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A thought struck her. “Why did you name me Ms. Raven on the list?”
When he ignored her question and instead served them both from the overflowing platter, she ignored him in turn, reaching for her wine. The wine was just as marvelous as she remembered from her trip to New Zealand with Rex four years ago. They’d enjoyed a hike through the mountains surrounding the vineyards, dined on perfectly cooked venison with rosemary potatoes, and drank more of the 2012 Shiraz than she thought was humanly possible. The day had been beautiful, but the night . . . It had ended with crying and fighting when she once again didn’t come.
Damn you, Rex.
She pushed thoughts of her former fiancé out of her mind. He’d done enough harm.
Glancing up, she noticed Julian studying her, wearing an expression she couldn’t read. He seemed concerned, but why? She’d just asked about the name he’d given her. Nothing more. “Was it because of the feather?” she asked, pushing again for an answer.
He responded by holding out a forkful of tender smoked salmon. “Open.”
She automatically pressed her lips together.
He cocked an imperious brow and held the fork where it was.
A minute passed, and he still didn’t lower the fork, and she imagined they were going to attract attention, so she finally opened her mouth, letting him feed her the small bite. Against her will, she moaned with delight as the rich smoke and salt hit her tongue. “Why haven’t I heard of this restaurant before?” she asked. “I’ve been to the most exclusive restaurants in the city, and I’ve never even heard of this.”
“Did you try the gorgonzola?”
He still refused to answer her questions, she noted. But why? The man was as mysterious in real life as he was behind a gold mask. “What is the name of this place? There are no signs about it. No menus.”
“Try the gorgonzola,” he ordered.
This was bordering on bullshit. She leaned forward, commanding his attention. “Tell me why I’m here.”
He responded with a cocky and knowing grin. “It’s imported directly from Lombardy.”
“Enough!” She surprised even herself when her fist landed hard on the table, causing the silverware to clatter and the heavy crystal candelabra to quiver. “I’m done playing games. What do you want from me?”
* * *
Silence stretched between them,long and thick, punctuated by the distant murmur of other restaurant guests. Skylar held Julian’s gaze firmly as he assessed her from across the dancing light of the still-flickering candles.
“It’s frustrating having questions unanswered, isn’t it?” he finally said, a wicked fire burning in his smoldering eyes. “It can drive you mad.”
She realized she was breathing heavily, and her fingernails were digging desperately into her palms.
He tipped his head to the side, then shifted until his knees pressed against her knees, his mouth mere inches from her lips. “You’ve just experienced the tiniest taste of what I’ve endured the past three months,” he murmured, his voice low and deep but carrying fire. “From the moment you ran away from that bedroom in the mansion, I’ve been forced to live with all the questions that would not let me sleep, would not let me eat, would barely let me fuck.” He grinned naughtily. “Not that I let that stop me in the end.”
His taunt pierced her chest, but she just laughed and said, “Of course not. You have a girlfriend, of course?” If it wasn’t clear to him that she was taunting him, then he wasn’t the brilliant man she’d thought he was.
“No.”
She frowned dramatically. “Of course not. Surely a faithful and outstanding man like yourself has a wife. Children? A house with a white picket fence?”
He snorted. “In Manhattan?”
She shrugged. “Is that any more fantastical than the thought of you having a wife?”
“It really isn’t,” he conceded.
“So then tell me, why the hell should I care whether I made it slightly more difficult for you to fuck your next client?”
He smiled tightly. “Clients.”
“Right. Of course. More clients, more money.”
For an escort, even a rich one, he looked unexpectedly pissed at her suggestion that he fucked for money.
