“Margot, I…”
“Don’t argue. Put it on,” she said, giving me her best don’t-mess-with-me look as she pointed me toward the bathroom.
I rolled my eyes and headed to change. When I got the thing on, I went back to the bedroom for inspection without even glancing in the mirror. I knew if I did I would chicken out and end up going on this date in a sensible pants suit, or maybe just not going all together. Blind faith in Margot’s styling skills was the only way I could make it through this.
A devious smile spread wide across her face when she saw me. “Perfect,” she said as her eyes raked over me from head to toe.
“Really? It’s not too much?” I asked, smoothing down the front of my outfit.
“Are you kidding? You look great. You just need…” She trailed off and headed back into my closet. She came back with a thin, gold belt and a pair of black platform stilettos with gold trim around the bottom. She wrapped the belt around my waist and handed me the shoes. Then she helped me into a slim cut blazer and took a step back so I could see the final look in the mirror.
My eyes went wide, and I turned to the side, admiring her choice. Not bad. In fact, it was pretty good.
“Like I said, perfect,” Margot said, coming up behind me and meeting my eyes in the mirror. I couldn’t help but smile back at her, suddenly feeling better about the night ahead of me. Well, at least the what-do-I-wear part.
A few minutes before seven, the front door buzzed. I leaned on the button to let him in, grabbing my clutch and phone as a knock sounded on the door. I looked at Margot once more and she smiled, blowing me a kiss for luck.
I pulled open the door to see Sean in a dark wool coat with a dark blue scarf hanging loosely around his neck. He wore his trademark infectious smile, and his stormy gray eyes darkened a bit as he looked me over.
“You look gorgeous,” he said.
“So do you.”
Chapter 8
Sean
I pulled up outside Lily Bleu, the tiny little French bistro that my family has owned for generations. Gran’s mother opened it in the thirties just before Gran was born. It was small but charming with bistro tables covered in white table cloths and votive candles that flickered in the dim light.
Framed black and white photographs depicting Paris in the twenties lined the beige colored walls, and thick, black canvas curtains framed the windows. The smell of fresh baked bread wrapped around us as soon as we entered, and I took a deep breath, letting the warm, delicious scent wash over me as my muscles relaxed.
I didn’t normally bring women to Gran’s restaurant, especially not on our first date, but this place was home. I was comfortable here, and given Madison’s reservations about tonight, I could use the home field advantage.
“What do you think?” I asked, gesturing to the open dining room. It was a relatively slow night. Most of the time the place was packed, every table full and a few people waiting around outside for one to become available.
“It’s nice,” she said, removing her coat as I led her to a small table in the back. “So, we just seat ourselves?”
“I do,” I said, pulling out her chair as she took her seat. I sat across from her and she raised an eyebrow at me. I laughed. “This is my grandmother’s restaurant. I’ve practically lived in this place since I was a kid. Best food in the city, hands down.”
“In your completely unbiased opinion.” She smirked. She was already beginning to relax. Her smartass comment was telling. The entire ride she was tense and quiet, picking at her fingernails and biting her lip while staring out the window. The change in her attitude and body language was just confirmation I’d made the right choice.
“Trust me,” I said, leaning over the table with a wink.
She watched me, and I could see the wheels turning in her head while she decided if she really could trust me, but it was about more than just the food. I reached across the table, resting my hand over hers. Her cheeks flushed and she squirmed a bit in her seat.
God, how she responded to me was the hottest thing I’d ever seen. If touching her hand was working her up, what would it be like when the real fun started?
I heard a throat clear and looked up into the sweet face of my baby sister, Emily. Her long brown hair was tied in a messy knot on top of her head and she wore a waiter’s uniform: white button down shirt, black skinny jeans, and a long white apron.
“Hey, kid,” I said, jumping to my feet and wrapping her in a bear hug. “When did you get in? I thought you weren’t coming until next week.”
She shrugged. “I finished my exams early. I figured I would surprise you.”
Em’s eyes dipped to Madison, and I turned to see her watching us with a curious look.
“Oh shit! Sorry. Madison, this is my sister, Emily,” I said, sliding into my seat.
Relief spread across Madison’s face as she smiled up at Emily. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, shaking Em’s hand.
“You too,” Em said. She turned back to me and raised her eyebrows, but my smile said it all. This one was special.
Em straightened and pulled an order pad from the pocket of her apron. “What can I get you to drink?”
I leaned across the table. “White okay?” Madison nodded. “Just bring me a bottle of the usual,” I said. Em smiled and disappeared down the hall to get our wine.
“So, your sister?” Madison asked.
“Yeah.” I smiled. “She’s been in Paris for the past few years studying to be a chef.”
“Wow, Paris. Sounds incredible.”
I glanced back toward the kitchen. I was proud of the little punk, but I’d missed her like crazy. Em and I were thick as thieves. Growing up, she leaned on me a lot. Our asshole father looked at us as more of a burden than family. As her older brother, I’d taken on the role of her protector, which more often than not meant standing between her and Dad’s particular brand of parenting. He never once laid a hand on us, but emotional scars ran just as deep.
