She would be crazy to think he wanted anything more than some fun sex from her, no matter what Emily said. Kyra wished she could do casual because, God knows, the sex had been terrific. But for her, physical intimacy always led to emotional involvement. Since she had been halfway in love with Will in college, it would be all too easy to fall down that rabbit hole now.
And when he dumped her—very politely, of course—it would hurt like hell. Why set herself up for the certainty of that kind of pain? She had enough stress between juggling two jobs and reducing her debt. Sometimes she was too exhausted even to read, her greatest and most affordable pleasure. No, she needed to stay focused, instead of daydreaming about what might have been.
Her cell phone dinged with an arriving text. She glanced down at the screen. Despite telling herself not to feel this way, excitement flooded her veins just from seeing Will’s name on her phone.
Would Perseus suit you for dinner tonight? I owe you food without tension.
Because billionaires could get reservations at the city’s hottest and most expensive restaurant any time they wanted them. Proving everything she’d been thinking about their lack of common ground was true. So why was she smiling at her phone like a besotted idiot.
A thought struck her and she typed: Isn’t it closed on Mondays?
There was a pause before his text came back. No. Are we on?
yes I said yes I will Yes. She’d never actually read Ulysses, but one of her English professors liked to quote it at odd moments.
Ah, now you’ve got my mind moving in an interesting direction. I’ll pick you up at 7.
She Googled the entire quotation from Ulysses and discovered that it was a seduction scene. Well, that worked for her.
Perseus was fancy, which made Kyra decide to go with black. So what if it was spring and the city was bursting with color? In New York, black was the standard for every season.
She had two little black dresses—one for summer, one for winter. She pulled out the summer one, a close-fitting column dress overlaid with black cotton lace, along with a pair of high-heeled black sandals, whose tiny straps crisscrossed her feet and ankles in a way that added a little edge to the ensemble. She rooted through her underwear drawer to find her barely-there black silk-and-lace lingerie. She might have to say good-bye to Will after tonight, but there was no reason not to enjoy herself one last time.
After dressing, she piled her hair up on top of her head in a series of complex twists to add some sophistication. She hoped. Out of all the jewelry her mother had ordered during her television shopping binges, Kyra had kept one pair of real pearl-and-gold chandelier earrings. They’d served her well in the city so she fastened them to her earlobes, tilting her head to make them dance. She added a turquoise silk stole that a friend had brought her from India and nodded at herself in the mirror.
The labels might not say Chanel or Versace, but she looked darned good. At the very least, she wouldn’t embarrass herself or Will.
When the limo pulled up in front of her building, she was peering out the small barred window set in the front door. As Will emerged from the car, the low-slanting rays of the late-day sun set his hair agleam and outlined his face and shoulders in a rim of gold.
How could a man be so beautiful yet so entirely masculine?
Maybe it was the way his gray suit highlighted the breadth of his shoulders. Or the powerful motion of his long stride. It could be the sharp planes of his face that seemed sculpted in stone. Or how he carried himself with a confidence that came close to arrogance without ever crossing that boundary.
Her question to herself had been rhetorical, an excuse to drink him in as he crossed the sidewalk and trod lightly up the steps to her door. She swung it open before he could ring the bell. No reason to alert her kind but very inquisitive landlady to Will’s presence. Although the limo was pretty conspicuous in this neighborhood.
Will’s attention was focused on her as she walked through the door and pulled it shut behind her. His eyes were lit by the same sunshine that set his hair ablaze. He took her shoulders and held her away from him for a moment, his gaze traveling over her face, before bending to kiss her on the mouth in a way that made her want to drag him up the three flights of stairs to her bedroom.
When he lifted his head, he said, “‘She walks in beauty, like the night.’”
The kiss had seared through her all the way down to her toes, and they curled into the soles of her sandals. That was bad. “Byron? Really?” she scoffed to remind herself that she shouldn’t go there.
“Sometimes he got it right,” Will said, unruffled by her lack of appreciation for his compliment.
