by Zoe Chant
Grant’s brow had furrowed when she mentioned Lance’s muscles, but her sly compliment brought a smile back to his face. He relaxed back in the seat, eyes smoldering at Irina from under lowered lashes.
“He’s my bodyguard,” he admitted at last. “Because I am clearly incapable of looking after myself, as well as being disgustingly wealthy.”
Lance groaned. “This is how you want to have this conversation? In the car?” He rested his head on the steering wheel. “With me here?”
Grant dismissed his complaints with a wave of his hand, his eyes still fixed on Irina’s. She felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach—or was it nerves?
“I know you’re wealthy,” she admitted. “But—your bodyguard? Where was he on Friday night, then?”
“Yeah, boss? Where was I?” Lance abandoned his forehead-to-steering-wheel stance and swung the car out into the street.
Irina raised her eyebrows at Grant. “Well?”
“He was obeying orders,” Grant grumbled, clearly put out at the two of them ganging up on him. “You were never in any danger, I promise. I know that city block like the back of my hand.”
I know you grew up there, Irina thought even as she felt an immediate stab of guilt. And I shouldn’t know that. I should have waited for you to tell me.
She hadn’t been able to resist Googling Grant after everything Clare had said. What she found had answered a few of her questions, like how they had skipped out on dinner without anyone running after them with the bill.
And it had answered some questions she hadn’t even thought to ask. Things she wouldn’t have even considered her business until later in their relationship—if this turned out to be that sort of relationship, and not just a winter fling. When she found herself reading about how “America’s Most Eligible Billionaire” had grown up all alone in the big city, the only child of a workaholic single mother, she’d closed the browser. It felt too much like invading his privacy.
Because it was invading his privacy.
She shook herself. Grant was staring at her, a strange expression on his face.
“I hope you brought a flashlight,” said Lance from the front of the car.
“I—what?” Irina turned to Grant. “A flashlight? I thought we were going to dinner.”
“We are. And no, flashlights won’t be necessary.” He glared at Lance over the back of the seat, looking so disgruntled that Irina had to stifle a giggle.
She might have remembered how handsome Grant was over the last few days, but it was these occasional moments of obvious displeasure that really charmed her. He was good at hiding it, but like just now, every now and then she would catch him with his nose clearly out of joint—and him clearly trying to hide the fact.
She tried to figure out what it reminded her of, and almost burst out laughing when she connected the dots. The peevish reactions to being slighted or surprised, and then the quick recovery and self-conscious Who, me? Bothered? Pff! Attitude—it was just like her Gran’s old cat.
Well, didn’t you think it was odd that you felt so comfortable with him, right away? Maybe you just subconsciously associated him with Snuggles!
***
The drive to the no-flashlight-needed mystery location was less exciting than Friday evening’s dash from dinner to Grant’s apartment building, and Irina was surprised when they stopped outside a run-down warehouse. She stared around for any sign of a restaurant—after all, Moss’ restaurant had been pretty well hidden—but couldn’t see anything except brick walls and graffiti-tagged, abandoned shipping containers.
She raised her eyebrows at Grant. “Is this it? Looks a little…” Abandoned? Creepy? Like we’re here to do a hostage handover in some sort of bad spy movie? “...um, empty,” she said at last.
“I’m assured that it’s much nicer inside.” Grant took her hand, running his thumb lightly over her knuckles. “The fanciest warehouse you’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, good,” said Irina weakly. “That’s reassuring. I’m very reassured.”
Grant led her to what she’d assumed was a garage door, while Lance trailed behind them. The corrugated iron door was big enough to fit a truck through it, but it didn’t look as though it had been opened for months. As they approached, a light went on behind it, the glow just visible between the bottom of the door and the concrete. As Irina watched, the golden glow extended up a crack in the corrugated door, and then across—and a smaller door, inset into the cargo door, opened to them.
Irina looked around for whoever had opened the door, but there was no one there. She and Grant stepped through into a room that was clean, tidy, and warmly lit—but completely empty, except for another door on the opposite wall. Irina turned around, wondering if she had missed something at the entrance, but all she saw was Lance following them in. She watched him scan the room, and then relax with his arms folded.
She wasn’t about to let Grant off so lightly.
“You’re sure this is a restaurant?” she teased.
“It’s extremely fashionable.”
“So fashionable it doesn’t have staff? Or food? Their overheads must be super low.”
Grant squeezed Irina’s arm. “After you told me about your work at pop-up restaurants, I had a thought. This isn’t exactly a pop-up place… it’s a bit more underground than that.”
“Uh-huh.” Irina knew her eyes were wide as saucers, but she couldn’t be bothered pretending not to be intrigued. Besides, Grant’s enthusiasm was catching. “And when you say underground…”
“I mean in both the totally cool and hip sense, and that I hope you don’t get claustrophobic.” Grant’s smile froze. “You—you don’t get claustrophobic, do you?”
Irina laughed. “No, don’t worry. I’m not going to scream and jump into your arms.”
“Too bad.” Grant slipped his arm out of hers and put it around her waist. She leaned into him automatically, feeling the warmth of his body against hers.
