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He nods, his pride plainly evident. “Took a long damn time, but we finally got clearance on the plans for construction.”
“Congratulations.” I raise my glass to him in another toast. “This is a big deal, Nick. I know how much the center means to you. You should be having a big celebration.”
“I am. This dinner is costing me a small fortune,” he says with a boyish smirk. He sets down his glass and reaches for my hand. “And it’s worth it. There was only one person I wanted to share this news with outside of Beck and the rest of my staff.”
He strokes the back of my hand, his gaze locked on mine with such intensity I’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe. His smile breaks slowly, sinfully, and I can only wonder how he intends to continue our celebration once we leave here tonight.
My body is already way ahead of my imagination. Just the sensation of Nick’s touch, the mesmerizing heat of his deep blue eyes, is enough to make me quiver with unabashed desire. If he asked me to leave with him right now, I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment.
“I hope you like oysters.”
I nod, watching him pick up a shell and loosen the tender flesh from its cradle. His fingers move so gracefully, so adeptly, it makes my mouth water just to observe his hands in motion. He has beautiful hands, even with the scars.
“Did you order oysters because you’re planning a seduction, Mr. Baine?”
His answering grunt is rough, sexy. I lick my lips as he hands the oyster to me across the splash of red silk that separates us. Our fingers brush against each other, lingering.
“Will I need oysters in order to seduce you, Ms. Ross?”
“What do you think?” I take the shell from him, but instead of putting the meat into my mouth, I dip my finger into the shallow cup of soft, slick flesh.
His groan is a raw sound, a deep rumble in the back of his throat. After I’ve tormented him for another moment, I lick my wet, salty finger, then tilt my head back and slide the oyster into my open mouth.
“Fuck,” he utters hoarsely. “You’re better at this game than you should be.”
I smile and arch a brow, totally unrepentant. “I’m learning from a master.”
We settle in, enjoying the appetizers and the champagne, which flows endlessly thanks to our attentive servers. It’s amusing—definitely impressive—sitting in our private dining room at the top of a charming, if vacant, building just five minutes away from the luxury of Nick’s penthouse.
As always with this man, he’s managed to conjure magic for me.
For us.
We enjoy the rest of the oysters, and moments after we’ve eaten the last one, our waiter returns to clear the plates.
He nods politely to me, then addresses Nick. “Dinner will be served in a few minutes, sir.”
With Nick’s murmured thanks, we are once again left alone. “I hope you don’t mind that I ordered for both of us tonight. Filet mignon a la Castille.”
“Castille,” I echo, my mouth going a bit slack. “You don’t mean, as in, Gavin Castille?”
Nick nods, then takes a leisurely drink of his champagne.
I’m gaping. “Gavin Castille, one of the most recognized celebrity chefs in the country. That Gavin Castille?”
“That’s the one. The one and only, I’m sure the arrogant Aussie would hasten to add.”
“We had lunch at his restaurant earlier this week.”
“Yes, we did.” The only thing more incredible than having arguably the hottest chef of the moment catering a private dinner for us is Nick’s self-satisfied grin as he watches me absorb the news. When he said this meal cost him a small fortune, I have no doubt about that now. He shrugs, oh-so-nonchalantly. “I told you I wanted to make up for the way our lunch ended. Consider this my version of a do-over.”
“You’re crazy.” I bark out a laugh I couldn’t hold back if I tried. Popping out of my chair, I lean across the table and yank him up for an impulsive kiss. “You’re totally insane, you know that?”
He chuckles, even though his eyes are dark with arousal as I release him and slowly resume my seat across from him. “Gavin’s a friend. He’s also going to be part of the rec center. He’s agreed to donate a chef’s kitchen and personal cooking time with the kids every month, once the center opens. We’re hoping it’ll give the ones recovering from injuries or other trauma a creative outlet while also teaching them skills they’ll need as adults.”
“Cooking as therapy, huh?” I recall Nick mentioning to me once how he learned to cook because it helped him regain his dexterity and the use of his hand. That he’s applying something so personal to his plans for the recreation center moves me. It amazes me, just as the man himself does.
“We’ll have other programs in place too,” he says. “I plan on calling in a lot of markers to make the center a success.”