“As I recall, the poem goes downhill rapidly after that first line.”
Will thought for a minute. “‘All that’s best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes’ isn’t so bad. But after that first stanza I can’t argue with you.”
“Byron’s more my time period than yours. The Romans didn’t have anything you could use?”
His eyes burned hotter. “Catullus is for later tonight.”
“No quoting in foreign languages.”
He smiled with a slow, sensual curve of his lips. “I’ll make sure you understand every word I’m saying.” He slid his arm around her waist. “But dinner first.”
As she scooted across the seat of the limo, his words about her being spread naked across the leather popped into her head. That made liquid heat pool low inside her.
When Will folded himself onto the seat beside her and closed the car door, the air in the dim, enclosed space seemed to vibrate with desire. But he did nothing more than take her hand, holding it on the seat between them. “I don’t want yesterday’s unpleasant moments to color tonight, so I will apologize only once for my family. It is, however, a sincere apology.”
Kyra gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze. “I never hold people responsible for their parents.” Although as she knew all too well, others did.
He kissed the back of her hand and released it. “Another reason I like you.” Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a business card and pen. “Before I get distracted, will you give me the Carver Center’s phone number?”
Kyra took the card and jotted Emily’s direct line on the back of it. “You and Farr weren’t just being polite about coming to visit?”
“Why would you think that?” Will sounded almost offended.
“Because we were at a party making conversation.” When Farr had found out she worked at the Carver Center, he had surprised her by questioning her at length about its programs. Will explained that Farr was chairman of the Thalia Foundation, the charitable organization Cronus Holdings funded, and he was on the lookout for worthy new projects to support.
“Farr is always serious when money is involved,” Will said.
“Good to know.” Kyra handed the card back to Will. “Our director will be delighted to show you the facility.”
Will frowned. “You’ll join us, too.”
“Sure, but Emily is the driving force behind the center. She’s the one who can answer all your questions and tell you what the center needs.” But glee danced through her at the thought that Will wanted her on the tour.
He relaxed back against the seat, stretching out his long legs so she could see his whimsical socks. Today they were navy blue, dotted with tiny sailboats. She sucked in her breath as she wondered if he had been thinking of yesterday’s tryst on the Royal Wave.
“That reminds me of the dog food project,” Will said, squashing her little hum of sexual speculation. “Has it been declared a success?”
“A resounding one. I’ve been warned that I may be pressed into developing more custom canine cuisine.” Kyra grinned. “Every kid thinks their dog deserves special treatment.”
He didn’t return her smile. “Won’t that add to your workload?”
“Not so much. Dog food is pretty simple stuff. The hardest part is always the budget. I’m working on a source for lo
w-cost canned pumpkin because it turns out all the dogs would benefit from adding that to their food.”
“I can help you with that. I could even find you organic pumpkin.”
She felt herself becoming more entangled in Will’s world and knew she couldn’t agree for her own peace of mind. “That’s really nice but I have to run it by Emily. She likes to use local sources.”
“Ceres is committed to using local sources as well.” Once again she seemed to have offended him.
“Right, I know that. I meant really local, as in South Harlem.”
“Ah, I understand.” The edge of affront faded from his voice. “That makes it more of a challenge but I’ll see what I can do.”
Kyra sighed. She should have remembered that Will could not be stopped once he fixed on a goal.
“I have some ideas for other flavors in dog food for sensitive stomachs,” Will continued.
She could hear the fervor in his voice. He’d devoted serious thought to the topic. She felt a flush of pleasure that he’d focused his considerable mental resources on her problem. “Let’s hear them,” she said.
For the rest of the trip, they discussed dog food. When the limo pulled into an underground garage and came to a stop, Will made a wry face. “I guess that wasn’t the most romantic topic of conversation.”
“There’s nothing more romantic than solving a problem for someone you care about.” She might be going out on a limb with that last part.
He traced his index finger along the side of her face. “You’re an unusual woman.” Then he leaned in and kissed her, a promise that he would do more soon.
