Authors: Karen-Anne Stewart
“A little of everything,” he answers vaguely, his eyes arresting mine. Running his finger across his bottom lip, he leans back in his chair. “You are beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes darkening with something I can’t quite identify, but it resembles sorrow.
I feel the heat rise in my cheeks and my gaze falls as I mumble, unconvinced, “Thank you.”
“Has no one ever told you that?” he asks, surprise lacing his voice.
I gently shake my head.
“Why?”
His question catches me off guard.
Leaning his arms against the table, he grabs my hand, pulling it closer, “You don’t know that you’re beautiful, do you?”
I don’t feel beautiful. Pretty, maybe, but not beautiful.
His thumb caresses the sensitive skin between my forefinger and thumb, and I almost singe the chair. Pulling my hand away, I drop both hands into my lap. “Thank you for the compliment,” I say, my words coming out rushed and barely above a whisper, “but I think we should discuss the design.”
Breck’s gaze stays fixated on mine as leans back, like he’s pondering my suggestion before relenting, “Have you ever tried to present your work before?”
“Not yet,” I admit.
“That’s what I gathered. The most important thing to remember is to act confidently. If you don’t appear confident, they will eat you alive.”
Apparently, Breck can feel how my heart beat increases two fold with those words because he lets out a little chuckle, “Don’t worry, I’ll be there with you during the presentation. The board members will treat you respectfully because they respect my grandfather. It’s not them you need to worry about.”
“Who is it that should I worry about?”
“The partners. They have no say in the design, but they will be there tomorrow and they despise me, so, they will, in turn, despise you.”
I run my tongue across my lips that have suddenly gone dry.
“Don’t do that, it shows nervousness, which happens to be the opposite of confidence. It also makes me want to find a private room and have my way with you.”
My jaw drops slightly as I fidget with the wine glass, completely unsure of how to respond or if I should even respond, dignifying his utter inappropriateness.
“Stop!” he demands, his tone forceful.
Dropping my hands back into my lap, I glare at him.
“Confidence, Emma,” he reminds me.
I’m about to tell him what he can do with his confidence when the waiter returns with the wine, pouring a generous amount into both glasses. Setting the bottle on the table, he glances discreetly at Breck, who smiles politely and shakes his head.
“Very well. Take your time,” the waiter states pleasantly.
Grabbing the menu, I take advantage of the opportunity to collect myself. Staring down at the choices, I can’t pronounce half of them. When I return the menu, Breck gives the waiter a slight nod, and he immediately returns, turning towards me.
“I will have a salad, please,” I smile politely as I place the menu in the waiter’s hand.
Flashing that infuriatingly cocky smile, Breck shakes his head before French rolls off his tongue like it’s his native language. The waiter replies in French before topping off the wine glasses and leaving to place the orders.
“I did not invite you to Menton just for you to order a salad. I know your appetite is larger than that, so I took the liberty of ordering for you. You will love the food here.”
“Do you make it a habit to cancel out other people’s thoughts and orders?”
“You didn’t want the salad; you were just being polite. I don’t do polite.”
“Really, I never noticed,” I snap. What if I decide I’ve had enough of you not being polite and decide to leave?”
“Are you going to?”
“Maybe?”
“We can talk hypothetically all day if you wish. I can come up with several tantalizing hypothetical scenarios.” He leans forward, brushing his fingertips against mine while his eyes gleam wickedly.
“You are insufferable.”
“I was thinking the same about you,” Breck laughs, taking a sip of his wine.
Intent on salvaging the evening, I swallow my pride, “Where did you learn French?”
“My grandmother was French, which is why my grandfather chose the name Dur Acier. Dur means hard and Acier means Steel. I studied with a chef who insisted that I learn the language before he would teach me French cuisine. I knew the basics from college, but the chef taught me the rest, refusing to speak English when I was with him. I still speak French when we get together.”
“I took Spanish in High School. I’m decent at it, but would love to be fluent.”
“I can teach you,” Breck offers, taking another sip of his wine.
“You speak Spanish as well?” I ask, arching my brow.
“Dammit, Emma, stop doing that!”
