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He nodded. “His death didn't affect me as deeply as that of my mother. My father… Let's just say if you think I'm an asshole then he would've been the king of assholes. We didn't exactly get along — too much alike, I suppose. By the time he died I was more than ready to see the last of him."
"Do your brothers feel the same way?"
"Pretty much. He wasn't much of a father. He was more of a CEO than a family patriarch." Vince shrugged when he saw a hint of sympathy creep into her eyes. "It is what it is and I don't dwell on the past. Tell me about your parents."
But before she could answer the town car slowed to a stop as they arrived at the restaurant. Vince was half tempted to tell the driver to circle around the block because he didn't want to shatter the illusion of sharing confidences but she was only too eager to climb from the car.
The restaurant, one of the most pompous places he knew, catered to people like him and he knew instinctively that Emma would probably hate it, or if not hated, at least find herself out of her element. He could've picked a less pretentious place but for some reason he had wanted to drive home the point that he had more money than he knew what to do with and that she couldn't possibly compete with him on any level. Perhaps it was petty but he preferred to think of it as ruthless. He may wear the veneer of a charming gentleman when it suited him but deep down he was a shark and she would do well to remember that, if even on a subconscious level.
But Emma, he discovered, was unpredictable. When she saw the restaurant her eyes lit up and she smiled, saying, "I read a review on this place and it was very complementary. I can't wait to try their food on your dime because the prices are ridiculous. I mean, who really wants to pay $300 for a giant plate with hardly anything on it?"
Vince stifled a chuckle. God, he felt the same. He only brought people here when he wanted to impress or intimidate. And clearly, she’d sailed past either attempt with flying colors, choosing to grab the moment with a hearty sense of adventure. How could he not identify with such a kindred spirit?
The moment they crossed the threshold the maître d expediently seated them in a private corner as was the custom whenever a Buchanan frequented the establishment but Emma was too busy gazing in wide-eyed wonder at everything around her to notice much else, including his hand at the small of her back as he guided her to her seat. She graced him with a brief smile even as her eyes lit up with delight as if she forgot for the moment that she hated him and Vince’s heart nearly stuttered to a stop at how blindingly beautiful she was when she turned on that 100-watt smile without reservation. But she must’ve remembered her circumstances a heartbeat later for she quickly smothered the smile and Vince saw the walls go back up. The wine arrived and Emma took a quick sip, probably to bolster her nerves and he enjoyed watching her every move from above the rim of his own glass. “Do you approve?” he asked of his wine choice.
“I’m not much of a wine drinker,” she said by way of an answer. “It could be the best or the worst and I wouldn’t know the difference.”
“Good to know. In other words, you’re a fairly cheap date.”
“I don’t actually date that often so I can’t rightly say but if you’re using that as a gauge then, I guess you would be right because I’m more of a burgers and beer kind of girl.”
“You don’t date? Why not?”
“No time.”
“Ah, that’s right. Too busy scraping together a meager living.”
“It’s an honest living,” she defended, bristling a little. Her pride was adorable. He couldn’t remember the last time he took such obvious pride in something. “I’m proud of what I do and I do it well.”
“So I’ve heard,” he murmured. “You’re a decent journalist. Too bad it’s a dying career.”
“There will always be a place for the light keepers,” she countered. “If not the press, who would keep people like you and the politicians and their special interest groups in check?” She smiled and he granted her the point. “True, it’s more difficult than ever to find a job in this economy but something will turn up. In the meantime, freelancing works for me. I rather like having my own schedule.”
“It does have its perks,” he agreed, swirling his wine gently before asking, “So, tell me, what had you hoped to accomplish by crashing Malvagio?”
Emma hesitated, a slight frown pulling on her brows. “I don’t know. I guess I thought I was going to do an expose on the crowd that frequents an elite sex club. It’s exactly the salacious kind of story that people want to read about these days. Plus, I wanted to punish you for what happened to Lana.”
“You know I never condoned that sort of thing happening in my club. I would never support true violence against women.”
“Really? Then why the dungeons? Seems medieval to me.”
He chuckled. “Some players in the BDSM lifestyle like more rigorous play than others and we like to think we can accommodate most kinks.” She bit her lip as if holding back something and he pressed for her to go for it. “Go ahead…ask what you want to know. With you tonight, I will be an open book,” he offered graciously.
“Is that so? Aren’t you afraid that you might share something I could use against you?”
He laughed. “No.”
She scowled at his arrogance but he found her pique incredibly enticing. “Careful, Emma…you’re irresistible when you’re angry. I would hate to find reasons to purposefully yank your chain just to see the fire dance in your eyes.”
“You’re impossible,” she grumbled and took a drink of wine. “Fine. Are you really as depraved as you put on to be? I mean, do you like to play like that with all those whips and chains and whatnot?”
The fact that she’d asked about his sexual preference caused his groin to tighten with sudden and immediate lust but he kept his expression neutral as he answered with a shrug, “Not as much as all that but I do love the feel of a nice firm ass beneath my palm. But even if I don’t enjoy going so far as to cane a woman to get off, I am absolutely depraved. Would you like to know what I really enjoy?”
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“No,” she answered quickly but he was going to tell her anyway.
He leaned forward. “I love stuffing a woman with cock in every place. I love the feel of fucking a woman with my cock firmly planted in her ass while another cock fucks her pussy, both cocks simultaneously rubbing together, separated by a thin wall of membrane…there’s nothing better.”
Her blue eyes were wide as saucers. “Do you always…share your women with others?”
“Not always.”
“For whom have you made an exception?”
Vince took a long moment, searching his memory. None came to mind but as he made that realization, he made another — the idea of sharing Emma with anyone made a growl pop from his throat and startled him. Jealousy? Really? He forced a smile and said, “Does it matter?”
She pulled back. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”
“Good. Have I satisfied your curiosity?”
A shudder escaped her ability to hide the involuntary reaction and he grinned, loving how easily he could tilt her axis. If only she didn’t have the same power over him. Holding himself in check was becoming more difficult as the moments ticked on. Why did he want her so badly? A problem, that, he thought dryly.
“So, you’ve done some digging into my private life. I assume privacy means nothing to you?” she asked, plainly uncomfortable with his digging yet she’d had no compunction against digging around in his business. His little dove was a raging hypocrite. His slow smile took her off-guard. “Stop that,” she instructed after another quick swallow. Careful, sweet girl. Too many more swallows like that and you’ll be drunk before you know it. His smile widened at the thought of a pliable and less prickly Emma Winters. “Stop smiling at me like that. It makes me feel as if I’m a lamb being led to slaughter.”
“Perhaps you are.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed, adding with suspicion. “Is that why you’ve brought me here? To kill me with your version of kindness so that I’ll be more cooperative?”
