Awakened

by HELEN HARDT

  “We’ve already talked to Idris,” I say dryly. “We’d like a bottle of the Cristal.”

  Ashley’s eyes nearly pop out of her head.

  “And an order of the tuna tartare, to start,” I say.

  “Excellent choice.” Giselle scribbles on her pad. “Bernard will be bringing a basket of our homemade sourdough bread. Would you like still water or sparkling this evening?”

  “Still,” I reply.

  “Perfect. I’ll get this order in.”

  “Cristal?” Ashley whispers.

  “I’m in the mood for it.”

  “It’s so expensive!”

  “So?”

  I wince at myself. I’m showing off. Showing off because I’m jealous of a handsome sommelier and a middle-aged steakhouse man who previously asked Ashley to dinner. I already know Ashley has issues with my privilege, yet still I do it.

  Jealousy.

  It’s not an emotion I’ve felt before, but I recognize it instantly. My heart thuds against my sternum, and I resist the urge to clench my hands into fists. I draw in a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down.

  Jealousy is the fear of losing something or someone important to you.

  Ashley isn’t mine, so how can I lose her?

  God, get a grip, Dale. Act your fucking age.

  The busboy comes by with bread and water, and who is on his tail but Idris carrying the bottle of Cristal. Another busboy sets a stand and chilling bucket next to the table.

  “Excellent choice.” Idris shows the bottle first to me and then to Ashley. “Who will be tasting this evening?”

  “The lady will be.”

  Ashley’s eyes light up, and damn, she’s beautiful.

  “As you wish.” Idris expertly removes the cork.

  I stare at the cloud of condensation rising from the opening, as if a genie is going to appear from the bottle.

  “Excellent,” Ashley says. “Dale will scoff at me, but the word that comes to my mind is exuberant.”

  I widen my eyes. Staring at the mist of condensation, I missed Idris’s pour and Ashley’s sip.

  “I agree with exuberant,” he says.

  “Dale doesn’t like subjective terms like that,” she says. “He thinks they could mean anything.”

  “I concur,” Idris says.

  Ass kiss much?

  “But,” he continues, “I also think subjective adjectives give a clue to a person’s first impression of a wine. In that way, they work for me.”

  Yeah. I bet I know something else that will work for you. It’s at this table, but it’s not the champagne.

  “Calling a fine champagne exuberant isn’t exactly a selling point,” I offer.

  Ashley giggles. “In your opinion. But for you…” She tastes it once more. “It’s Bartlett pear and golden raisins, with a toastiness on the finish. Absolutely delicious.”

  “Excellent assessment. It will go well with the tuna tartare you ordered.” Idris turns to me. “Do you care to taste, Mr. Steel?”

  I shake my head. “I trust the lady’s judgment. Besides, I’m in the mood for something exuberant tonight.” I meet Idris’s gaze, raising one eyebrow.

  Hands off. She’s mine.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Ashley

  I tasted Cristal in class once, but that was the only time. It’s way out of my budget. I’m surprised at Dale’s choice. Cristal is more of a nightclub champagne than a dinner drink. If I knew he wanted a sparkler, I’d have guessed Dom Pérignon.

  Dale Steel never ceases to surprise me.

  Idris pours a flute for each of us and then places the bottle in the ice bucket. He nods again. Okay, that’s not a bow. Dale has most likely been to every fine restaurant in Colorado and has interacted with every sommelier. They all nod like that.

  What’s up with him?

  I sigh. I’ll never know what’s up with him, because he won’t let me in.

  I raise my glass. “To my first day on the job.”

  He nods and raises his glass, clinking it against mine. “You did well today.”

  I take a sip after our toast, my cheeks warming, and not from the champagne. My first instinct is to press him, make him spell out exactly what he liked about my performance, but already I know that will only make him clam up. I settle on a simple, “Thank you. I enjoyed the day.”

  “You have a knack for tasting. You’ll be a good sommelier.”

