together a sentence. Around Zack, I lose all my inhibitions. He makes me feel free to express my sexuality, what I want, need, like, or dislike. Yet, I’m almost tongue-tied after that kiss.
His eyebrows lift. “Are you okay?”
“I am.” I grab my knockoff Louis Vuitton clutch, lead him outside, and lock my door.
Zack takes my hand and escorts me down the stairs. I hear a loud whistle but ignore it. About the time we reach the visitor’s parking lot, it happens again.
“You have admirers,” Zack says with a chuckle.
“Not me.” I roll my eyes. “My friends Chelsea and Kayla are dying to get a look at you.”
“Oh? What did you tell them about me?” His dark eyes twinkle with a hint of humor.
“I might have told them you’re gorgeous and must be blind when you could be out with some beautiful model.” I’m not sure how they’d react if they knew a visit to a members-only club might be on my agenda tonight. For some reason, I’m not ready to share that information.
He catches my chin, lifting it. “Don’t doubt yourself. Ever. You are stunning, sexy, and mine.” He turns around and bows to my friends. They both give us two thumbs up and grin as if they’ve never seen a living god before.
Zack escorts me to his sleek, red Porsche and whisks me away to one of the fanciest restaurants in Chicago. We leave his car with the valet and walk inside. Zack’s hand is warm on my lower back. “Oh, baby,” he whispers, softly running his fingers up and down my bare spine. “I love this dress.”
“Thank you. It took me forever to decide what to wear.”
“You have excellent taste in clothes.” His voice is husky as we follow the hostess to a table in a far corner.
Chez Joey’s décor is a subtle nod to New Orleans with its colorful Mardi Gras masks strategically placed on the walls, soft lighting, and jazz playing in the background. Zack selects our wine and tells the waiter to give us a few minutes to relax before we order.
We fall into easy conversation, discussing work, vacations, and ambitions. That changes when he asks about my family. I don’t talk a lot about my youth, but he seems sincerely interested.
“I was ten when my parents died. They were on their way to celebrate my dad’s promotion when a garbage truck ran a red light and slammed into their car.”
Zack’s eyes reflected my sadness. “That had to be tough. Losing a parent is hard, but you were so young. Then your Nana took you to raise?”
“Yes. She became my mom, dad, and best friend.”
Zack extends his open hand across the table, and I place mine in his. His grip is warm and strong. “That’s why your pink slippers are so important to you. Your grandmother gave you the love and guidance you needed.”
“She did, and with the energy of a young woman. There wasn’t a school function she missed.” I blink away the tears forming, but one escapes to trickle down my cheek. It happens every time I talk about her. “I lost her last year.”
“Then I really feel bad for teasing you about your slippers.”
“Don’t. I shouldn’t be so sensitive.” Talking about myself makes me feel vulnerable so I change the subject. “Tell me about your family.”
“Family?” Zack scoffs and then tosses back the remainder of the wine in his glass. “I have a mother, father, and a younger brother. My parents divorced while I was in college and both have remarried. My mom and her husband live in Provence, France. I haven’t seen her since the separation. My brother, Simon, is thirty-one and following in the footsteps of our dear old dad.” Zack’s tone is harsh when he speaks of his family.
“Do you see your father often?”
“Not if I can help it. More than ten minutes in a room with him and we’re both pissed off. I quit trying to please him a long time ago.”
Our waiter appears and the family discussion is dropped, leaving me with many questions. Zack and I both order shrimp creole and coffee. Service is fast and we quickly fall into an easy silence while eating.
When the waiter stops by to clear our table, Zack orders Baileys for both of us. He leans back in his chair and studies me for a minute.
“You’re staring.” I sigh, relieved I hadn’t spilled food on my dress.
“So is every man in the restaurant.”
“Please.” I smile, appreciating the compliment.
“You honestly don’t