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“What do you mean?”
“My rubies would dangle from your nipples,” he whispered.
“Where else?” she asked, her voice husky with need.
“From the clamp I’d put on your clit. But the largest ruby would peek out from the plug I’d put in your ass.”
* * *
After that, any reticence that lingered between them vanished and they’d moved to the bedroom, all restraint gone.
Matt had slept with countless women in his life—beautiful, sophisticated, experienced women—yet none of them, not a single one, had made him feel the way Liza had. Sex with her had been life-altering, amazing. He’d always suspected the chemistry between them would be explosive, which was why he’d kept his distance from her for as long as he had.
Now having it confirmed was going to be hell on his self-control because he hadn’t expected to discover exactly how compatible they were.
Liza Moretti wasn’t just beautiful, intelligent, his kryptonite.
She was submissive.
When she’d snuck out of his hotel room before dawn, it had taken everything he had not to go after her, to capture and drag her back to his bed where she belonged.
Matt closed his eyes, wincing at the pain in his head.
Not where she belonged.
He’d resisted the temptation to follow her, opting instead for the Scotch. He wanted to call the alcohol mistake number four, but there was an annoying voice inside his head insisting that the fourth mistake was not chasing her down and going for round two.
Matt pulled up to the restaurant, sighing heavily, girding his loins. He was perfectly aware that if he hadn’t been three sheets to the wind this morning, he wouldn’t have answered the phone, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have agreed to this dinner date.
Not that he didn’t need to talk to her. Because he did. But he would have liked to have had this conversation without the hangover and after a good night’s sleep. Right now, he was running on fumes, which put him at a definite disadvantage.
He patted his inside suit pocket, feeling the gift box tucked there, the diamond bracelet Liza had left behind when she’d snuck out of his hotel room.
The valet walked to the driver’s side as he opened the door, and he handed the young man his car keys, even though every fiber of his being wanted to snatch them back, jump in his car, and get the hell away from here.
Instead, he took a steadying breath and walked toward the entrance of Vetri Cucina. The hostess smiled when he gave his name, pointing toward the intimate table for two by the front window. If he hadn’t been so distracted, he might have seen her sitting there when he’d entered.
Walking toward her, he worked overtime to turn his grimace into a smile.
“There you are, darling,” Patricia cooed as he bent down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. She tried to turn her head at the last minute, hoping to take the platonic out of his kiss, but he moved too quickly, avoiding her lips.
He claimed his chair, aware she’d reserved them a table that ensured everyone who walked by outside would see the two of them dining together. Patricia Eddington loved nothing more than being in the limelight, the center of attention, while Matt preferred to lurk in the shadows.
“I’m so glad you agreed to join me tonight. I wanted—” She paused mid-sentence, frowning when the sommelier arrived to pour him a glass of wine. She didn’t like that whatever speech she’d prepared had been interrupted.
“Sir?” The man held the bottle so that he could read the label.
Patricia reached over, grasping Matt’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of ordering a bottle for us.”
“Not at all,” Matt said, though wine—hair of the dog or not—was the last thing he wanted. Nothing short of water…a gallon of it…was going to help his head.
The sommelier poured him the obligatory taste, which gave him an excuse to pull his hand out of Patricia’s, using it to lift the glass. He took a sip, then nodded that the wine was fine. He planned to nurse a single glass, so he didn’t give a shit what they drank. Pleased, the man filled their glasses, then left.
Patricia took a sip of the wine. “Oh, that’s delicious.”
And knowing her, extremely expensive.
Looking across the table, he was somewhat surprised to realize this was their first time dining together alone in a restaurant, as he’d only dated her in that plus-one-with-benefits capacity, inviting her to galas and fundraisers and charity events—all of which came complete with meals at tables for eight to ten people. That had saved him from having to converse with her too much, so now—on top of the hangover—he was stuck having to make small talk with the obnoxious woman. Previously, there had been no expectations between them for dates such as this, no morning-after calls, and no contact between swanky events.
