I laid my hands upon the table’s edge, preparing to push my chair away.
“Rett, this—”
The door opened and a second later, a parade of servers entered, thwarting my escape.
Once again, Rett’s full lips quirked in amusement, recognizing my failed attempt to flee. Within his dark stare, the reflection of the candles’ flames flickered.
“Mr. Ramses,” the oldest gentleman in the parade of servers said with a dramatic bow, “we have prepared your meal to your specifications. We do hope that you and your companion will enjoy.”
Ramses?
Rett…Everett Ramses.
The connection was made, yet I couldn’t speak.
I could—I was capable—it was that Rett was still speaking to the man.
“…thank you, Elijah. I’m sure it will be delicious as usual.”
Elijah turned my way and poured more wine into my glass. The other waiters placed plates before us and uncovered dishes of some of New Orleans’ traditional delicacies: barbecued shrimp, charbroiled oysters, and golden curry. Their unmistakable aromas swirled through the air, reminding me of my earlier hunger.
“Miss North,” Elijah said, “Mr. Ramses said it had been a while since you visited your home. Please let us know if we can bring you anything that isn’t offered.”
I inhaled, looking from Elijah to Rett.
I wanted to say that I could be offered my real name—O’Brien. I wanted to say that New Orleans wasn’t my home. Pittsburgh was where I’d called home since graduating from college.
However, it was clear that to do so would prolong this conversation. Therefore, I simply said, “Thank you, Elijah.”
By the time Rett and I were once again alone, the servers had heaped generous portions of each dish upon our plates. As close as I’d been to making an escape, the delicious aromas were making my stomach growl.
After the door closed, Rett looked my way. “Eat, Emma. You yourself said you were famished.”
“I was expecting French fries or onion rings, not a seafood smorgasbord.” I lay the spoon down that I had just lifted. “You’re Everett Ramses.”
He nodded. “I am.”
“Why do you keep referring to me as North when my name is O’Brien?”
“We will get to that.”
My head shook. “Okay, so you’re Everett Ramses, and that’s how you knew about the business meeting.”
“Correct,” he said, drizzling lemon juice over an oyster before sliding it from its shell onto a thin cracker and eating it.
I stared for a minute, my gaze volleying between the man at the end of the table and my still-untouched food.
How did I get here, to a private dining room, with him, the man Ross has been talking about nonstop?
The only one who could answer my question was Ross.
I pushed my chair away from the table and stood. “Thank you for the invitation. I must bid you goodbye, Mr. Ramses. This has been…interesting; however, I believe—”
Before I could finish my sentence, Rett was out of his seat and in front of me.
Perhaps it was the length of his legs or maybe he had been a track star in an earlier life. I wasn’t certain how he’d moved as quickly and yet as gracefully as he did. Much like a panther threatening its prey, Rett had me blocked. The door was beyond him.
I took a step to the side and then another in the other direction. Forward wasn’t an option.
I sucked in a breath as my neck and shoulders straightened.
Instead of toward the door, I stepped backward—the two of us moving in sync—away from my escape. Our unchoreographed dance continued until my shoulders collided with the wall, and I was sandwiched between the carved-wood paneling and over six feet of solid man.
“Emma, you don’t understand.”
My breathing quickened, yet I wasn’t inhaling, not in a way that brought the needed oxygen to my rushing bloodstream. The result was a tingling in my extremities.
Rett—no, Mr. Ramses—was so close.
I inhaled the mix of garlic and wine on his warm breath, as well as his rich, spicy cologne. Warmth radiated from his solid body. I placed my palms against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart beneath. My head shook. “I don’t. You’re right. I don’t understand—any of this.”
Reaching for my hands before a protest came to my lips, he lifted both of them over my head, pinning them to the wall. The move caused my back to arch, pushing my breasts forward. He stared, scanning me down and back up. No longer did the candles flicker in the dark orbs, but something more unnerving. As his gaze lingered, physical changes occurred within me. My insides twisted, no longer from hunger for food, but with