Chapter 10
TEN
NORA
“Name?” a man in a black suit asks as I step through the main doors at Alexander’s the next night.
“Er, umm… Nora… Spiegel,” I murmur.
“Ah, great. Your guest is waiting for you.”
“Does the guest have a name?” I inquire, hoping to finally get some confirmation.
The man scrunches his nose, looking at me like I have two heads.
But he obliges.
“Mr. Wayne insisted that he meet you in the restaurant, and not out in the lobby,” the man in black says.
My mouth curls into a slight smile.
Of course. “Mr. Wayne. Okay… right… got it.”
The man ushers me along, and I’m stepping through the lit restaurant foyer in a red, A-line dress that I’d ordinarily never wear. In fact, it’s hugging my curves in a way that’s making me extra self-conscious—I keep tugging at the sides, my face probably as red as the dress from embarrassment.
Also, it isn’t lost on me that I could have walked in here covered in a trash bag, and it wouldn’t have mattered since we’ll be eating without any lights on. Maybe I would’ve felt more comfortable in the trash bag.
Still, as the host walks with me, I notice women regaled with designer clothing, expensive jewelry and heels, all wearing incredibly thick makeup. I cross my arms over my chest, feeling shabby compared to everyone else in the room.
Alexander’s has always known for being super posh. You know, not the right place for me at all.
My chin dips, and I move the rest of the way with my eyes to the ground.
Then, the host pushes open a door, and a room of darkness engulfs me.
In the pitch-black space, I let out a deep breath, willing my nerves to finally settle.
As my eyes start to adjust, tables come into focus, but not clearly. They’re more like blurry blobs against the dark floor and walls.
The man in black continues like it’s nothing, like he knows where every piece of furniture lies—probably because he does—and guides us deep into the restaurant. My vision still isn’t clear, but I hear people chatting. There’s a burst of laughter from a group at another table somewhere else in the room. Other servers, hardly visible, bouncing around from table to table.
On a quieter side of the dark space, the man in black finally stops.
He points a small flashlight down at the floor. In this light, I see a table before me, which I make my way toward. The flashlight just misses a figure rising in the dark. Although I can’t see the figure clearly, there’s still the faint profile of a man as he steps around to meet me.
Bruce.
“A server will be back to help you both,” the host says right before I see him leave. As he steps away, the only source is light fades until we’re back in utter blackness.
Bruce’s lips touch mine before I have a chance to say anything. His mouth lingers for an extra moment, and my insides flutter against my better judgement.
“You made it, beautiful,” Bruce says, the same fake, raspy voice I know well, as he pulls away. He reaches for my hands, clasping them gently in his as he leads us to our seats.
We slide into the booth together, sitting beside one another on the cushioned seat. His leg rests against mine, his hand still holding my own. My nerves move a mile a minute, and yet, in the darkness, I’m nowhere near my normal level of anxiety.
Did he do this more for me than for himself?
“I told you I’d be here,” I say. “Did you think I wouldn’t show?”
“I wasn’t sure with you, Nora.”
“I wouldn’t have ghosted you, dude whose real name I don’t even know.”
He lets out a soft chuckle. Even his laugh is the fake raspy.
“I deserve that,” he says, pulling my hand up and kissing the back of it, little tender kisses that make my heart jump.
I inhale, taking a deep breath. Attempting to steady my nerves before they go haywire again. But as he continues kissing my hand, covering every inch of skin, all my fears rear their ugly heads. I’m not good enough. Will never be enough. Should leave while I have the chance. My body stands before I know what I’m doing, like its own autopilot—it is on autopilot—and I start to pull away.
Bruce reaches for my hand before I even get beyond the end of the booth.
“Wait,” he says.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can. We don’t need to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. It’s dinner in the dark. That’s all it has to be.”
“That’s all it might be to you,” I say. “But what happens when this isn’t all it is to me? What then, when you’re stuck with a woman who wants something more? There. I said it. Is this finally enough to scare you away? I hope it is. I hope it scares you so much that you never want to talk to me again—because I can’t do this with you or anyone else. I decided that a long time ago.”
I turn to leave, but he gently tugs on my hand once more.
“You. Are . Enough. Nora.”
For the first time since I’ve met him, the gravelly hue to his voice vanishes completely. Beneath the rough fa?ade, there’s panic. A sense of urgency. Fear.
It hits me that he isn’t only changing his voice to mask his identity.
He’s also hiding who he is on the inside. Because he’s as scared as I am that people won’t accept who he really is. Some of the tension inside of me dissipates. This realization about him, this big revelation, causes me to let go of the guard I’ve kept up. My defensiveness shifts.
