The 100 Series: A Billionaire Romance Trilogy

by Adrian, Lara

  “Stunning,” Nick says, looking at me as though Manny and the other dozen or so people in the lobby no longer exist. “Shall we?”

  Manny gets the door for us and Nick leads me out to his black BMW M6 that’s idling beneath the porte cochère. He waves off Manny’s help at the car, smoothly opening the passenger door for me, then halting me so he can press a fleeting kiss to my cheek.

  “The pearls were a perfect choice,” he murmurs beside my ear. “I’ll be envisioning you naked wearing nothing else but that strand all night.”

  I tremble at the suggestion, because now I’ll be strung tight in anticipation, longing for the moment when Nick will make that vision a reality for us.

  I’m half tempted to plead with him that we skip dinner and stay in instead, but his hand is firm and intent at the small of my back, so I climb into the car and wait as he closes the door then walks around to the driver’s side.

  “Busy day?” I ask, once he’s seated and we’re both buckled in.

  “Nonstop meetings,” he says, navigating out to the boulevard with an easy command of both the vehicle and the hectic traffic that surrounds us. “I was just out of the last of them when you called to say you were home. How was the first day back at the easel?”

  “It was good. Actually, it was great.” When he glances my way, I can’t resist telling him about my new piece. “I’m trying something different. Playing with colors and abstracts. Seeing where my brush takes me.”

  He nods, studying me for a moment. “Sounds interesting.”

  “It was. I can’t explain it. The whole thing just kind of . . . poured out of me today. I finished the piece in a matter of hours. That’s never happened before.”

  He grunts, his brows lifting as he watches the sea of illuminated tail lights at the intersection ahead of us. “You must’ve been inspired.”

  “I was.” I slide my hand over to his thigh, reveling in the bunch and flex of his muscles as he brings the car to a stop at the traffic light. “You inspire me, Nick.”

  I see something flicker in his gaze as he stares out the windshield, but I’m not sure what to call it. There and gone in an instant, when he turns his head to look at me, all I see is hunger. His hand goes around the back of my neck and he pulls me close, capturing my lips in a deep, sensual kiss.

  When the light changes, he punches the gas and we prowl past the taxis and other vehicles to the next corner. We turn left, heading down a couple of blocks before Nick slows to a stop in front of a tall, brown-brick and limestone trimmed building that’s nestled within a street full of similar looking ones. Some are clearly office space, others appear to be multi-use buildings with retail shops and everything in between.

  There is no signage on the one we’ve parked in front of, and only a few windows glow with light from inside, most of it coming from the top floor five stories up.

  “I thought we were going to dinner?”

  “We are.” Nick’s cryptic response only confuses me more as he gets out of the car and comes around to open my door. “Trust, Ms. Ross. Remember?”

  Smiling, and so curious I’m about to burst, I take his hand and walk with him to the building’s front door. It’s locked, but he has the key in his jacket pocket.

  “After you.”

  I step inside the dimly lit vestibule, surprised to see pretty Art Deco tile on the floors and polished dark wood millwork on the walls. There’s an elevator immediately to our right. Nick pushes the call button and I watch the dial above the brass doors count down as the car descends to meet us.

  “Is the restaurant on another floor or something?”

  Nick doesn’t answer me, just guides me into the elevator, then presses the number five. As we climb the short distance up, I finally catch a whiff of something delicious cooking. Garlic and grill smoke and fresh-baked bread, along with a host of fragrant spices I can’t even begin to name. My mouth is watering as the doors open and Nick and I step out of the lift.

  But there is no restaurant waiting here.

  Just a single table in the center of a spacious loft with soaring beam ceilings and beautiful exposed brick walls. Candlelight glows softly from tall candelabras set up around the room, and from the fat pillar candle in the center of the table, which is cloaked in a white linen tablecloth with a diaphanous length of red silk draped across its center. A silver bucket of ice sits on a pedestal beside the table, a black-labeled bottle of Krug champagne chilling in the cubes.

  I turn to Nick in question.

