“How did you feel when I put you in the limo?”
I shift uncomfortably. I’m not completely certain where this is going, but I’m pretty confident that I won’t like getting there.
“Nichole?”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap.
I hear silence on the other end of the line and I realize that I’m afraid he’s hung up.
“All right, Nikki,” he says, as if he knows that he’s soothing a very deep wound. “How did you feel when I put you in the limo?”
“I was pissed. And you damn well knew it.”
“Because I was sending you home alone in a limo? Or because I was sending you home alone in a limo so that I could keep a date with a beautiful woman?”
“In case it escaped your notice, we barely know each other. You are perfectly entitled to go out with whomever you want, whenever you want.”
“And you’re within your rights to be jealous.”
“I’m not jealous, and no, I wouldn’t be within my rights. Let me repeat the salient point: I hardly know you.”
“I see. So the fact that we crave each other doesn’t play into it? Nor the fact that I made you wet? That I held your cunt in my hand and made you moan?”
He’s about to make me moan again, but I manage to remain valiantly silent.
“Tell me then, at what level of intimacy can jealousy rear its head?”
“I—I’ve drunk my weight in champagne tonight. I am not even going to attempt to answer that.”
He laughs, full and genuine. I like the sound. And, yes, I like Damien Stark. He’s not what I expected, but there’s something compelling about him—and it’s more than just the fact that he’s hotter than sin and got me worked up into quite a lather. He seems perfectly comfortable in his own skin. I’m reminded of Evelyn, who so brashly told me that if her party guests didn’t like the way she ran the event, they could leave. I’d been shocked—my mother would have had a coronary right then and there. But I’d also been impressed.
As far as I can tell, Damien Stark takes that attitude to an extreme.
“Her name is Giselle,” he says, and his voice is soft. “She owns the gallery that’s showing Blaine’s work.”
“I thought Evelyn was showing the work.”
“Evelyn hosted the party. She’s become something of a patron for Blaine. But tomorrow morning the paintings will be transported to Giselle’s gallery. This cocktail date with Giselle and her husband has been on my calendar for over a week now. It’s business, and not something I could get out of. But I did step away in order to call you.”
“Oh.” Her husband. “Oh.”
On the one hand, I’m frustrated that I’m so transparent. On the other hand, he’s calling to soothe me, and the sweetness of that gesture moves me. Of course, I shouldn’t let it. I should be strong and tell him he shouldn’t have bothered. Because whatever is happening between us, it needs to be quickly nipped in the bud.
“So where are you?” I ask, completely ignoring my own wise counsel.
“Sur la Mer,” he says, naming a Malibu restaurant and bar that’s so chic even I’ve heard of it.
“I’ve heard it’s excellent.”
“The food is exquisite,” he says, “but it’s the ambience that really sets the place apart. It’s charming, but intimate. It’s the perfect place to have a drink and discuss business when one doesn’t want to be overheard. Or to not discuss business, for that matter.”
The intimate edge has crept back into his voice, and I squirm a little. “And you’re there strictly for business?”
His low chuckle rocks through me. “I assure you that a tryst with Giselle and her husband is not on the agenda. I’m not interested in men. Or in married women.”
I keep silent.
“I want to see you again, Nikki. And I think you would enjoy the food here very much.”