“Hmm. So how did you get in? Was it because you were a former football player or is it your current position at Jessup Prior?”
A closed-off expression crossed Nick’s features, his mouth tightening in displeasure. “Neither one. I got admitted here courtesy of a family member. My father, to be exact. And before you ask, I don’t discuss my family. Ever.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” she whispered, more than a little intimidated by the dark look on his face. “But it seems that we have one more thing in common, though. I really don’t like discussing my family, either.”
She could sense he was about to ignore her statement and start asking her about them anyway when he was interrupted by the arrival of their waiter. Like the hostess had done, he greeted Nick by name before handing them menus and asking for their drink order.
“Absolut Citron on the rocks. Make that two.”
Angela waited until the waiter left before daring to frown at Nick. “Aren’t you making assumptions here? What if I’d wanted something different tonight?”
“Did you?” he asked casually, reaching for a roll and starting to butter it.
She gave a little huff. “Well, no. At least I don’t think so. But it might have been nice if you had thought to ask first.”
He gave a careless shrug. “I’m rarely nice, Angel. And you told me the other night that was your drink of choice so I just took the initiative and ordered. But if you really want something else, I’ll get it for you. Easiest thing in the world.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I just – well, I’m not used to someone taking charge the way you do.”
“Yeah, I sort of get that feeling. But you secretly want someone to do just that, don’t you, Angel? “
Her gaze flew up to his in alarm. “What?”
Nicked chewed on his roll slowly. “You heard me just fine. And you know it’s true. You might deny it, most people would, but deep down you know you actually like it when I get bossy. Were your parents strict with you?”
“No.” The reply slipped out automatically. “Not in the least.”
“Hmm.” He finished the roll and picked up a long, thin breadstick, tapping one end on the table before taking a bite. “So you were a spoiled, indulged little brat then?”
“I wouldn’t say that either. In a nutshell, my parents – mostly my mother – just didn’t give a rat’s ass about me. I was – an accident, one that my mother rarely failed to remind me about.”
She was saved from further questioning by the arrival of their drinks, which she suddenly felt in dire need of. She took an ungainly gulp and then promptly opened up the leather bound menu, very intentionally hiding her face from Nick.
“We won’t talk about it again tonight,” he told her quietly. “I can already tell it isn’t your favorite topic of conversation. But we will have a conversation about it one of these days, Angel. Now, what looks good to you on the menu? I can recommend a number of things, especially the sea bass or the pan seared scallops.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a big fish eater actually.” She didn’t add that her distaste stemmed from childhood memories of watching her father gutting and cleaning some freshly caught fish, and her mother cooking it up with garlic, tomatoes and olive oil before rather resentfully plunking a plate in front of her, not especially caring if the strong taste was appealing to a five year old’s picky palate.
“You’re something of a fussy eater, aren’t you? I could tell the other night by the way you pushed the food around on your plate. You know, you’ll never gain those ten pounds I mentioned if you keep doing that. Here, I want you to eat one of these rolls – with butter – and then humor me by letting me order for you tonight, okay? I promise if you don’t like what I choose you can get something else.”
Reluctantly she selected a roll and began to spread butter over it. “Fine. But nothing too fishy tasting.” She swallowed a bite of bread before glaring at him sulkily. “And I don’t really agree about the ten pounds. I’ve always been a little on the slender side but it’s not like I’m skinny or anorexic looking.”
Nick set the menus aside and regarded her carefully, as though he was mentally stripping off her dress down to the bare flesh he was already very familiar with. “You’re not skinny, I’ll agree with that. But you are too thin. For someone of your height, you should be more like a size six instead of a four. Those ten pounds will fill you out a little in all the right places.”
And it seemed as though he was intent on having her gain nearly half that number of pounds in one sitting, judging by the meal he ordered up. They dined on lobster bisque, a huge wedge salad, and the pan seared scallops with rice pilaf and sautéed vegetables, all accompanied by a crisp Chardonnay. She was conscious throughout the entire meal of Nick’s watchful gaze, making sure she didn’t push her food around, and that she ate what he considered an adequate amount.
They didn’t talk much during dinner, and when they did it was mostly small talk about such mundane topics as an economics professor they’d both taken class from at Stanford, or the 49ers chances this season of making the playoffs, or Nick quizzing her in more detail about her Olympic experience.
She had nearly cleaned her plate before setting her fork down with a sigh. “I can’t eat another bite. The scallops were delicious but I’m really getting stuffed.”
He eyed her mostly empty plate assessingly. “All right. That’s enough for now. After all, there’s still dessert.”
Angela stifled the little groan she longed to make, her flat belly already starting to bloat up a bit from the rich meal she’d just consumed. But Nick was ruthless, ordering her some mile-high concoction of chocolate cake layered with mousse, ganache, and whipped cream, plus a frothy cappuccino served in a cup the size of a soup bowl.
She could only stare at the monstrous piece of cake. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Nick grinned, already digging into his own bowl of apple cobbler. She had noticed that his appetite for food was just as big as it was for sex, and she guessed that a man of his height and weight would need to consume several thousand calories a day.
“Take your time, Angel. We’ve got this table reserved for the entire evening so there’s no rush.”
She took a bite of the fabulously rich dessert and almost sighed with bliss at how delicious it was. “This is amazing. I’m still not sure how much of it I can actually eat but I’ll give it the old college try. And why,” she added with a little frown, “is the table reserved for the whole evening? There is
no
way I can eat anything else after this.”