They stepped off the elevator into a burgundy-carpeted lounge with huge glass windows that framed a view of Central Park. The taupe velvet sofas and chairs were empty and there was no sound of conversation. Only the mouth-watering scent of food drifted through the air.
“This way,” Will said, guiding her across the lounge and through a glass-and-steel door.
“Mr. Chase, Ms. Dixon.” The maître d’, a young man dressed in a fitted black suit, stepped from behind his podium. “Welcome to Perseus, Ms. Dixon. It’s a pleasure to have you back, Mr. Chase. Please follow me.”
Kyra’s suspicions were confirmed as they entered a soaring space filled with beautifully set but unoccupied tables. She halted. “It is closed tonight.”
“Not if you know the chef,” Will said.
“There was no need to do this,” Kyra said to Will. “We could have gone somewhere else.”
“I wanted to take you to the best restaurant in New York,” Will said. “You deserve it after yesterday.”
She flashed back to the sailboat again. “Yesterday wasn’t all bad,” she said with a half smile.
No matter how much he’d paid to have it opened just for them, Kyra couldn’t help feeling bad about the staff who counted on their day of rest. She treasured her free Monday evenings, although she always volunteered to work when there was a special event at Stratus, so she supposed some employees here might be in a similar situation. She turned to the maître d’. “I’m sorry you had to come in on your day off.”
“I’m happy to be here,” the man said, his tone earnest. “Mr. Chase has been most generous.”
“Everyone is here voluntarily. Relax and enjoy it,” Will said in a way that reminded her he was a CEO who was accustomed to being in command.
He moved her toward a table for two set right in front of the window. Two huge arrangements of flowers graced stands on either side, their fragrance mingling with the food’s, while an array of white pillar candles flickered on the taupe linen tablecloth. Will took Kyra’s chair from the maître d’ and waited for her to sit.
As she took her place, he whispered beside her ear, “M. F. K. Fisher said that sharing food with another human being is an intimate act. I wanted our first dinner to be perfect . . . and private.”
The flutter of his breath on her cheek and the purr of his words made her shiver with desire. “It’s not exactly private.” She gestured to the wall of glass beside their table. Below it, a swirling kaleidoscope of taxis, pedestrians, and horse-drawn carriages ebbed and surged along the avenue that edged the leafy, green park.
Will seated himself in the chair across from her with a wicked glint in his eyes. “No one ever looks up.”
She was sure he wouldn’t really do anything improper in the restaurant, but it still made flickers of heat lick along her skin to imagine it.
The sommelier arrived with a bottle of vintage champagne, displayed the label to Will, and then removed the cork with a muted pop. The sparkling wine spilled into the tall, slender flutes like flowing sunlight. When she picked up her glass, Will stretched his arm across the table to touch his flute to hers. “‘Champagne! In victory one deserves it, in defeat one needs it.’”
“I like that one. Who said it?”
“Napoleon, who experienced the extremes of victory and defeat in his lifetime.”
“Which one are we drinking to now?”
“Survival,” Will said, before he lifted the glass to his lips and took a long swallow.
Kyra sipped the fizzing liquid and closed her eyes. The champagne tasted like sunlight, too: bright, vibrant, and golden. “Champagne always seems celebratory to me.”
“We are celebrating the fact that there are three hundred sixty-four days before the next Spring Fling,” Will said. “That makes this the best day of the year.”
“Seriously, if you hate it so much, schedule a trip to Hong Kong next spring,” Kyra said, holding up the glass to watch the miniscule bubbles drawing lines straight up through the champagne.
“As the guests were leaving yesterday, Mum handed out ‘save the date’ cards for next year.”
“Then schedule an emergency business trip to Hong Kong.”
Will bit out a startled laugh. “Ceres doesn’t have a presence there.”
“You have a year to build one.” Kyra lowered her glass to look at him. “It’s just a party. Not a wedding or a funeral.”
“For my mother, it’s a command performance.”