“Our mom had a chance to go, but life and well…I happened, so she had to give it up.” My chest hurt just talking about Mom. I cleared my throat to get rid of the tight ball of emotion that was building there. “She never had any regrets, though.”
Madison reached across the table, covering my hand with hers, and I watched as her long, delicate fingers slid across the top of my hand. I turned mine palm up and threaded my fingers through hers, bringing our clasped hands to my lips, and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. She smiled, and that pink tint I loved so much crept into her cheeks.
“Did you decide?” Em asked, appearing out of nowhere. Madison jumped and quickly pulled her hand from mine. She sat back in her chair and picked up her menu, her eyes searching over the options like it was life or death. I laughed and shook my head.
“What’s good here?” Madison asked.
“Do you trust me?”
Her brows drew together as confusion flashed across her beautiful face. She reluctantly nodded her head, but I went with it.
I handed Em our menus and smiled up at her. “We’ll have the special.” She nodded and headed off to the kitchen.
“What’s the special?”
“You’ll see.”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“Nope.”
“What if I’m allergic, or don’t like it?”
I frowned, feeling a little stupid that I didn’t think about that. “Are you allergic to anything?”
“No,” she said with a shy smile, “but you didn’t know that.”
I smiled at her. The sass was back, and I reached for her hand again. “Then we will just have to have faith.”
She smiled as I traced circles into her hand with my thumb. Everything seemed to be going well. She was relaxed and seemed to be enjoying herself, then all at once she changed. She looked down at our joined hands and pulled away quickly, dropping her hand into her lap. My smile faltered at her reaction, but I decided not to dwell.
I leane
d back in my chair and studied her as she nervously bit her lip and turned to look out the window. She was pulling away, and I had no idea why.
“So,” I said. “Tell me about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know,” I said, leaning my elbows on the table. “Something fun.”
She looked down at her hands, still resting in her lap. “Fun isn’t something used to describe me.”
“I doubt that, beautiful.”
“Margot says I just need to come out of my shell.”
“Your shell?”
Madison nodded. The sad look in her eyes made my heart clench in my chest. “She says I’ve led a sheltered life.”
“Have you?”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
I leaned closer and grinned. “Maybe we can change that.” Her lips turned up almost on their own, making my own smile brighten at her response.
“What about work? Liam said you work in finance?”
“Corporate finance, mostly small startups looking for the capital to expand.”
“Interesting,” I said.
“I know people think what I do is kind of cold and analytical, but I love it. I love the look in my client’s eyes when the deal goes through and all their hard work finally pays off. It’s a great feeling.”
Her face lit up as she talked about her work. I could see the passion in her eyes. “Sounds rewarding,” I said. “Most people in your position just get off on playing god. You know, letting the power go to their heads.”
She laughed. The musical sound flooded through me, going straight to my dick. I shifted in my seat as it strained against my zipper.
“I work with a lot of guys like that. They’re in it for the money and the power, and I get it. But I get off on winning out over the power brokers in favor of the little guy.”
“Really? What else gets you off?” I teased.
She shifted in her seat, looking everywhere but at me. I cursed myself for going too far. Just when she was starting to open up. Fuck.
She bit her lip and looked down at the table, sucking in a long breath.
“You okay?” I asked, worried I’d just killed any progress I’d made with her.
“Yeah,” she choked out.
“You sure? You just looked nervous all of a sudden.”
She took a deep breath and finally met my eyes, and I could have sworn I saw a little bit of fear.
“I just want sex,” she blurted. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”
I’m not gonna lie, I was a little startled. While normally a woman telling me that all she wanted from me was sex would have been a dream come true, it was the last thing I expected to hear from her.
“Okay,” I said with a hesitant frown. I watched her chew on her bottom lip. Something told me that this just sex idea wasn’t something she’d come up with on her own. Her reaction and the nervousness told me she was uncomfortable with the idea of a relationship based on just sex, maybe as much as she was freaked out about a relationship with the potential for more.
“I think it’s important that we both make our intentions perfectly clear up front. So no one gets hurt.”
“I see,” I said, taking a long drink from my wine glass.
“I want to be perfectly clear,” she continued. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“So you said.”
She sat back in her chair, looking relieved but still a little confused.
“Is it my turn now?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Since we are laying it all out there,” I said. “My intentions are to spend as much time as I can with you.”
“That’s sweet, Sean…”
I sat back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest. “There’s that word again.”
“I don’t think you understand. I’m not looking for anything serious, just something casual, fun.”
“You want to take things slow, I get it.”
She huffed, exhaling a long, frustrated breath. She was adorable when she was frustrated. I made a note of that for another time.
“I’m talking about sex, Sean!” she said, probably a little louder than she intended. She looked around nervously and lowered her voice. “Casual sex.”
I glanced over her shoulder, my eyes going wide as I saw Gran standing behind her, holding a plate of food in each hand. She winked at me, and I tried my best to keep from laughing.
Madison frowned, then realization took over and her muscles tensed. Slowly, she turned and spotted Gran, who raised the food and stepped forward to place the plates down in front of us.