“Stop doing what?”
“Cocking your brow above your left eye like that,” he growls.
“Does that show a lack of confidence as well?” I ask, being sure to add a dose of petulance, hoping to show he doesn’t intimidate me when every movement he makes does just that.
“No.”
“What does it do then?”
“You don’t want to know,” he answers with a coy grin.
I take a sip of my wine, tired of trying to figure him out.
“Where did you study art?” Breck asks, taking control of the conversation.
“Furman University. I’ve always loved to paint, though. I was smearing colors on everything by the time I could walk,” I smile, remembering how my mom would bring me rolls of paper for my creations.
“I would love to see your work.”
Snapping my head up, I’m surprised at his interest. “Um, sure.”
The appetizers arrive and Breck tells me what each one is.
“Did you study Culinary Arts in college?”
“That, and business.”
“Was it in high school that you learned Spanish?” I ask, trying to pry more information out of him.
“Partly.”
His partial answers are beginning to piss me off, “You’re not very forthcoming are you?”
“Maybe you are just too inquisitive,” he banters.
“I’m just curious about what you were like before you turned into,” I pause, whimsically moving my hand in the air the length of him, “this.”
Letting out a soft laugh, he holds his hands up, “Fine. What would you like to know about what I was like in high school?”
“What clique were you in?”
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone was in a certain group in high school, what was yours?”
“I didn’t have a clique. I wasn’t exactly what you call a team player, Emma.” Breck runs two fingers across his brow, his eyes becoming guarded again.
“So, not football or baseball then,” I tease, trying to read him.
“Not unless you count kicking the football player’s asses.”
Purposely arching my brow to piss him off, I ask, “You were one of those guys, then?”
“One of those guys?” he elicits my elaboration.
“Someone who started fights and caused trouble.”
“I didn’t go looking for trouble. It found me well enough on its own.” His eyes turn dark, bitter, as I see his body becoming rigid.
“I was pretty shy in school,” I blurt out, trying to prevent another personality shift.
“Why?” Breck’s eyes soften, but only a fraction, as they penetrate me with that damning, enticing glare.
“I don’t know,” I stammer, “just was.”
“You didn’t date much before Justin did you?”
I don’t know how he reads me like he does but I hate it. “I didn’t date anyone before Justin.”
“You’re seriously a virgin?” Breck asks quietly, his voice raw with a touch of anger.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Now, who’s not being forthcoming,” he replies playfully.
“I can’t tell when you’re being serious or only teasing,” I proclaim, irritated with the rapidly changing moods.
“I think I’ll keep you guessing for now,” he taunts, the left side of his mouth curving slightly.
His smooth voice lures me, the tantalizing soft fullness of his potent lips summons every sensual desire inside of me. Pushing my chair back, I stand, needing some distance. Now. “Excuse me.”
Breck stands while I walk to the ladies room, leaving me questioning his idea of manners. Obviously, he’s cultured, but he’s also rugged, rough around the edges, and used to being in control. I get the impression he’s perfectly aware of how he is supposed to act, but he’ll follow social etiquette only when he chooses to do so.
The soft lighting in the restroom matches the dining area, giving an illusion of intimacy; exactly what I’m trying to avoid. Staring at my reflection, his words pop into my head. Beautiful? I don’t see what he claims to see. I’m not one of those girls who tears themselves down with unhealthy self-esteem, but I’m not anywhere near conceited. I’ve always considered myself an average medium. Not a rose, but not a weed, either, more like a wildflower somewhere in between. I’ve been comfortable in my own skin, until I met Breck. He knocks my entire equilibrium off kilter, leaving me feeling vulnerable. What he thinks of me is important, despite my not wanting it to be.
When I return to the table, the main course has arrived and I notice that Breck has waited until I returned before beginning his meal. His silence is welcome as I begin to eat. Decadent flavors fill my senses as I eat my dinner. I feel him watching me, but I keep my attention focused on the delicious plate in front of me.
