betsy is fretting about how he must be stressing himself, while Wilson assures her that he’s sure Aidan is having the time of his life.
We’ve just finished dessert when I see Landon’s gaze lock on a table at another corner of the restaurant. I follow his line of sight, looking past a few tables until I see one with two occupants, one of them a familiar face. Evans Sinclair.
My eyes meet his and I recoil from the naked hatred I see in their depths. Shuddering, I shift my gaze to the other occupant of the table. He’s an older man, unfamiliar to me. I turn my gaze back to Landon, a worried frown on my face. I’m wondering what Evans is doing in New York, and if it has anything to do with Landon, and I’m annoyed that a scumbag like Evans Sinclair seems to be abou
t to ruin our evening.
Landon sees the look on my face and gives me a reassuring smile. His hand covers mine on the table. “More wine?” he asks, refilling my glass when I nod my assent.
He turns to Wilson and starts to discuss the Newport hotel. Wilson is worried about the viability of the project, but Landon tells him he’s already drawn a contract up with the owners and he thinks it will turn out to be a sound investment.
I allow myself to breathe. If Landon’s not worried then maybe I have no reason to be. I turn my attention back to our conversation, intent on enjoying myself, but just before we leave, Evans Sinclair’s companion gets up, leaving him at the table, and on his way to the exit, he sees Landon and comes over to our table.
“Landon Court,” he says, proffering a hand to shake Landon and then Wilson. It’s been ages.”
There is a certain gravitas to the way he holds himself, and I attribute it to his age and obvious success. He turns in my direction, smiles, and nods at Betsy and me. “I’m Devlin Barkeley,” he says, still smiling.
The name sounds familiar, but I’m not quite sure where I’ve heard it before. “Rachel Foster,” I hear Landon say, “my girlfriend, and Betsy Hayes, Wilson’s wife.”
The man smiles at Betsy. “I’m charmed,” he declares. “I tried to hire your husband away from the Courts a long time ago. He wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
“He was happy where he was,” Betsy replies, her face showing how unimpressed she is by the man’s suaveness.
He shrugs, the charming smile still on his face as he turns back to Landon. “I stopped to congratulate you on your accomplishment with the Gold Dust. I have every confidence in your continued success.”
Landon gives him a measuring look. “Your choice of dinner companion doesn’t give me much confidence in your words.”
The man laughs and looks back to where Evans remains at their table, glowering in our direction. “Evans is my godson. I owe him a fair hearing, but I owe it to myself to make sound judgments.” He smiles across our table again. “Have a good evening.”
I watch him leave, and a few minutes later, Evans follows him. He’s swaying slightly, and I guess he’s drunk. As he passes our table, he raises both hands and flips Landon, who ignores him.
After he has gone, I turn to Landon. “Who was the other guy?”
Landon shrugs, a small frown on his brow. “He’s the chairman of a conglomerate that acquires and manages hotel chains.”
“Acquires? Like takeovers?”
“Yes,” Wilson offers. “They take the soul out of hotels and kill them with so-called efficiency. Sinclair there was probably trying to get him to try to acquire Swanson Court International from under Landon’s feet.”
“If he can,” Betsy says scornfully.
I admire their confidence, but I look at Landon, wondering what harm a powerful conglomerate could do if they really wanted to hurt him and his brand, but then the man had all but assured Landon that he was safe.
That was something at least.
Landon senses my worry and gives me a reassuring smile. “It doesn’t matter,” he tells me. “He doesn’t matter. The Swanson Court International is a very strong institution. I’ve dedicated my life to ensuring that. Even if Evans got a few people to sympathize with him, they’d be on a fool’s errand trying to hurt me.”
The conviction in his tone is both reassuring and in a way, sexy. We finish our dinner, and after Landon replies the maître d’s obsequious inquiries as to how we enjoyed our meal, he leads me outside, his hand a light and welcome weight on the small of my back. Wilson and Betsy’s driver is already in front to pick them up, and they go into the car after we exchange hugs. We watch them drive off, waiting for Joe to bring the car around.
When Joe arrives, Landon opens the rear door for me, waiting for me to climb inside before he goes around to the other side. I look up when he appears at the glass and starts to open the door, and then I hear the loud rev of a car engine. At first, I’m confused, not sure what to make of the glare of headlamps on Landon’s face and body, then my heart explodes in paralyzing fear as I realize that there’s a car coming toward him at full speed.