And then, finally, the dam that’s been holding back all the emotions I have for this man finally loses its fortitude.
The feelings rush in.
And I know they’re there.
I won’t be able to fight them now. Or leave. Or do anything rational.
“What?” is all I can choke out. Like I haven’t just heard what he’s said.
“You are worth more than you know.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. And anyone who ever made you feel otherwise was never worthy of your time.”
His soft voice hits me right in my chest cavity—his soft, normal, rich timbered voice. The real one. I just know it. The one that doesn’t sound like any celebrity (certainly not the strong voice I’ve heard Ryan Lane use the few times I’ve caught an interview). There’s so much vulnerability there with this man. He’s being honest with me.
I feel it in my soul.
We sit down together in silence. There’s so much more to say, but neither of us speaks. While we wait, a server returns with sparkling water and a bottle of champagne for the table. After confirming that neither of us has any allergies, the man explains that there will be three courses—a starter, an entrée, and then dessert—a pre-fix menu that he briefly discusses with us. Then, he’s gone, and it’s just me and Bruce—alone, again.
I take a sip of wine.
“I like your real voice better,” I tell him after working up the nerve.
“I like my real voice better, too,” he admits—the soft, melodious sound of it landing against my ears softly. “It’s easier.”
“Then why mask it?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Uncomplicate it. You like your real voice. So, use it. You’re the one trying to build me up. Why do you have such a problem showing the world who you are? You shouldn’t hide. Whoever made you feel like you should isn’t worth your time—not to sound like someone I know.”
He’s gently squeezing my hand. I hardly see him, but I swear he’s smiling. At least, it feels like he is.
Another moment passes between us. We’re sitting together, our fingers intertwined, saying absolutely nothing.
“Tell me why you’re not in a relationship,” he says randomly, his kind voice breaking through the silence.
“What kind of a question is that?”
“A good one.”
I shrug, not that he can see it. “How do I even answer that?”
“Okay, hold on. Let me ask it differently. How long ago was your last relationship, and why did it end?”
“Oof. That’s a bit of a story.”
“We have the table as long as we’d like.”
“I’ll answer. But just a warning, I’m going to ask you the same question in return.”
He laughs—and has no retort.
Fair enough.
“I broke things off with my ex two years ago,” I admit, thinking of my last relationship. “We fought a lot during most of the three years we were together. He’d get mad and say some really shitty things to me, which almost irked me to the point that I’d say something shitty back. It took everything in me each fight to hold my tongue. Still, I always believed we’d work through it. Until one day, I went grocery shopping on the way home, and I found him in one of the aisles, making out with an employee there.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. Ouch. That night, I packed up his things, and he moved out without question. Last I heard from a mutual friend, he’s still with her.”
“Probably cheating on her, too.”
“Probably. Maybe. I don’t know. Or maybe he cheated on me because I wasn’t enough.”
“Nora.” Although I can’t see him, I assume he’s raising a brow at me.
“Stop raising your brow at me,” I say, a slight grin on my face.
“You must have night vision.”
“No, I took a guess.”
“You guessed right. Now, stop putting yourself down. That ex of yours is a cheater. You realize he’s probably smacking lips with the next grocery store clerk, right? While his girlfriend sits at home and wonders.”
“When you put it that way,” I say sarcastically.
There’s a brief pause—and I know he’s doing it again. Staring at me like I’m crazy.
“She’s a lot prettier than me.” As if that’ll explain the whole thing. “And I’m sure she holds better conversations than I do, too. You know me enough at this point to know I’m not the greatest linguist in the world. For him, it was a no brainer.”
“I… am… wow… almost speechless. Listening to you defend some asshat. Look?—”
“Kinda hard to do that right now in the dark.”
He lets out a single laugh. Then, he sighs, his arms slinking up my sides.
Bruce gently tugs me in close, planting a soft kiss against my forehead. Heat radiates all through my body.
“You are something special, Nora,” he says.
I sense his eyes on me—and in my mind, he’s staring at me with an intensity unmatched by any other person who’s ever gazed my way.
“You answered my question, by the way,” he adds.
“About my last relationship? Uh, yeah? Of course I did.”
“Not that question. I now understand why you’re not in a relationship.”
“And why’s that?”
“You don’t know how wonderful you are, so I think you’ve blocked yourself off from most people.”
Now it’s my turn to cock a brow. If he somehow notices in the dark, he says nothing.
“Okay, okay okay. Let’s not make this entire conversation about me,” I say. “Why aren’t you in a relationship? And don’t say it’s because you’re Batman.”
“Damn. Okay. Fine. Well…” There’s a pause for a moment. “There was someone, actually.”
