CHAPTERSEVEN
HENRY
The following day, Henry found it difficult to concentrate. His mind kept slipping back to Olivia and their date the night before.
He smiled randomly throughout the day as parts of their conversation rose in his mind. In between phone calls and looking up artists and new pieces, he’d fall into memories of her laughter and bright eyes as they teased each other.
More than once, Henry had felt like he just wanted to gather her up and sweep her away, but he’d seen a hesitation in her every time he did. Even though they both had fun, he felt like she was holding back.
It made him nervous. He had lasted this long without being in a relationship, and he was no worse off for it.
He was so engaged in his thoughts that he almost forgot he was supposed to be having dinner with his parents. They’d planned to come into the city some time ago, and it wasn’t until his assistant mentioned he might be late that he remembered.
He hurried home and changed, checking himself out briefly before leaving the house. His father had chosen an incredibly expensive and exclusive restaurant, as usual. He’d be watching Henry for any fault he could exploit.
Henry felt rage simmering in his blood. It was far away, but he was aware of it. He really didn’t want to talk to his father. He wanted to see Olivia again.
But does she want to see me?
He paused for a moment as he parked his car near the restaurant. The kiss had been amazing. Olivia had folded into his arms and crumpled against his chest as if they were made for each other. His panther growled deep inside as he remembered how perfectly they fit together and how her scent enticed him.
Claim her.
He wanted to. Every inch of his body ached thinking about it. He couldn’t help being full of doubt, though. His life was simple, and everything was under control. He liked it that way.
Henry shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he got out of the car and headed for the restaurant. He had other things to think about right now. He would talk to his parents about it and see how he felt after that.
Not that I’m looking forward to talking with my father.
When he checked in, he was informed that his parents had already been seated. Henry felt his anxiety rise a notch. He wasn’t late, but if his parents had been seated already, then his father would act as if he were.
“Hello, Mother,” he said, bending down to kiss her cheek as he arrived at the table. “Good evening, Father.”
Nicholas looked up, his green eyes, the shade almost identical to his son’s. The big difference between them was that Henry’s eyes shone with a warm light, whereas his father’s were ice cold.
“You’re late, son,” his father said. His voice was cultured and smooth. There was not a hint of aggression in it. Anyone overhearing would think the man a paragon of etiquette. To Henry, though, the words were a barely veiled insult.
“I’m on time, Father.”
Nicholas’s eyes widened slightly.
“We aren’t often in town. I simply expect you to be more punctual. It’s almost as if you don’t want to see us.”
Henry took a deep breath and held it. He’d only been here two minutes. There was a whole evening to get through, yet.
I can’t lose my cool this quickly. Let’s see if I can make it through the entrée.
“Tell us what you’ve been doing, darling,” his mother said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. Jennifer smiled softly, rolling her eyes a little. Henry knew she was trying to lighten up the situation and give him some comfort. He had to wonder what had attracted his parents to each other and why his mother put up with Nicholas at all.
Henry spoke about the art gallery for a few minutes, watching his father’s eyes glaze over with a sense of satisfaction. He knew that pissing the old man off wasn’t smart, but he still got a perverse sense of pleasure out of it.
They ordered dinner and had a good-natured argument about wine. Henry began to settle in and hoped that the evening might be bearable, maybe even pleasant.
“So, Henry, that’s great news about the business,” his mother said. “But how did the date go, the one organized by Gerri?”
Henry’s heart stopped in his chest. His hands were ice cold, and he carefully put down his fork before it could fall out of his hand.
Lord, take me now.