He was right. It was a pity. Especially given how much she had enjoyed jumping into his arms the other evening. And what that had led to…
She twined her fingers around Grant’s and stood on her tiptoes, so she could whisper in his ear without Lance overhearing. His arm shifted slightly on her waist, supporting her against him, and—
Ding!
The door at the far end of the room slid open to reveal an old-fashioned elevator, complete with wrought-iron cage and, at last, someone who looked like he might be a member of staff. Irina caught Grant’s eye, and the look of disappointment that flickered across his face, as she lowered herself to the floor.
“Welcome to Solitude,” announced the newcomer, stepping smartly out of the elevator. He was wearing charcoal slacks with a crisp crease down the front and a silver-colored waistcoat over a shirt with silver buttons and matching cufflinks. His brown hair was slicked back from his forehead. Irina was delighted. He looked as though he had stepped straight out of the 1920s.
“Mr. Diaz, Ms. Mathers, and—guest?” His rehearsed speech faltered as he looked over Irina and Grant’s shoulders to where Lance was still looming behind them. “Mr.…?”
“I also answer to ‘Miscellaneous’ or ‘Et Cetera,’” said Lance dryly.
The greeter recovered quickly. “Welcome, all. If you will please step this way, your adventure is about to begin.” He stood aside and ushered the three of them into the lift, which creaked alarmingly as it took Grant’s weight. Then it made exactly the same noise as Lance stepped in, and Irina realized it was all part of the experience. The adventure.
After all, hadn’t Grant promised her an adventure?
“Are we going to be running through any more kitchens?” she murmured to Grant. “Damn, and here I am in my heels again. You’ll have to carry me after all.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he murmured back.
The elevator swooped downwards so smoothly Irina was convinced it was a modern one, made up to look antique. Just like the greeter. It spat them out in what looke
d like a subway station.
Maybe it was a subway station. Surely no one would go to the effort of recreating a whole underground subway station just for a restaurant shtick?
Either way, the thought of a secret restaurant hidden under New York’s streets was exciting. Irina squeezed Grant’s hand as the greeter led them on. At the far end of the “station”, where Irina would have expected to find stairs leading back up to the street, was a wall with a door-sized hole knocked out of it.
Literally knocked out of it. Right through the shiny white tiles and the concrete behind them, to reveal a hidden room.
Irina’s laugh was almost a cackle. “A secret room inside a secret subway station—inside an abandoned warehouse?” she gasped. “Oh, this is too good to be true!”
Behind her, Lance snorted. Grant looked so pleased it was bordering on smug. He’d hoped, based on their previous date, Irina would enjoy this outing since she’d seemed to have fun on their mad dash through similar—if less well-maintained—tunnels and alleyways on their first date.
“A lot of this was used by bootleggers, back in the 1920s. I’m pretty sure this hole in the wall is a genuine antique, even. You like it?”
“It’s amazing.” She stepped through the hole in the wall onto thick carpet. The walls of the secret room were papered with a pattern of birds, and a gas lamp glowed in one corner.
“It gets better,” he promised, and Irina tossed her hair back with pretend mockery.
“Of course it does. There hasn’t been any food yet,” she said sternly before promptly ruining the act by giggling.
“Follow me, please, ma’am, sir,” the maître d’ requested as he directed Grant and Irina down a series of corridors. A winding staircase took them down a few levels.
“I guess they weren’t kidding when they said this place was underground,” Irina whispered in Grant’s ear.
“What is this place—an old subway station?” Grant asked their guide, who smiled.
“Partially. Plus various basements, old cellars … all structurally reinforced, of course.”
12
GRANT
Grant nodded. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the constrained surroundings, but Irina’s interest in the place’s aesthetics more than made up for it. The renovators had clearly been told to retain as much of the original ambience as possible: the three of them walked past walls of old stone and brickwork and even the occasional wooden strut. Irina exclaimed in delight as they stepped through an artistically-smashed hole in one wall to find themselves walking on intricate mosaic tiles.
He took a deep breath. The air was as fresh down here as it had been on the street.
Fresher, even, he thought, thinking of the city’s car-exhaust aroma. The architects might be laboring the point with all the “step into the past” design, but not at the expense of good ventilation, heating, and lighting.
He had been skeptical at first, when Solitude was recommended to him as a late-night date venue. A trek through the city’s abandoned underground spaces sounded more like a school field trip than a romantic date. Now that he was here, though, he was glad he had decided to go for something more exciting than a regular dinner date.
He made a mental note to find out the name of the architect. One glance at Irina, looking around with her eyes shining, was enough to let him know how much she loved the decor.
“It’s like a whole city under the city,” Irina breathed.
The maître d’ smiled at her. “New York’s undercity isn’t as extensive as, say, Rome’s, but there’s more city to this city than most people realize,” he said, making the phrase sound not quite like something that had been drilled into the restaurant staff by management. Grant stifled a grin and leaned closer to Irina.
“Perhaps we should visit Rome next,” he murmured.
She hesitated before replying, and Grant felt her uncertainty like a blow to the chest. He slipped an arm around her waist, as much to reassure himself as her—and felt, again, a brief pause before she let herself relax against him.
