He dips his head once in a sign of encouragement.
‘From a friend of mine—an actress, who was complaining about even the best bars being paparazzi haunts, and wanting to just get away. To have somewhere to let her hair down without having it splashed over the papers the next day.’
‘I would imagine a lot of actresses live for the attention of the paparazzi.’
‘You’re wrong,’ I say quickly. ‘That attention can be used to build an image, sure, but it’s a double-edged sword. And not being able to escape that hounding, it’s horrifying. Everyone deserves to be able to switch off their “persona” and just be themselves for a while.’
He’s watching me in a way that gives me goose bumps and makes my head feel light, because he’s looking at me as though he sees the real me, deep inside who I am, beyond my own ‘persona’.
‘You’re speaking from experience?’
‘Sort of. Not really. I like to fly beneath the radar as much as possible, but my parents, on the other hand...’
He waits, encouragingly, as if he doesn’t know about them. And maybe he doesn’t. I forget sometimes that I’m out of the East Coast bubble.
‘My mother’s an actress. Or was. Now I guess she’s a socialite. She never met a camera she didn’t like.’
Wow. I sound so bitter. So serious. And I am—God knows I carry a lot of resentments but I usually do a much better job of hiding them. It’s hard to hide things from Nicholas.
I force a smile to my face. ‘The club was only meant to be for a few people, but it just took off. I started with a single venue here in Manhattan but...’
‘You found a gap in the market, and the market rose to meet it.’
It sounds so cynical when, actually, it wasn’t at all. ‘I studied business at college—I thought I’d get a job out this way but, once I got here, I found I didn’t really want to spend my time working hard to make rich people even richer.’ I smile to take the sting out of the statement. ‘Then, the club took on a life all of its own.’
‘And you have your charity too, right?’
My smile now is natural. ‘Chance, yeah.’
‘It does something for kids?’
‘Excuse me, sir?’ a voice calls from beyond the curtains.
‘Yes?’ Impatience curves Nicholas’s expression.
The curtains open and the waiter reappears, placing a platter on the table top. ‘Compliments of the chef.’
Oysters—one of my favourites—with a variety of toppings, and caviar atop thinly sliced cucumber. It breaks the serious mood that had descended on us, and I’m glad. Glad for the reprieve. We promised each other a whole lot of fun and talking about broken engagements and my parents is hardly fun.
Beneath the table, I brush my hand over his knee. He turns to look at me slowly, but that doesn’t stop the slash of heat that steals across my body.
Dating was his idea and I really liked it but now all I want is to be back in bed with him, exploring the desire that fogs the air around us.
I am hungry only for Nicholas Rothsmore.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I’M NOT SURE if it’s the champagne I’ve been drinking, or the incredibly decadent Belgian mousse we shared after dinner, or the fact we’re walking hand in hand through New York with the lights of the Brooklyn Bridge twinkling in the background, snow dusting down from an inky black sky, and Christmas lights twinkling overhead, but suddenly I feel as if I’m floating.
‘So, is this a normal first date, Nicholas?’
His fingers squeeze mine. I love how he does that, as if it’s his way of agreeing with me or something. ‘I mean, we’ve already had sex on two separate occasions, so I’m not sure we can classify this as a first date?’
‘No, no, no,’ I demur with a grin. ‘Those weren’t dates. It was fucking.’ Champagne has taken away any of my usual tendencies to hesitate. ‘And
you told me fucking is different from dating.’
His laugh is like a caress. I close my eyes and let it wash over me.