“Someone special,” I breathe, heart already racing. He’s got someone else in his life. Of course, he does. If this is Ryan Lane, it’s Jasmine—or any woman he wants, really. Not that I keep tabs on that, but I know enough to take a guess that Jasmine’s wonderful and the woman of his dreams and everything I could never be.
“I thought so. But…” There’s another pause. “Moment of truth for two people in the dark?”
I laugh. “Yeah, moment of truth.”
“In the past, I’ve always wanted the person I can’t have. The damsel in distress who I can save from her current, dick of a boyfriend.”
“Yet you’re in a restaurant with a woman who is as single as can be,” I say. “When are you going to walk away from me, Batman?”
He leans over, pressing his forehead against mine. After another brief pause, he plants a soft kiss against my head.
“I don’t think I can,” he says softly.
“Even if I want this, too?”
“Even more so if you want this, too. And I’ve never been this way.”
There’s another pause.
I swallow, finding the courage to say the words on my mind.
“There’s some weird, cosmic connection here… isn’t there? It’s not just me?”
“Yes,” he breathes. “It’s not just you.”
“Yet you still won’t tell me who you are.”
“I can’t .”
Bruce plants a soft, sensual kiss on my mouth. He sucks on my bottom lip before releasing. I let out a soft pant. His hands start playing with the material of my dress, and I’m tracing a finger over one of his buttons near the bottom of his shirt. Between this, and knowing how he feels about me, my libido suddenly races into overdrive.
“Dinner might be shorter than expected,” is all he says.
“This is it,” he says, as I hear the creaking of a door as it shuts behind us. Everything is dark—masked by the blindfold covering my eyes. “Nice space, huh?”
“You’re funny,” I say—of course recognizing that I, in fact, agreed to this blindfolding business. Call me a glutton for punishment.
“And you’re cute.”
His lips meet mine as we jerk into a wall, ravenously stealing kiss after kiss. He scoops me up into his arms, and I feel us lift, as if we’re climbing stairs, and then we move a bit more. Eventually, he leans me against the most comfortable mattress I’ve ever been on.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” he asks again, voice raspy but in the normal sort of raspy way. It’s been nice hearing his real voice.
“Yes,” I admit, reaching for the belt he’s wearing and undoing the clasp.
He plants soft kisses against my neck as I help him shimmy out of his dress pants. (At least, it feels like he’s shimmying). I slide down his boxers before cupping my hand around his dick. He lets out a quick, audible breath as I stroke.
“Not… fair,” he moans out, slipping a hand under my dress. He slips inside my underwear, slowly tracing a finger along the opening.
His gently inserts a finger, then two, swirling around. My mouth opens.
Then, it’s as if we’re one, and we each move back together against the bed. He slips off my dress. I slip off my underwear. Then I blindly reach for the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning.
“You’re at the last one,” he breathes, and I blindly help him undress out of it with him guiding my hands.
My back is flush against the mattress. His arms wrap around me. Then, he leans down, and I feel his naked body against mine. Chiseled, rock solid abs. Muscular legs. Toned arms.
There’s not an ounce of fat on this man, which instantly makes me remember my body isn’t up to par with his. I tense up.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Do you want to slow things down?”
“No, not at all. It’s just… your body. You’ve got a perfect one… and I’m fat.”
“Fat? Oh, no, no, no.” He runs a hand along my thigh, along my waist, along arm. “Your body is fit and gorgeous.”
“Very funny.”
He softly brings my hand down to his dick. His very hard dick.
“What does this tell you, beautiful?” he breathes, before he captures my mouth in his once more. Our lips find one another again. While his hands masterfully glide across my sides, touching me in ways I’ve never been touched before.
With one swift, perfect movement, he slips inside of me—gently, not forcefully. With the right touch. We both let out a soft gasp, his hands working up along my body, until he’s running a hand through my hair. Our foreheads meet, bodies grinding against one another in sync.
Maybe it’s the blindfold. Maybe it’s the amount of trust I already feel toward a man I hardly know.
But all my anxiety floats away. I sink into this man’s touch; I allow myself to bond with him, to lower the guards that surround my heart. To envision a world where we’re connected forever.
That image feels so right it’s scary.
It dawns on me that I could slip off my blindfold in this moment, see everything I need to see. But that feels like it’s betraying something special. Like, for now, this is how things are meant to be.
He kisses my jawline—sweet, tender kisses. While I run my hands along his back.
The climax steals my breath from me as our bodies squeeze together. We move as one, intwined, the release ripping through me. I can’t see Bruce, but I see everything about this moment.
And I have to stop myself, bite my lip, from saying the words that want to leave my mouth.
I love you.
Those three, dangerous, little words.