After a few moments, he breaks the silence, “Don’t take this the wrong way, because I don’t care if you show up in your holey jeans and paint splattered shirt, but there will be plenty of pretentious people at the party, and it is black tie. The women are the worst. A number of rich bitches love to circle fresh prey like vultures at gatherings like this. If you don’t have an appropriate party dress, I can have one delivered to you tomorrow.”
“Does it have to be designer?” I ask, embarrassed with the idea of him having to buy me a dress. I have some nice dresses, but they are certainly not designer material.
Covering my hand with his, his words are earnest, “You look beautiful in everything I’ve seen you in. I just know how these women are, and you’ll be nervous enough without having to worry about shallow, catty comments. I meant what I said about your design, and I want you to be the one to show it, so this is a business investment that Dur Acier should pay for, including the dress.”
“If you know more about what I should wear, take the cost of the dress out of the $1000.00,” I suggest, feeling better with my paying for it.
His eyes soften, his lips curving into a genuine smile, “Promise me that you won’t let this city taint your innocence.”
“The only one trying to taint my innocence is you,” I return, a little confused by his meaning.
“Dur Acier pays for the dress, and that’s final,” he demands.
Not able to handle another mood swing, I breach the topic that brought us here and the rest of the main course is spent discussing the presentation and the names of the board members. By the time dessert arrives, I feel more at ease about tomorrow night and with Breck.
I thought dinner was divine, but dessert is absolutely exquisite. “Do you know how to make dishes like this?” I ask before taking another large bite of the sinful chocolate torte, my taste buds rejoicing as cream slides against my tongue.
Breck laughs before leaning over and wiping a piece of cream from the side of my mouth with his thumb, then sticking his finger in his mouth, licking off the succulent treat.
The action causes my inner thighs to clench and my heart to melt a little when I see a brief shot of carefree joy pass through his normally brooding eyes.
Pulling his thumb out of his mouth, he winks, “Desserts are my specialty.”
“I bet your family loves you during the holidays,” I reply, trying hard to get the image of his wet thumb and how it would feel slowly brushing across my lips out of my head.
The joy vanishes, and his hand stops in mid air before he continues with his intended bite of dessert, swallowing it whole, not taking the time to enjoy it. “My mother died when I was younger and I don’t communicate with my father.”
“I’m sorry.” My gaze drops as I place my fork on my plate.
“It’s fine, Emma.”
“My mother died when I was eleven.” Swallowing hard, it’s difficult to comprehend how the pain can still be so raw after this many years, “I’m sorry you lost yours.”
Breck’s hand finds mine as he gently intertwines my fingers in his. His thumb gently caresses my skin, and I can feel the moist heat of his touch, but it tugs at my heart this time instead of forbidden areas. We stay like that for a few minutes before the waiter comes for the tab. When Breck’s hand leaves mine, I feel the loss of his comfort immensely.
Reaching for my purse, Breck’s eyes dart to mine. “Don’t even think about it,” he warns, “I invited you.”
Smiling graciously, I give in.
“When did you meet Justin?” Breck asks as we begin to leave, slipping his blazer around my shoulders.
“I’ve known him my entire life. We’re from the same town.”
“Ah, that’s right, your towns are much smaller than what I’m accustomed to.”
“Yes, Pickens, population just over three thousand,” I grin.
“Sounds suffocating.”
“It was,” I reply, conflicted.
Rain begins to fall, and the valet quickly opens an umbrella, handing it to Breck as we wait for the car. He pulls me closer to him to keep me dry and I can feel the warmth of his body seep into mine. His intoxicating scent fills the air. I inch just a little closer.
Sliding into the car when it arrives, I nervously play with the soft fabric of his blazer. “Thank you for dinner,” I tell him when he closes the door.
“You’re welcome,” Breck flashes a smile, his demeanor more relaxed than I’ve seen, and I feel something soften inside.
“This city is beautiful at night,” I gush, watching in awe as the rain drops fall against the windshield in distorted shades of red, yellow, and green reflecting the numerous lights showering the city in magic.
“What is it like where you grew up?”
“It’s beautiful in a different way. There are no skyscrapers or museums, but plenty of natural beauty. Our house is surrounded by acres of nothing but woods.”