  “I’m considering buying the property,” he says, urging me forward. “I wanted to get an inside feel for it first. I wanted your opinion too.”

  My brows rise. “Do you evaluate all of your prospective properties with champagne and romantic candlelight dinner for two?”

  “No. Just this one.” A small grin quirks the edge of his lips as he takes off his suit jacket and nods toward the waiting table. “Come on, have a seat. We’re celebrating.”

  He no sooner says it than a pair of waiters emerge from a doorway and enter the room with us. They’re dressed in tuxedos and white gloves, their service both efficient and impeccable as they see to our comfort at the table, then proceed to serve us the champagne and a basket of warm French bread.

  A plate of oysters arrives a moment later, carried in by a third server.

  I’m gaping and there’s nothing I can do about it. “How did you arrange all of this?”

  Nick smiles and tips his flute toward mine. “I have my ways.”

  “You certainly do.” I laugh as our glasses meet with a soft clink. “What are we celebrating tonight?”

  “The rec center approvals came in today.”

  “Nick, that’s wonderful!”

  He nods, his pride plainly evident. “Took a long damn time, but we finally got clearance on the plans for construction.”

  “Congratulations.” I raise my glass to him in another toast. “This is a big deal, Nick. I know how much the center means to you. You should be having a big celebration.”

  “I am. This dinner is costing me a small fortune,” he says with a boyish smirk. He sets down his glass and reaches for my hand. “And it’s worth it. There was only one person I wanted to share this news with outside of Beck and the rest of my staff.”

  He strokes the back of my hand, his gaze locked on mine with such intensity I’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe. His smile breaks slowly, sinfully, and I can only wonder how he intends to continue our celebration once we leave here tonight.

  My body is already way ahead of my imagination. Just the sensation of Nick’s touch, the mesmerizing heat of his deep blue eyes, is enough to make me quiver with unabashed desire. If he asked me to leave with him right now, I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment.

  “I hope you like oysters.”

  I nod, watching him pick up a shell and loosen the tender flesh from its cradle. His fingers move so gracefully, so adeptly, it makes my mouth water just to observe his hands in motion. He has beautiful hands, even with the scars.

  “Did you order oysters because you’re planning a seduction, Mr. Baine?”

  His answering grunt is rough, sexy. I lick my lips as he hands the oyster to me across the splash of red silk that separates us. Our fingers brush against each other, lingering.

  “Will I need oysters in order to seduce you, Ms. Ross?”

  “What do you think?” I take the shell from him, but instead of putting the meat into my mouth, I dip my finger into the shallow cup of soft, slick flesh.

  His groan is a raw sound, a deep rumble in the back of his throat. After I’ve tormented him for another moment, I lick my wet, salty finger, then tilt my head back and slide the oyster into my open mouth.

  “Fuck,” he utters hoarsely. “You’re better at this game than you should be.”

  I smile and arch a brow, totally unrepentant. “I’m learning from a master.”

  We settle in, enjoying the appetizers and the champagne, which flows endlessly thanks to our atte
ntive servers. It’s amusing—definitely impressive—sitting in our private dining room at the top of a charming, if vacant, building just five minutes away from the luxury of Nick’s penthouse.

  As always with this man, he’s managed to conjure magic for me.

  For us.

  We enjoy the rest of the oysters, and moments after we’ve eaten the last one, our waiter returns to clear the plates.

  He nods politely to me, then addresses Nick. “Dinner will be served in a few minutes, sir.”

  With Nick’s murmured thanks, we are once again left alone. “I hope you don’t mind that I ordered for both of us tonight. Filet mignon a la Castille.”

  “Castille,” I echo, my mouth going a bit slack. “You don’t mean, as in, Gavin Castille?”

  Nick nods, then takes a leisurely drink of his champagne.

  I’m gaping. “Gavin Castille, one of the most recognized celebrity chefs in the country. That Gavin Castille?”

  “That’s the one. The one and only, I’m sure the arrogant Aussie would hasten to add.”

  “We had lunch at his restaurant earlier this week.”