Her reticence only lasted a moment.
“Perhaps we should,” she replied teasingly, looking up at him through her eyelashes.
He kissed her, a brief brush of his lips against his, but couldn’t entirely fight back the icy memory of her hesitation.
I’m not lying to you, he wanted to say. This isn’t just a date. It’s the biggest adventure of my life. I want to give you the world—and I need to know that you’ll believe me when I say that.
He bit back a sigh and pulled back. That was the problem. There was nothing stopping him from telling Irina that he loved her—that every particle in his body, every atom of his soul wanted to spend the rest of his life by her side.
The problem was that she wouldn’t believe him. Not when they’d only known each other less than a week. How could she?
And if he revealed his true self to her—No. That wasn’t an option. He would never pressure Irina to stay with him over her own wishes, simply because he needed her.
The maître d’s polite voice pulled him out of his unhappy thoughts.
“...through here. Now, many of our guests find the darkness somewhat disorienting, so please take as much time as you need to seat yourselves. You will find a silk rope just inside the door, which will lead you to your table.”
Irina’s eyes were sparkling. “Silk rope. Got it.”
“To reflect the restaurant’s concept of Solitude, servers will not make their presence known to you. Food will seem to appear on your table out of nowhere, and your dishes will be whisked away as though by magic.”
Grant raised one eyebrow. The idea was an intriguing one, but he would be surprised if the wait staff managed to evade his heightened senses. “You have it all figured out,” he remarked.
“If at any stage you do desire assistance to move around the restaurant, please simply raise your hand like this,” the maître d’ finished, demonstrating.
He asked if they had any questions, and when they both assured him he had covered everything, ushered them through to a small, dimly-lit atrium. Another door led through to the dining area itself. The maître d’ excused himself, leaving Irina and Grant alone.
“I guess that last bit was code for ‘If you need to use the bathroom…” Irina suggested, eyeing up the door.
“Or ‘If you spill your entire bowl of soup down your pants,’” Grant agreed.
Irina tossed her hair back. “Excuse me? If that happens, I expect to find myself immediately cleaned up and whisked into a fresh dress. As though by magic,” she said, giggling.
Irina’s skin glowed in the soft light, and Grant almost groaned as the movement of her hair sent a tantalizing waft of her scent toward him. He ached to pull her into his arms and brush his lips against that soft skin, taste her, feel her tremble under his mouth again.
He pulled his eyes away and looked at the door. If he was this tempted when they had only been alone for less than a minute, then what would the rest of the evening be like, hidden away with her in a darkened room?
“Shall we go in?” he suggested as he opened the door.
Grinning, Irina slipped past him, close enough that he could feel the heat of her body, and then he pulled the door shut behind them both.
The room beyond was pitch black. Not the black of a moonless night or a darkened room, but the dense, heavy dark of underground caves where no light has ever reached.
Grant’s panther stirred. Grant shared its discomfort. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Panthers were predators of the night, stalking their prey in the pale light of the moon and stars—but even Grant’s powerful night-vision couldn’t penetrate the darkness here. It was as though someone had slipped a blindfold over his eyes.
Then he felt Irina’s hand slip into his, small and warm. In the heavy darkness, her touch felt intimate, as though they were the only people in the world—and she had reached out for him. No hesitation.
There are other senses th
an sight, after all.
“Can you find the rope? I—oh, there it is,” Irina whispered. She paused. “Why am I whispering?”
Grant turned his body toward her voice, and found her other hand with his own. She was holding onto a soft, braided rope, one end of which was fastened to the wall beside the door, the other stretching into the darkened room.
“Perhaps you’re worried the darkness might hear you,” he murmured throatily.
He felt her shiver and smelled the rush of her desire.
“You shouldn’t have said that,” she whispered back.
“Oh?” He leaned forward, so their bodies just touched.
“Mmm.” He could hear the hidden laughter in her voice. “Because now I am worried about people hearing us. All of those magical waiters…” She slipped under his arms, and tugged on the rope as she followed it farther into the room. “...I’m sure they’re not paid enough to listen to that.”
His disappointment at being rebuffed vanished—Like magic—hah!—as he realized she was as turned on by the situation as he was. He stalked after her, silken rope loose in his hand and a contented warmth filling his body.
She feels this, too. She wants you. Wants to be with you.
And if the only reason she pulled away was that she was worried the wait-staff might be hovering too near…
“Oh!”
Grant had been following the sound of Irina’s footsteps and was as surprised as she was by the clatter of wood on stone.
“I think I found our table,” she said, laughing. “Ow, my poor foot!”
“I’ll kiss it better,” Grant promised. “Later.” He slipped through the darkness, zeroing in on her voice. “When the wait-staff have magicked themselves away.”
Irina jumped at the sound of Grant’s voice right behind her shoulder. She spun around, and Grant took advantage of her confusion to steal a sneaky kiss.
What with the darkness and her still moving, the kiss ended up on her ear.
Worth it, Grant thought smugly.
“Sneaky,” Irina complained. “How come I’m the one crashing into furniture, and you’re strolling around as easy as if you can see?”