  Another compliment? This time my neck warms. Perhaps this evening has more possibilities than I originally thought.

  Giselle arrives with our appetizer. Thin slices of tuna sashimi alternating with toast points surround a ball of tartare.

  “What a lovely presentation,” I say. “What is the tartare mixed with?”

  “Avocado and radish sprouts with a touch of Kewpie mayonnaise and wasabi.” She smiles.

  “Kewpie mayonnaise?” I raise my eyebrows.

  “It’s a Japanese mayonnaise made with all egg yolks instead of the whole egg,” she says. “American chefs love it because of the rich umami flavor.”

  “Interesting.” I know all about flavor profiles through my study of wine. Umami is the savory flavor characterized by MSG. “Have you heard of it, Dale?”

  “Of course,” he replies. “I told you my interest in wine began with cooking.”

  “True, you did. I can’t wait to try this.”

  “Can I get you anything else right now?” Giselle asks. “Are you ready to order?”

  “Oh.” I warm again. “I’m afraid I haven’t even looked at the entrées. We’ve been focusing on our wine.”

  “We’ll need a few more minutes with the menu,” Dale says.

  “Not a problem. I’ll be back shortly.” Giselle smiles and then leaves the table.

  “I’ve never had tuna tartare before,” I say to Dale. “I assume you put some of it on a toast point?”

  He nods. “That’s how it’s meant to be, but I never stand on ceremony. Personally, I’ve been known to just take a forkful of the stuff. It’s delicious.”

  “I suppose it’s like sushi. Which I love.”

  “I suppose, except without the rice. More like sashimi. With a few things mixed in.”

  I take a toast point and spread some of the tartare onto it with my fork. “Like this?”

  “However you like.”

  I take a bite. Flavor explodes on my tongue. “Oh, wow,” I say with my mouth full. The creaminess of the raw tuna mixes with the umami of the mayonnaise and the zing of the radish sprouts. I let it sit in my mouth for a few seconds before I chew and swallow. My tastes don’t usually have colors, but I get a warm brown from the appetizer. “That’s amazing. I’ve never had anything quite like it.”

  “It’s a favorite of mine.” Then, just as he said he would, he takes a forkful of the tartare and closes his mouth around it.

  He shuts his eyes for a moment before he swallows.

  “You taste food the way I taste wine,” I say.

  “Why wouldn’t I? I enjoy food just as much as I enjoy wine. Gourmet food like this has many different flavor profiles. But even comfort food can be enjoyed this way. Food is sustenance, but it’s also one of life’s luxurious pleasures. At least in my opinion.”

  I can’t drag my gaze away as Dale takes another forkful of the tuna tartare, this time spreading it on a toast point. He brings it to his lips and takes a bite, pausing for a few seconds then swallowing and licking his lips.

  My God. This is like watching porn.

  I resist the urge to squirm in my chair, but already the flutter between my legs is nearly unbearable.

  Just from watching Dale Steel eat.

  And we have a whole dinner to go.

  I help myself to another toast point with tuna tartare, make quick work of it, and then take a sip of the Cristal.

  Wow. Dale and Idris were right. It complements the tuna tartare perfectly.

  After I take another sip, I pick up my menu. Giselle will be back for our order soon. “Wh
at do you recommend?” I ask Dale.

  “Nothing. This is a pretty new restaurant. I’ve never been here.”

  Right. Stop acting like an idiot, Ashley. I knew that. Levi told me.

  I shrug off my faux pas. “That’s right. I guess we’ll both go in blind, then.”

  “I imagine any of the beef dishes will be acceptable. I checked the place out after I got the name. Guess who supplies the beef?”

  “How many guesses do I get?” I smile flirtatiously.

  “Of course it depends on the chef, as well,” he continues. “But I’ve heard nothing but good things about the chef here.”

  “Since I’m living on your ranch, I’ll be eating a lot of Steel beef. Would it upset you if I ordered something else?”

  He smiles. A smile! “Order whatever you’d like. In fact, why don’t you choose our dinner wine?”