  “Yes, we did.” The only thing more incredible than having arguably the hottest chef of the moment catering a private dinner for us is Nick’s self-satisfied grin as he watches me absorb the news. When he said this meal cost him a small fortune, I have no doubt about that now. He shrugs, oh-so-nonchalantly. “I told you I wanted to make up for the way our lunch ended. Consider this my version of a do-over.”

  “You’re crazy.” I bark out a laugh I couldn’t hold back if I tried. Popping out of my chair, I lean across the table and yank him up for an impulsive kiss. “You’re totally insane, you know that?”

  He chuckles, even though his eyes are dark with arousal as I release him and slowly resume my seat across from him. “Gavin’s a friend. He’s also going to be part of the rec center. He’s agreed to donate a chef’s kitchen and personal cooking time with the kids every month, once the center opens. We’re hoping it’ll give the ones recovering from injuries or other trauma a creative outlet while also teaching them skills they’ll need as adults.”

  “Cooking as therapy, huh?” I recall Nick mentioning to me once how he learned to cook because it helped him regain his dexterity and the use of his hand. That he’s applying something so personal to his plans for the recreation center moves me. It amazes me, just as the man himself does.

  “We’ll have other programs in place too,” he says. “I plan on calling in a lot of markers to make the center a success.”

  “It sounds great, Nick. I’m excited for you. I’m excited for the kids you’re going to help.” He nods in acknowledgment, and I take the opportunity to reach over and brush my fingers along the back of his right hand—the one whose scars shine silvery in the low light of the candle. “Maybe you should do some of the cooking lessons too. I can personally vouch for your killer talent in the kitchen. Your breakfast repertoire alone is enough to give Gavin Castille a run for his money.”

  He smirks, turning his hand over to still my tracing of his scars, capturing my fingers in his warm, firm grasp. “Here I thought you loved me for my many other talents.”

  I laugh softly, but my pulse quickens and the center of my chest warms at hearing him acknowledge the depth of my feelings for him.

  “Does it bother you that I told you how I feel about you?”

  He studies me, his handsome face unreadable. “Why would it?”

  “Because you’ve told me yourself that you don’t do relationships.” Because I’ve also seen the scorched earth remains of his other past lovers—beginning with my friend, Margot, who manages his gallery, Dominion. And, more recently, Kathryn.

  I swallow now, uncertain I should be venturing down this path, especially when we’re having such a good time tonight. When I don’t answer right away, Nick does.

  “And because I haven’t said those words to you?”

  I want to deny that it stings, that it confuses me how he can desire me so fiercely—take me so possessively—yet keep me at arm’s length when it comes to his heart. We’ve only been together a few months. A blink of time.

  But it’s been long enough for me to know.

  When he speaks now, his deep voice is gentle, as reflective as I’ve ever heard it. “I’ve never been relationship material, Avery. I had no delusions that I could be when I first laid eyes on you. I wasn’t looking for this. I sure as fuck wasn’t intending for things to go this far between us. I wasn’t expecting . . . you.”

  I nod, because he’s saying the same things I felt. Things I feel even now, except my regrets for how deeply I’ve become entangled with him are complicated by how much I care for him.

  His thumb strokes the center of my palm. “Sometimes I wish I could start over with you, be someone better for you. Someone who isn’t as fucked up. Someone who can love you properly . . . someone you deserve.”

  “Everyone’s fucked up, Nick. And anyway, what makes you the best judge of what I deserve?” When his hand starts to edge away from mine, I hold fast. “I wasn’t expecting you either. I wasn’t looking to feel something like this. But then you look at me like you are right now . . . you take my hand, or you pull me down beneath you, and I think maybe I’ve been waiting for you—looking for you, for this, for us—all my life.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and there is a part of me that worries I’ve said too much. Revealed more than I should have, more than he wants to deal with. He could shred me with a single word right now, with a single shuttered glance.

  But he doesn’t.