“Why did you leave, Emma?” Breck’s gaze remains fixated straight ahead, but I can hear his need to know in the tone of his voice.
Wrapping his blazer tighter around my shoulders, I inhale his scent before answering, “I needed more.”
This causes Breck to look at me, his gaze penetrating but soft. His voice is hesitant when he speaks, “I want to show you something.”
There’s something in his eyes that imprisons me and my body reacts to that confinement in frightening ways.
The next ten minutes are silent, until he pulls into a parking garage, telling me to wait as he comes around to my door and takes my hand, “C’mon.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, acutely aware of how well my hand fits in his. His grip is strong and gentle, fitting the rest of his contradictions beautifully.
“You’ll see,” his lips curve into a tilted, teasing smile, and I lose a little of myself to him.
Breck’s hand never leaves mine as we take an elevator to the top of a building I can’t place. The rain hits the metal covering above us as he lets go of my hand to unlock a door, nodding his head for me to follow. It takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dark stairway until his fingers slip through mine again as he leads me up the stairs and out another door onto a covered rooftop garden. The sound of the rain is soothing as I take in the magnificent view of the city lights below.
“This is stunning,” I manage to whisper, feeling like time has stopped while we watch the world below. The view goes for miles and I stare at its vast tranquility.
“It’s my grandfather’s building. His suite is a couple of floors below us. It’s even more impressive when the night is clear and the stars are out.”
“It’s impressive now,” I assure him, thankful he shared this with me. “You seem to be very close to your grandfather.”
“Are you close to yours?” he asks.
I decide to ignore how he purposefully deflected the question. “Yes. Both my mother’s and father’s.”
“Do they live in the same town?”
“Almost my entire family lives in Pickens. A few cousins have moved away, but other than that, we’re all within a few miles from each other.”
“You still talk like you’re there,” Breck points out.
“Habit,” I laugh, shrugging, “it’s all I’ve ever known.”
Breck runs the back of his hand down my cheek. I close my eyes, lost in the heady, sweet sensation, never wanting it to end.
“What exactly is the
more
that you need, Emma?” His breath is hot against my neck.
Opening my eyes, he’s directly in front of me, his face tilted close to mine.
Breck runs his hand around the back of my neck, cupping my head and lowering his mouth until it’s almost flush to my lips. “There’s something about you I don’t understand,” he whispers, his steel blue gaze locked on mine. “I need to understand you. I need to know why I can’t get you out of my head.”
His breath has a faint sweet smell of wine, but it’s his presence, his touch, his eyes, the sound of his voice, that leaves me inebriated. I could be his tonight. He would love me better than I’ve ever dreamed, but it would be gone before the sun rises. I deserve more than that. Pushing away from him, I take a few steps back, needing the space to be able to think clearly. “I can’t do this.”
Breck lets out a soft sigh, “The whole ‘no sex before marriage’ thing.”
“There’s that, and I’m not a game for you to play with until you figure out how to win,” I assert gently. “I’m not like you. I can’t sleep with you tonight then act like nothing ever happened tomorrow.” Tears burn in the back of my eyes, but I blink them away, ignoring the acid in my throat, “I’ve seen how you treat the other girls. I don’t want to be treated that way.”
“I treat them that way because that’s how they want to be treated,” Breck states unapologetically.
“Who wants to be treated like no one? Like some insignificant person who can deliver pleasure for a few hours of attention?”
“They are not the only ones being used, Emma,” he admonishes, his anger returning, stinging my heart.
“I don’t want to argue.” Letting it go, I turn back towards the skyline, getting lost in the enchantment of the rain falling like colored spheres of light sparkling until it fizzles from view. “When your grandfather is better, which will you choose? The restaurant or Dur Acier?”
Breck’s quiet for a moment before taking my arm, pulling me to where I’m facing him, like he’s searching for something inside me, “The obvious choice would be Dur Acier with its prestige instead of working in a restaurant.”
“That’s only an obvious choice for people looking for prestige. To me, money or fame is incomparable to following your dream. If working in a restaurant makes you happy, that’s the choice you should make.”