  “What about the Cristal?”

  “It’s delicious, of course, and it goes perfectly with our appetizer. But I don’t plan to drink sparkling wine with my dinner. Do you?”

  “I actually like sparkling wine with some things,” I say. “Lobster, for example. Chicken piccata. Any light fish.”

  “What if I order a porterhouse?”

  “I guess I just assumed… I mean, you ordered the champagne, so I figured you’d order an entrée that goes with it.”

  “I meant for the champagne to be a cocktail.”

  “But there’s half a bottle left.”

  “So?”

  “So it’s wasteful, Dale. This is an expensive bottle of wine, and I—”

  “I didn’t say I was done,” he says. “But even if I am, it doesn’t matter to me.”

  A warning siren sounds in my head. It’s so real and so loud that I have to stop myself from looking for it.

  Dale’s background is so unlike my own.

  “Your privilege is showing,” I say, looking back at my menu.

  He scoffs, not meeting my gaze. “You don’t know who you’re talking to.”

  “I don’t? I think I’m talking to a Steel heir. If that’s not privilege, I don’t know what—”

  “Damn it,” he says through clenched teeth. “I wasn’t always a Steel heir, or have you forgotten?”

  My mouth drops open.

  “But you told me—”

  I stop abruptly.

  He told me he never went to bed hungry.

  But that’s all I know. Plenty of other horrible things could have happened during his first ten years. Was he abused? Bullied? Beaten?

  I don’t know.

  So much I don’t know. What happened during those first ten years of Dale’s life?

  What happened that made him who he is?

  I want to know.

  And with just as much yearning, I don’t want to know.

  Because…

  What if it’s bad?

  What if it’s worse than living homeless and sometimes going to bed cold and hungry?

  And if it’s worse than that…

  It’s fucking horrible.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Dale

  I’m not usually wasteful. Waste disgusts me, to be honest. I could cork the Cristal and take the remainder home, but champagne isn’t like still wine. It doesn’t keep well even if recorked correctly.

  If we each drink another flute, the bottle will be close to empty. Not overly wasteful. I drink a lot of wine. I’m used to it. It’s my business. I can drink four or five glasses and still be lucid enough to drive. Of course, I’m also a big guy.

  Ashley’s not small, but she’s certainly not close to my size. Still, wine is her business too. She should be used to it.

  Privilege.

  A word that gnaws at me. I’m very privileged. I don’t deny it. In fact, I’m grateful every day for my good fortune. For the fact that Mom and Dad rescued Donny and me from a system that probably would have handed us over to a state home, and if we were lucky enough to be adopted, we might have been separated. A life without my brother isn’t a life I care to contemplate, even now.

  Dad not only rescued us from an orphanage, he rescued us from that horrible compound where we spent two months.

  Two months of beatings.

  Two months of rapes.

  Two months of starvation and emotional abuse.

  Two months that scar me to this day.

  Damn it.

  Those two months of my life that I can’t ever get back are seared into my soul forever. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about that horrid time in my life, how I took as much of it as I could to spare my little brother—Donny, who, at seven, was still a baby in so many ways. He still slept with a teddy bear at home.

  And she calls me privileged for suggesting we order another bottle of wine before we’ve finished the first.

  So much she assumes. So much she doesn’t know.

  I breathe in. Try to calm myself. Breathe out.

  No luck.

  “Let’s go,” I say.

  Her pretty blue eyes widen into circles. “What?”

  “I’m no longer hungry.”

  “But we—”

  With every ounce of willpower in my body, I stop myself from pounding my fist on the table. I mean every ounce. I pull my wallet out of my pocket, count out some money, and throw several hundred-dollar bills on the table. “Stay if you’d like. That should cover whatever you want to order plus a generous tip. I’m out of here.” I rise, shove my wallet back into my pocket, and leave the table.

  Follow me. Stay with me. Ask me what’s wrong.

  Except please don’t.

  Even if she follows me and asks, I won’t tell her.