“No worries on that count. After all, we can’t have you getting sick, can we? No,” he continued calmly, “the reason I asked to have the table all evening was so we could talk. And we’ll be assured of our privacy here. “
“Okay.” Her senses immediately went on high alert, not at all sure what he really meant by “talk” or exactly what he planned to discuss.
He sipped his coffee leisurely. “You’re not going to ask what I want to talk about?”
She pushed another forkful of cake/mousse/ganache into her mouth and shook her head. “No. Because I’ve got this feeling it wouldn’t do me any good. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”
He clapped his hands together lightly in mock applause. “Very good, Angel. You catch on quickly. Yes, I have a real good feeling about this. Glad I trusted my instincts with you. So, you finish at least half that cake and then we’ll talk. Or at least
I
will. You’re going to listen – very, very carefully – and when I’m done you can ask questions. Sound good?”
She nodded, already eating another bite of dessert. And even though her stomach was beginning to protest having more food crammed inside of it, she continued to dutifully pick away at the cake, barely tasting it now but anxious to eat enough to satisfy Nick so that he could tell her – what?
Angela tried hard not to make assumptions while she kept working on her dessert. If Nick didn’t plan on seeing her again after tonight, he would have zero compunctions about coming right out and telling her, so she honestly didn’t think it was that. But what else –
“Okay. I think that’s enough dessert if you’re full. Would you like to have the rest wrapped up so you can take it home?”
She shuddered as she pushed the plate away. “No, thank you. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat again for a couple of days.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Angel. You
will
eat tomorrow, and every day after that. You seem to get full rather quickly, so it will have to be small, frequent meals, but healthy ones, too. I’ll have you draw up a meal plan with a nutritionist I know of. And work with a personal trainer as well.”
“Huh?” She stared at him in bemusement.
“Guess I’m getting ahead of myself a bit. Let me start at the beginning, all right? And pay attention, because there’s going to be a lot of shit for you to consider. Here goes.”
Nick took another drink of his coffee before setting the cup down and reaching across the table for her hand. All hint of teasing or laughter was gone from his expression, his eyes dark and deadly serious.
“As you probably gleaned from overhearing all the lousy office gossip I despise so much, I don’t do relationships,” he began. “For me to even date the same woman more than two or three times is extremely rare. And that isn’t because I enjoy having a reputation as a player or because I go out of my way to avoid any sort of commitment. It’s largely because I find it very, very difficult to meet a woman I feel will suit my needs. And I’m not talking strictly about sexual needs here. It’s far more about my need for control – total and absolute control of everything. And I can almost always tell – from the very beginning – if I think a woman has any chance whatsoever of fulfilling that need. In the past eight years or so, I’ve met less than a handful I considered even worth taking a chance on. And I strongly believe that you, Angel, are exactly what I’m looking for.”
He was briefly interrupted by the busboy who refilled his coffee cup, leaving Angela to stare across the table at him in complete bemusement, not at all sure where he was going with all this.
Nick smiled briefly. “Ah, I can tell you already want to start asking questions. But bear with me, Angel, hmm? I’m really just getting warmed up here. First, let me tell you that the other women I tried to form this sort of relationship with – three, to be exact – didn’t last very long at all. Two of them less than a month while the third stuck it out for nearly two months. And that was almost three years ago. I’d almost given up hope of ever finding someone else when I met you on Tuesday. And I just had this feeling about you, right from the beginning, even before we’d spoken one word to each other, that you’d be perfect, that you’d last much longer than any of the others. That you,” he lowered his voice huskily, “would obey.”
She gulped, hastily reaching for her cappuccino even though it had already turned lukewarm, and took a long drink anyway. “Obey? But I thought you said -”
“I said I wasn’t into any kinky BDSM shit and I meant it,” he insisted. “Inflicting pain or doling out punishments does nothing for me. Not that I’ve ever tried that stuff, mind you, but just the thought turns me off big time. But I also told you, Angel, that there were different kinds of submission. Mine doesn’t involve you calling me Master or wearing a collar or not allowing you to look at me without permission. That kind of thing is completely fucked up in my book. No, my reasons for wanting control don’t have anything to do with boosting my ego or satisfying some pent-up need for power. Basically, Angel, I’m just a self-centered, selfish bastard who’s completely set in his ways and doesn’t know the meaning of the word compromise. That’s how I live my life, how I run my business, and I’m not prepared to apologize for it and definitely not willing to change my ways for anyone.”
She continued to stare at him, equally repelled and mesmerized by what he was telling her. She opened her mouth to speak, only to have Nick press two fingers over her lips.
“Shush. I’m a long way from being through here,” he admonished. “In fact, I’ve barely begun.” He reached out and picked up a long, shiny strand of her hair, sifting it through his fingers. “Don’t cut your hair, not unless I ask you to. Not even a trim, understand?”
Angela winced as he gave her hair a brief, sharp tug. “Um, Nick, I’m not sure you really have -”
“But I do have the right,” he corrected. “Or at least I will if you agree to my terms. If you want to continue our relationship, Angel, there are many things you’ll need to agree to, things you’ll have to, well, obey. And your appearance is one of those, at least when you’re with me. There will be times when I tell you what to wear, or send you things like I did tonight. That will probably be one of the easier conditions for you to go along with.”
With each word he spoke, her unease grew and she wondered wildly if she ought to just get up and run as fast as she could in her four-inch heels, run away from this darkly compelling man who was pulling her deeper and deeper into his web with each seductively spoken word.
“Don’t leave yet, Angel,” he drawled in amusement. “You have that look on your face – like you’re getting ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. Hear me out, don’t panic, and know that I won’t be the least surprised if you tell me to go fuck myself at the end of it.”