Madison was mortified. Her face was so red it was almost purple. She dropped her head in her hands, shaking it back and forth, no doubt trying to will time to move backward.
Gran leaned down to kiss my cheek and smiled at me before facing Madison.
“Gran, this is Madison,” I said as she reluctantly lifted her head to shake Gran’s hand.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, that forced polite smile spread across her muddled red cheeks.
Gran wasn’t the type that would make her feel any worse then she already did. So she smiled, tucked her hands into her apron, and said, “You too, dear.”
Madison seemed to relax a bit, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing. This night couldn’t get any better.
Gran turned back to me, her face lined, full of wisdom and humor. She was my saving grace, the bright spot in what was more or less a shitty childhood. She always was the glass half full type and refused to allow me to wallow in my teenage angst. Instead she taught me that humor was the marrow of life. Without it, life had no flavor.
“Emily told me you brought a girl with you, but she didn’t say how beautiful she is,” Gran said.
If it was even possible, Madison’s blush deepened as she tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
“Well,” Gran said. “Time to get back to work.” She dropped a hand to my shoulder, fixing me with what she called her stern look, which was far from stern. “You say good-bye before you leave, okay?”
I nodded and smiled back at her as she affectionately patted my cheek.
Gran turned to leave and stopped by Madison’s chair. She leaned down and whispered, “Make him work for it, honey.” Then she headed back to the kitchen, nodding at a few other customers as she passed.
I lost it. I burst into laughter, nearly doubling over as Madison dropped her head back into her hands. “I’m sorry,” I said, out of breath and still trying to get my laughter under control. Tears welled in the corner of my eyes, and I wiped them away with my napkin as the laughter finally died down.
“I’m glad you enjoyed that,” she said, her face still a bright shade of red. She set her napkin on the table next to her plate. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to go slit my wrists.” She started to push back in her chair, and I reached out, taking ahold of her wrist to stop her.
“Come on, don’t go,” I said with a sympathetic smile. “Your food is here. The damage is done. Stay.”
She watched me for a moment before scooting her chair back under the table.
I picked up my fork, my mouth watering as the scent of Gran’s famous pot roast and garlic mashed potatoes flooded my nose.
She took a deep breath and took a bite of her food, a sigh of pure satisfaction escaping her lips as she relaxed into her seat. Fuck me, that sound. I could spend the rest of my life searching for more ways to get her to make that sound again. If her laugh had turned me on, that fucking sigh made things almost painful.
She looked up from her plate. “What?”
I shook my head. “I’ve just never been so turned on by watching someone eat before.”
She broke off a piece of bread from her plate and tossed it at me. I watched as it bounced off my chest.
I laughed, she laughed, and it seemed that the awkwardness was beginning to fade. I was overwhelmed by how much I wanted her. Not just for sex—d
on’t get me wrong, my respect for Gran was the only thing keeping me from clearing the table with a sweep of my arm and fucking her right here on this table—but there was something about her. I wanted to protect her, make her laugh, make her smile, help her to find her own happiness.
“Isn’t this a French restaurant?” she asked, bringing me back to the moment.
“It is,” I said, digging into my meal.
“Then what’s with the pot roast?”
“You seem to be enjoying it.”
“It’s amazing, but it seems a little strange for a French restaurant to serve pot roast.”
“True,” I said, taking a sip of wine. “Gran’s parents were French. They came over from Nice in the thirties. The menu is full of recipes passed down in my family for generations. Gran’s mother passed her knowledge down to Gran, who’s now passing it down to Em.”
“Did she do the same with your mom?”
My chest ached. I didn’t like to talk about mom. “She did.” I nodded. “For a while.”
She looked up at me with a confused frown. I sighed. If I wanted her to open up to me, I would have to trust her enough to open up to her. “She was killed in a car accident when I was a kid.”
“Oh Sean,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.” I gave her a sad smile and we sat in silence, awkwardly pushing our food around on our plates.
After a moment, she looked up at me with that adorable confused frown again. “That still doesn’t explain the pot roast.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be moving back to a lighter topic. “It’s actually a pretty great story.”
“Really?” Excitement filled her eyes, and she leaned her elbows on the table.
“You see, Gran was a bit of a rebel in her day. Her mother was kind of rigid when it came to the restaurant. The recipes she used were handed down from generation to generation. She taught Gran everything she knew, grooming her to someday take over the family business, but Gran, having been born here in America, wanted to try something different. While she had immense respect for her family and their traditions, she was as much of an American as she was French, but her Mother was horrified. Her grandmother used these recipes and her grandmother before her, and so on. During World War II, business suffered. Patriotism was high and money was tight, so their once thriving business was reduced to serving maybe two or three customers a night. On Gran’s sixteenth birthday, she asked her mother for only one thing,” I said, holding up a finger to emphasize my point. “She asked for her mother to let her make the special that night, but she wanted to make it her way. At that point her mother felt she had nothing to lose, so she reluctantly agreed and Gran set to work.”
Choosing Happy (Madison Square #2) Page 7