  I’ll never tell anyone. Even during my years of serious therapy, some things I kept to myself. Some things I never revealed, not even to Dad or Aunt Mel.

  “How was everything, Mr. Steel?” the host asks as I swiftly walk toward the door.

  I don’t reply.

  I’m out the door.

  Out in the air. The fresh air. Except I’m in the city. I long for my vineyards. The fresh nocturnal air of my own special place.

  I grab at my hair. “Fuck!”

  “Dale…”

  Elation surges through every cell in my body.

  She followed me!

  What I wanted so badly!

  And what I didn’t want just as badly.

  Except that’s a lie.

  I don’t want to want it. I don’t want to want her.

  Ashley. My Ashley.

  But not my Ashley.

  “Well, hello there!” A male voice.

  I turn.

  And my heart plummets. It’s the guy from the tasting. Mr. Syrah. He bought four cases of wine. I should say hello. Thank him.

  Or pummel him.

  For the way he’s looking at my Ashley.

  “Levi…hi,” she says.

  I simply glare at the two of them from twenty feet away.

  “I thought you had plans with Dale,” he says.

  “I did. Or…do. He’s right there.” She nods toward me.

  “Oh. Hello, Mr. Steel.”

  I advance toward Ashley and take her arm more harshly than I mean to. “We’re leaving. Nice to see you again.”

  “Of course. You too. But before you go, what did you think of the wine list?”

  “It’s adequate.” I turn then toward my car, bringing Ashley with me.

  “Are you nuts?” she says. “That guy is interested in buying your wine for his steakhouses.”

  “So what? Why should I care about that when I’m privileged enough to leave half a bottle of Cristal at the table?”

  She opens her mouth but shuts it just as quickly.

  Good.

  I don’t want to listen to her voice at the moment—her voice that could melt the polar ice caps.

  No. Not tonight. Tonight I want to put her mouth to a different use. I push her against the driver’s side of my car and claim those ruby lips.

  She gasps but then parts
her lips. I delve in. No gentleness. Not tonight. Tonight I’m angry. Tonight I’m needy. Tonight I’m jealous.

  Tonight I’m in a rage.

  I kiss her hard, wanting to bruise her lips, mark her as my own.

  Claim her and take her violently, because that’s how angry I am.

  I’m angry at Idris the sommelier.

  I’m angry at Levi Jones.

  I’m angry at Ashley.

  I’m angry at the world.

  I’m angry at my own circumstances.

  But most of all, I’m angry with myself.

  Angry because I’ve been so stupid as to fall in love with this woman—this woman I have no business wanting or having or loving.

  No fucking business at all.

  I kiss her harder, harder, harder, pushing my hard cock into her belly until she’s nearly flat against the car.

  Stop!

  Dale, please!

  I expect these words. I expect to be pushed away, yelled at, berated.

  But she doesn’t push me away. She doesn’t tell me to stop. No. She returns my kiss with equal rage and strength. Equal lust and passion.

  And that just spurs me on.

  I’m ready to lift her dress and take her right here in the Fortnight parking lot. Fuck her against my car, grab those luscious tits and squeeze them while I thrust into her heat.

  Fuck. I want it. I want it all.

  I’m ready. Ready to take her. Shove my cock so far into her that she’ll never recover.

  I’m crazy with lust. Insane with rage and passion.

  But I also need to fucking breathe.

  I pull away harshly.

  She wipes her hand across her swollen lips. “Dale…”

  “I need you,” I say, my voice as low as I’ve ever heard it. “If you don’t want me, do not get into my car.”

  “I do—”

  “I’m serious, Ashley. If you get in that car, we’re going straight to the Carlton to get a room, and I’m going to fuck you all night. So if you don’t want that, I swear to you, do not get into my car.”

  She smiles, her lips trembling. Then she walks to the passenger side of the car and touches the handle.

  “I mean it,” I say. “If you get into that car, I will fuck you.”

  “Please,” she says. “Please, Dale.”