She nodded, steeling herself for the evening ahead. “Then let’s get this over with.”
He squeezed her hand. “Try to relax and have fun.”
She leaned closer to him, so only he could hear. “I’m working, remember? I’ll act like your fiancé, and I hope I’ll convince everyone we’re madly in love, but I’m not going to forget that this is a job. If you weren’t paying me so much, I wouldn’t be here, Matthieu.”
“Are employment and fun mutually exclusive?” He prompted without missing a beat.
“In this instance, I think they might be.”
“That’s a shame.” He turned the tables on her, moving his mouth closer to her ear with far more skill and panache than she possessed, because when he spoke, his lips brushed her flesh, so lightly that a thousand goosebumps covered her skin. “I think we could have fun together if you’d let your hair down a little.”
Her heart went into overdrive. “My hair is down,” she said, willfully misunderstanding him.
When he pulled back to meet her gaze, his expression had a knowing look to it. “Let’s keep it that way.”
The club was essentially a very fancy wine bar, all smooth, sleek lines, dark walnut furniture, subdued, moody lighting and elegant, brass-framed artwork hanging on the pitch black walls. The seats were arranged in small groups, with secluded booths against one wall. The bar was timber with a marble top and small brass lamps evoked vibes of a bank from the nineteen forties. Matt didn’t move to the bar, but rather weaved through the crowd, surprising Skye by reaching down and linking their fingers, weaving them together, holding her close to him. Something in her chest jolted into place and in that moment, she was aware of every single detail of the venue: every sound, every clinking of a glass, every laugh, every shift, smile and movement. But most of all, she was aware of Matthieu. His touch, his smell, his lithe athleticism, his strength, his control, his dynamism and his appeal—something she couldn’t help but notice as they cut a swathe through the room, drawing the quiet appreciation of every single patron. She felt a thousand bursts of light flood her system and a kaleidoscope of butterflies flapped inside her belly.
“Matthieu.” His name was just a whisper but he turned to face her, concern on his handsome features at first before he grinned, the sensual smile intended to be reassuring, she was sure, only it tied her tummy into knots.
He turned away again, and it was like the passing of the sun behind a cloud, the searing warmth of his attention disappearing, leaving shade in its place.
Though the bar was busy, as they approached the far side, a woman in a slinky black dress and wearing bright red lipstick offered a polite smile and gestured to a secluded table. Matthieu indicated with a nod of his head that it was acceptable. He held out a chair, and Skye went to move to the opposing chair but Matthieu laughed. “Here, Cherie.”
Goosebumps prickled her skin. It was all an act, but she couldn’t help but respond to the magnetic pleasure that came from the full force of his attention. She changed course, easing into the seat, and his hands caressed her shoulders gently as she sat down, the contact exploding in her veins like fire and flame. She bit back a soft moan, straightening in the chair, her eyes catching the stunning diamond as she shifted her hands to the tabletop. She immediately dropped them to her knees, concealing the gem behind her other hand.
Matthieu took the seat opposite, and the table was so small that his legs brushed hers beneath it, the intimate gesture completely natural for a real couple, but for Skye, it made her jolt in her seat, her eyes flashing to his with obvious surprise.
“Your usual, monsieur?”
The slinky-dress woman asked, her voice soft and husky. Skye studied her with objective curiosity. This beautiful woman was undoubtedly more like the kind of woman he usually went out with. What would everyone think when their engagement was announced? She grimaced, blinking away, looking at the room instead.
“Thank you. Also, some cheese.”
The waitress smiled before spinning away, leaving a hint of exotic perfume in her wake.
“I thought you didn’t come here often.”
“I don’t.”
“And yet you have a ‘usual’?”
His silence drew her attention back to his face; her stomach tightened into a clump of knots. “It’s my own label.”
“Oh, of course.” Her smile was tense. She was too nervous!
But when the sensual waitress reappeared, the wine she brandished didn’t look like any of those Skye had seen in the cellar door of the winery.
The waitress unscrewed the cork, passing it to Matthieu who declined to take it, before pouring two petite measures in enormous balloon glasses.
“I feel like it’s going to swallow my face,” Skye murmured, when they were alone again.
His laugh was a rich reward, the tone husky and deep, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Little bubbles popped in Skye’s chest.
“Cheers,” he said, a moment later, lifting his drink towards hers.
She mimicked the gesture, so their glasses clinked. Skye wasn’t aware that she was using her left hand, but something, a sixth sense, made her tilt her head as she sipped, and she saw a group of women—so elegant they looked as though they’d just clocked out of a Vogue magazine photoshoot—looking with undisguised interest in Skye’s direction. More particularly, at her hand. She resisted her first impulse: to hide her hand beneath the table again. Instead she sipped the wine, distracted at first, until the powerfully seductive flavours bloomed in her throat.
“Ohmygoodness, Matthieu, this is delicious.” She placed the glass back on the table, but before she could slide her hand away, he reached out and captured it, linking their fingers together. Sparks shifted through her.