  “Avery.” My name is so soft and reverent on his tongue, it nearly makes me weep. His fingers close more intently around mine and he draws my hand to him. He brushes his lips over my fingertips, drawing one of the sensitive pads into his mouth in a sensual, yet heart-breakingly tender kiss.

  My throat constricts with all the love I feel for this man, while inside me every nerve ending strums to life, yearning for the moment when I can be alone and naked with him again.

  I’ve never been more conflicted than I am in that next instant when our waiters walk back into the room, interrupting us with a meal that looks and smells beyond divine.

  Nick releases me as our plates are set in front of us and a bottle of red wine is opened beside our table. The food is amazing, everything cooked and seasoned to perfection.

  We eat with abandon in the candlelight, the nighttime city glittering like a box of dark jewels outside. I feel like a princess in a fairy tale. Even better than that, because as Nick has promised me, this is real.

  He smiles at me as I finish off the last bite of my steak. “What do you think?”

  I take a sip of the smooth Cabernet, reveling in the slight buzz that’s building inside me from the champagne and the wine and the food. The most intoxicating part of the evening is the gorgeous man seated across from me at the table, looking at me as if he cannot wait to devour me next.

  “I think you’re spoiling me beyond all reason. And I’m not just talking about tonight.”

  “Reason is overrated,” he replies, his gaze dark on me. “The best things—the most pleasurable things—only exist on the other side of it.”

  “Is that so?”

  He nods slowly, his gaze riveted on me as he brings his wine glass to his mouth, studying me over the rim. “I want to push you to the limits of everything that pleases you, Avery. I want to push you past those limits.”

  I swallow, heat rushing over my skin at his sensual promise. My breasts feel heavier under his hungry stare, my nipples peaking in anticipation of his touch, his kiss. The desire that’s been smoldering inside me all evening intensifies now that I know it won’t be long before I’m in Nick’s arms, in his bed.

  I want to ask him to take me there right now, before I combust with need, but at that same moment, our private waitstaff enters the room to clear our dishes and remove the empty wine bottle and glasses from the table. Nick seems in
no hurry, and I can’t deny that his patience is somewhat maddening, especially when I am practically itching with the urge to leap on him and tear his beautiful clothes off.

  The muffled sound of wheels rolling over rustic hardwood turns my head in the direction of the door. A tall man in black pants and a white chef’s tunic enters the room with us now, bringing in a silver cart of covered bowls and pedestaled plates with him.

  Although I’ve only seen Gavin Castille on television and the Internet, his trademark dimpled grin and mane of beachy blond hair is unmistakable. The power of that grin, coupled with his pale green eyes, hits me like a tidal wave blast as he approaches Nick and me at the table. After cuffing Nick on the shoulder, Gavin looks at me.

  “You must be Avery.” He holds out his large hand, and my fingers are engulfed in his warm, firm grasp. “Everything to your liking tonight?”

  “Yeah, um, yes,” I stammer. “Everything was incredible.”

  “Glad to hear it. I don’t make a lot of house calls, but my good buddy here said this one was special.” He glances at Nick, giving him a crooked smile. “You weren’t kidding, mate.”

  Nick’s gaze is still searing me, but my senses are tempted by all of the intriguing goodies hidden beneath the polished steel domes on the dessert cart Gavin has brought. I smell warm chocolate, buttery cake, and fresh fruit. I can’t see what awaits us, but I’m certain it’s decadent.

  “How did you manage all of this?”

  “Aussie magic,” Gavin replies with a wink. “And a portable, full kitchen in the truck we’ve got parked out back of the building.”

  “Castille on Wheels,” Nick adds drolly.

  “Hey, that’s not bad.”

  “I’ll have my assistant bill you for the marketing advice.”

  Gavin chuckles. “Yeah, you would, ya bastard.”

  As impressed as I am with Nick for his tremendous business success and his obvious erotic prowess, it is this other side of him I’m seeing now that makes me fall even further under his spell. I love his thoughtful generosity when it comes to the children he aims to help through his recreation center project. I love his unexpected romanticism with me tonight, and his easy camaraderie with his friend.