Kyra considered whether she should voice her thoughts on this. With a tiny shrug, she went ahead. “In my opinion, your mother gave up the right to expect your presence when she ambushed you with Petra. Since you specifically asked that Petra not be included and your mother flouted that request, she has expressed her disregard for your wishes. Therefore you are free to disregard hers.”
“You’re the one who should have been the lawyer,” Will said.
She shook her head. “If your parents don’t respect your boundaries, you have to enforce them somehow.”
“Did yours?”
Kyra took a large swallow of the champagne. She didn’t want to discuss her parents, but she owed Will some part of the truth because it might help him. “My father was old-school blue collar. He felt that mothers should guide their daughters because that was woman stuff, so he didn’t intervene much in my life. If he’d had a son, he would have been involved with him. That’s just the way Pop was.”
“And your mother?” Will leaned back in his chair, but pinned her with his gaze.
Just then the maître d’ and two waiters arrived, presenting small plates of oysters in their shells. “Our amuse-bouche is Kiwa oysters with green apple mignonette, green apple foam, radish, and pink peppercorns. Bon appétit!” the maître d’ said in hushed, mellifluous tones.
Relieved by the interruption, Kyra picked up one of the two oyster shells from the bed of salt on her plate. First she inhaled, catching the apple scent. Then she held the shell to her lips and sucked the oyster into her mouth. It had a velvety texture, a fresh burst of brine, and then an almost coppery aftertaste, accented by the burn of pepper. Swallowing, she opened her eyes wide. “Wow! That was intense.”
“They’re from New Zealand,” Will said, his lips closing over the end of the shell before he drew the oyster in.
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his mouth, remembering the
way he’d licked his fingers after he’d made her come in the Jaguar. Desire slithered through her, flicking at her nipples before coiling between her thighs, and the sailboats on his socks glided through her mind.
“You didn’t like it?” Will asked, gesturing toward the oyster remaining on her plate.
“No, no, I just wanted to give myself time to absorb the flavor.” She scooped up the second oyster, which was covered in a cloud of pale gold foam atop a paper-thin slice of radish. The alternate flavor accents gave the oyster’s intensity a different twist. “Amazing,” she said, placing the empty shell back on the plate.
Once again she watched Will’s mouth touch the shell, imagining his lips on her. She shifted on her chair as the wanting pulsed inside her.
This meal was going to be torture if every time he put food in his mouth, she thought of what else that mouth might be doing. She finished off her champagne and put the empty glass on the table. Before the sommelier could approach, Will twisted the champagne bottle out of its silver bucket and refilled her flute.
Waiters whisked their plates away, leaving the tablecloth clear for a new dish to be served.
“Prawn and avocado roulade,” the maître d’ explained. The waiters set down white plates showcasing a beautifully rich, green cylinder of layered avocado slices with a garnish of leaves and tiny yellow flowers. She cut into it and brought a forkful to her mouth. The flavors were cool, smooth, and subtle. “Mmm, unbelievable,” she murmured, slicing off the next bite.
“So how well did your mother respect your boundaries?” Will asked. Clearly, the fantastic food was old hat to him because he chewed and swallowed without a noticeable reaction.
She grimaced. “Not well at all. She didn’t want me to go to college because it meant I wouldn’t be home to keep her company while Dad worked the late shift. But she did sign the financial aid forms for my application, so I give her credit for that.” As it turned out, her mother was all too willing to sign financial forms that involved Kyra.
Will refilled his own glass and settled back in his chair, waiting.
Kyra gave in. “Once I left, she hated my absence. Every phone call, she did her best to persuade me to come home. Sometimes it was an enticement, like a trip somewhere with her, but more often she wielded guilt. She missed me so much, was so lonely without me. Her friends didn’t understand her.” Kyra felt the pinch of guilt even now. “Those were the phone calls that made me cook gourmet meals. I had to work off the terrible stew of emotions that she stirred up.”
Second Time Around (Second Glances) Page 12