A faint smile lights up his eyes, “When are you going to follow your dream?”
“I am. I have a meeting with a gallery owner in a couple of weeks.”
“One meeting after three months?”
Standing up, I hold his jacket tighter, not wanting to discuss my lack of success. “Aren’t you cold?”
Taking the collar of his jacket in his hands, his thumbs brush against my neck in the barest whisper as he covers me further. “I’m a lot of things right now, but cold isn’t one of them,” his words are raw, his eyes darkening impossibly to a deeper blue. “Speaking of following your dreams, you have a long day tomorrow with the presentation of yours. I’ll get you back to your car so you can get home and get some sleep.”
The ride to Dur Acier ends too soon as he takes my keys, starting my car to get it warm while he insists I wait in his.
“No offense, Emma, but your car’s a piece of shit. When’s the last time you had a full tune up?” Breck asks as he rubs his hands rapidly together to warm them when he closes his door.
“I have no idea.”
“You need to, and soon; it’s making all sorts of noises no vehicle should make. I can recommend a good mechanic if you want.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I assure him. I had already planned on doing that when he told me how much Dur Acier will pay for my design.
Hating the awkward moment of not knowing what to do or say after a date, even though this wasn’t a date, not to him anyway, I fumble with my purse, sliding his jacket off my shoulders and handing it back to him. I want him to kiss me and I hate myself for that. “I had a great time. Well, part of the time. Thank you.”
Breck laughs.
I love that sound. I’ll take the carefree Breck over the angry Breck any day.
“The evening wasn’t a total loss,” he teases…
I think
. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 7:00 p.m.” Breck brushes his hand over mine, sending chills sparking all the way to my toes. “Sweet dreams, Emma.”
͠
“Holy hell!” Breck exhales slowly, his eyes slowly devouring the sleek black dress that tastefully, but seductively, hugs me in just the right areas.
I can’t help but inwardly cheer when his gaze turns into molten steel as it travels from my lips, which are currently bright red, down the subtly exposed cleavage under the lace v neckline, to my usually tan legs covered in sheer, black silk stockings, and stopping at the four inch black stilettos with just a hint of red lining the edges.
“Are you trying to torture me, Emma?” Breck asks, wetting his lips.
Absolutely
. “Not at all,” I reply, trying my best to keep from smiling at the carnivorous hunger, like he wants to strip me of my dress and taste every inch of me right now. That thought does things to me that I wish it didn’t. Forcing myself to regain my failing composure, I pull my eyes away from him before I succumb to his hunger, allowing him to sample everything I have to offer. “You were the one who sent the dress.”
“I just made a phone call. The owner of the boutique handled the rest.” Taking a step closer, he runs his finger slowly across his bottom lip, “And, she handled it well. You look stunning.”
Blushing, I smile shyly, “Thank you.” I tear my eyes from his. “The coat wasn’t part of the deal, however,” I chastise, holding up the full length red satin lined, black wool coat.
“Call it a bonus.” Flashing his incensing smile, he takes the coat, helping me into it before his hand slips around my waist, turning me back around, “Beautiful.”
My cheeks flame, still not used to his calling me that. Stealing a glance at him, I wish I could see through his coat, knowing he will be amazingly breathtaking. Even more than usual.
“Ready?” he asks, extending his elbow.
Slipping my arm through his, I nod. Glass shatters down the hall as we leave my apartment, and Breck has me pinned against the wall with his body shielding mine before I have time to process the noise. “It’s okay,” I breathe, “it’s just the neighbors and their daily tantrum.”
“This isn’t the place for a young woman to be living alone,” he growls, taking a second glance in the direction where yelling has joined in with the sounds of breaking glass.
“It’s not that bad,” I lie, praying the addict living two doors down doesn’t make an appearance.
“You need to move, Emma. Soon.”
“Right now, let me tackle one hurdle at a time. I just want to get this presentation over with.”
“Fine, but this discussion isn’t over,” his words are authoritative, filled with finality.
“You can discuss it all you want, but where I live is
my
decision,” I remind him, my voice every bit as firm as his.