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I nod. ‘Thank you, Jake.’
He leads us through the restaurant and the hand I place in the
small of Imogen’s back is purely friendly, even when I want to dip my palm a little lower, trailing my fingers over the delicate curve of her rear in those—God help me—leather trousers. As if she needed to get any hotter.
My ‘usual’ table is at the back of the restaurant, a booth that’s set away from the others. The chairs are actually a wrap-around banquette, comfortable and soft. I watch as Imogen shrugs out of her coat and hands it to Jake, then wish I hadn’t watched because the delicate shrug of her shoulders—one bare from where her silk shirt has slipped down—is enough to make my cock hard against my pants in a way that’s almost painful. Then, I see just a few millimetres of lace and know she’s wearing the twin set I bought for her and I’m pretty much done for.
‘Everything okay?’ she murmurs, batting her eyelids at me as she sits down. I order a bottle of champagne—my friend’s private vineyard supplies a Legacy collection for special clients—and a soda for myself, then give her the full force of my attention.
‘That depends. How do you define okay?’
‘You look pale, suddenly,’ she murmurs, her delicious lips quirking at the edges.
‘Funny, that, given the fact my blood has rushed south all of a sudden.’
She dips her head forward, her blonde hair forming a curtain that blocks me from seeing her face. Impatience has me reaching down and pushing it behind her ear so I can see her properly. Her eyes lift to mine, meeting them with a mix of emotions I can’t fathom.
‘You come here often?’ she queries and something shifts in my gut. A doubt? Does she not like the restaurant?
‘From time to time. Have you ever been?’
She looks around, her expression impossible to decipher. ‘Nope.’
I sit beside her rather than across the table. It’s not my usual play but I don’t really want to be separated from her. Once Jake brings our drinks, I’ll have him draw the curtains. Our knees brush beneath the table. She jumps a little. I smile.
‘You’re nervous again.’
Her eyes flex to mine. ‘A little.’
‘Why?’ I lift my finger to her perfectly painted, beautifully shaped lips. ‘Don’t tell me. Because you haven’t done this in a really long time.’ Her eyelashes are incredibly long, like wings hovering just above her eyes. They flutter as a bird might flap and I stare at her, transfixed, until Jake reappears with the drinks. He places them on the table and, without looking at him, I say, ‘Close the curtains.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Imogen’s eyes flare, anticipation in their depths. I shouldn’t play with her—she’s too sweet and way too inexperienced—but I pull away from her a little. ‘We don’t want anyone to see us.’
Her lips part a little. ‘See us doing what?’
It’s just a question but it might as well be an invitation to lift her up and fuck her right here on this table.
I’m seriously tempted. But I’ve got the night planned and, for a reason I can’t really fathom, I care about showing her what her social life should be like. Maybe it’s like passing a baton, enlisting an apprentice right before I hang up my New York shoes and go back to England?
‘Dating, of course.’ I grin.
‘Right.’ She swallows, her delicate, pale throat tensing with the gesture. ‘I’ve been thinking about that.’
Something switches inside her, and the nerves are gone. She sits a little straighter, reaching for the champagne glass without sipping it in what I now recognise is a prop technique. She likes to hold something. To stop herself fidgeting?
Her fingers curve around the stem. ‘Go on,’ I prompt, matching her gesture, pulling my own soda tumbler towards me.
‘This whole dating thing.’ She pauses, a furrow on her brow. ‘We need to discuss it further.’
My lips quirk but I take a drink to hide the smile. I don’t think she’d like to feel as if I’m laughing at her. And I’m not, really, more just thinking how cute she is like this—trying to bring her impressive business mind to a social agreement.
‘Okay, so discuss it.’
‘I’m serious,’ she murmurs, her eyes forcing mine to hold hers.
‘What is it?’
