“Maybe another night. Dante and I had a meeting nearby, and I just came up to say hi.” Kai’s gaze flicked toward me for a split second. An answering thrill rippled beneath my skin. “I don’t want to crash your date.”
“Nonsense. You won’t be crashing at all,” Vivian said. “Isa’s joining us, so it’d actually be perfect.
Seating four is easier than seating three.”
My shoulders stiffened. The last thing I wanted was to sit through an entire meal with Kai. I’d done it before, at a dinner party Dante and Vivian hosted right after they returned from their honeymoon, but that was different. That had been before the piano room. Before dangerous fantasies and accidental touches that tilted my world off its axis.
Kai’s eyes rested on mine again. An invisible steel door slammed down around us, shutting out the rest of the world and cocooning us in a bubble of whisper-light breaths and colliding heartbeats.
Goose bumps rose on my skin. But whereas I struggled to maintain a semblance of calm, he regarded me the way a scholar would examine an old but thoroughly forgettable text. A hint of interest, tempered by a sea of indifference.
“In that case,” he said, the words like velvet in his cultured voice, “I’m happy to help.”
An unwelcome surge of anticipation leaked into my veins, but it was dampened by unease. Dante and Vivian always got lost in their own world, which meant I was facing at least two hours of Kai’s uninterrupted company.
“Excellent.” Vivian beamed, looking happy over something as simple as a group dinner.
I opened my mouth, then closed it. My desire to experience Monarch warred with trepidation over a night with Kai. On one hand, I refused to let him ruin a bucket list item for me. On the other…
“Guys, I have to go.” Sloane came up beside me, so quiet I hadn’t heard her approach. Sometime in the past five minutes, she’d tossed a camel Max Mara coat over her blouse and pants and swapped her slippers for a pair of sleek leather boots. “My client landed early.”
She nodded a curt greeting at the men and handed me and Vivian our bags, effectively dismissing us.
We were too used to her work emergencies to be offended by her abrupt announcement. Sloane wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type, and her face should be stamped next to the dictionary entry for workaholic, but if things went to shit, I knew I could count on her. She was fiercely protective of her friends.
“Who is it anyway?” I asked, discreetly dropping the dildo back into my backpack while she locked the door. “Anyone we know?”
Most of her clients were business and society types, but she took on the occasional celebrity like British soccer star Asher Donovan and the fashion model Ayana （one name only, à la Iman）。
“I doubt it,” Sloane said as we walked to the elevator. “Unless you follow the lazy playboys section of the society pages closely.” Her voice seeped with cold disdain.
Okay then. Whoever the client was, he was clearly a sore subject.
Vivian and I fell into step with her while the guys brought up the rear. Normally, I’d pester her for more information, but I was too distracted by the soft footfalls behind me.
The clean, woodsy scent of Kai’s cologne drifted over me in a warm rush of air. I swallowed, tingles of awareness scattering over my back. It took every ounce of willpower not to turn around.
No one spoke again until we reached the elevator. The oak-paneled car was built for four at most, and in our jostling to squeeze into the tight space, my hand grazed Kai’s.
A golden streak of heat shot through me, electrifying every nerve ending like live wires in the rain.
I pulled away, but the phantom thrills remained.
Beside me, Kai stared straight ahead, his face carved from stone. I almost believed he hadn’t felt the touch until his hand, the one I’d inadvertently brushed, flexed.
It was a small movement, so quick I would’ve missed it had I blinked, but it grabbed hold of my lungs and twisted.
The air compressed from my chest. I quickly tore my eyes away and faced forward like a teen who’d been caught watching something inappropriate. The hammering of my heart reached deafening decibels, drowning out Dante, Vivian, and Sloane’s chatter.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kai’s jaw tense.
The two of us stood there, unmoving and unspeaking, until the doors pinged open and our friends spilled out into the lobby.
Kai and I hesitated in unison before he nodded at the exit in a universal after you sign.
I held my breath as I brushed past him, but somehow, his scent still infiltrated my senses. It muddled my thoughts so much I almost walked into a potted fern on our way out, earning myself strange looks from Vivian and Sloane.
I suppressed a groan, the next two hours stretching in front of me like an endless marathon.
This is going to be a long night.
CHAPTER 8
Kai
I hadn’t planned on tagging along with Dante after our meeting, but when he mentioned the Monarch reservation, I’d been curious. My job included checking out the most buzz-worthy places in the city, and I’d been putting Monarch off for too long.
Certainly, my decision to abandon a relaxing night in for the somewhat tedious fine dining scene had nothing to do with Dante’s casual comment about picking Vivian up from girls’ night with her friends.
Sloane had departed for the airport, leaving me and Isabella in the back seat of Dante’s car while the newlyweds cozied up in front. Of all the nights, Dante had to choose tonight to drive instead of relying on his chauffeur.
Silence suffocated the air as we inched through Manhattan traffic, interrupted only by the soft patter of rain against glass.
Isabella and I sat as far apart as humanly possible, but it wouldn’t matter if the Atlantic Ocean itself separated us. My senses were imprinted with the smell and feel of her—the lush sensuality of roses mixed with the rich warmth of vanilla; the brief, tantalizing glide of her hand against mine; the static charge that clung to my skin every time she was near.
It was maddening.
I answered an email about the DigiStream deal and slid my phone into my pocket. I’d been working on acquiring the video streaming app for over a year. It was so close I could taste it, but for once, my thoughts were consumed with something other than business.
I glanced at Isabella. She stared out the window, her fingers drumming an absentminded rhythm against her thigh, her face soft with introspection. Her backpack sat between us like a concrete wall, dividing my runaway thoughts from her unusual quiet.
“How many speeds does it have?”
The drumming stopped. Isabella turned, confusion stamped across her features. “What?”
“Your test at Sloane’s house.” The memory of her answering the door with that ridiculous pink toy in hand pulled at the corners of my mouth. “How many speeds does it have?”
Although I disapproved of Isabella’s distressingly common lack of propriety, part of me was charmed by it. She was so completely, irrepressibly herself, like a painting that refused to be dulled by time. It was enthralling.
Color glazed her cheekbones and the tip of her nose. Unlike Vivian’s refined elegance or Sloane’s icy blond beauty, Isabella’s features were a bold, expressive canvas for her emotions. Dark brows pulled together over eyes that sparked with defiance, and her full, red lips pressed into a firm line.