Chapter 12
Ava
In all the years I’d known Dane, from teenagerhood until now, I’d never once seen him wear designer clothes.
It was worth the wait.
I had to play it cool. I couldn’t let on that the sight of him in those perfectly tailored dress pants made me want to unzip them, or that his shoulders in that shirt were a girl’s wet dream. I didn’t want him to know how tempted I was to run my tongue along the line of his jaw beneath his trimmed beard, or how the sight of his bare ass walking into the bedroom kept replaying itself in my head.
They say that when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. When I was about to die, I knew I’d see Dane Scotland’s tight, muscled bare ass.
I wasn’t the only one suffering the effects. The hostess at Nobu, who had probably seen her share of gorgeous celebrities, looked a little gobsmacked at the sight of Dane. The second hostess, who led us into our private dining room, giggled softly when Dane hadn’t even spoken a word. She left us with a bow and another giggle, then slid the bamboo door closed.
Dane looked around. Nobu was known as a place where the elite came to have private conversations in a place where they wouldn’t be stared at. There was a main dining room in the front, but the back half of the restaurant consisted of small private dining rooms, lit with paper lamps and closed off by bamboo doors. There was a low table, made for eating while sitting on the floor, and the floor was lined with tatami mats. It was private, but through the bamboo we could hear the murmured conversation in the dining room next door. Nobu was a place of hushed, respectful conversations, spoken civilly over expensive portions of food.
I thought Kaito Okada, the former sushi mogul, would like it. But it was best for Dane to do a practice run first.
“What is this?” Dane said, perplexed. “And why were those women acting so weird?”
“Take off your shoes,” I said, removing my heeled sandals. “It’s what’s considered polite. This is our private dining room. And those women were giggling because you’re hot.”
Dane grunted, caveman-style, as he removed his shoes. That was his only comment about his hotness. “Do we kneel to eat?”
“Yes, or you can sit cross-legged. There are cushions to sit on.”
We each took a cushion and sat on it, cross-legged, facing each other across the table. There was a small button at the head of the table, and when I pressed it the door slid open and a server in slippers came in, pouring us cups of green tea from a fragrant teapot.
“Where do you normally eat?” I asked Dane when the server had left.
“At home,” he replied. In the dim lamplight, his eyes were dark, his cheekbones shadowed. “I order groceries or takeout. I’ve always been able to cook for myself—nothing fancy, but I can do the basics. I’ve had a lot of smoothies since I started working out. Don’t they have menus here?”
“There’s only one meal,” I said. “You eat whatever they serve, and you like it.” I ran a finger along one of the smooth, dark chopsticks on the table. “What about when you’re on a date? Where do you eat then?”
Dane scowled at me. “We’re not talking about that.”
“I’m just curious.” Dane and I had never been on a date. We’d never even been in public together, which was backward considering all we went through. I wondered what Dane was like on a date with a woman who wasn’t me. Was he charming and romantic? Did he try to impress her? Did he even make conversation, or did he just grunt and hope she liked it?
She probably liked it.
Even though this was a paid job and not a date, sitting alone with Dane in this intimate little room, it kind of felt like one. “Who were your girlfriends, anyway?” I asked him.
He was still scowling; I could tell he hated this subject. “There were only two.”
“I know. I never knew you to date all those years ago. I’m trying to picture who they were.”
Dane scratched his beard, thinking. “Well, one of them danced for the Joffrey.”
My teacup clanked to the table. “The ballet?” I cleared my throat. “You dated a ballerina?”
“I guess that’s what you could say she was.”
“You never leave your penthouse. Where did you meet a ballerina?”
“At a fundraiser thing. I didn’t want to go.” He shrugged. “It turned out okay, I suppose.”
Great. That was just great. “What did the other one do?”
Dane was starting to look confused. “What does it matter?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, thinking of all the potheads and would-be DJ’s I’d wasted my time on. “Just tell me.”
“Well, she’d just emigrated here from France. She was an executive at Chanel.”
“Chanel.” I stared at him. “The designer, Chanel.”
“Right. I met her at a fundraiser, too.”
“Let me get this straight, Scotland,” I said, my voice probably too loud for the quiet restaurant. “You left your penthouse exactly twice in the last seven years, and the first time you managed to meet a ballerina from the Joffrey, and the second time you managed to meet an executive from Chanel. And both of them liked you enough to date you.”
“Something like that,” Dane said. He definitely sounded uncomfortable.
I hit the button on the table, and when the server appeared, I said, “Sake. I need sake. And bring the first course.”
“I don’t get it,” Dane said when the server left again. “Who cares who they were? They’re both long gone.”
“Sure,” I said. The server came in with the sake, and when she poured it I took a large, fiery sip. “I had a law school dropout ghost me, and even though you’re a hermit you dated a French Chanel executive and a woman who weighs a hundred and ten soaking wet and can bend over backward.”
His eyebrows rose. “Are you jealous?”
“I am not jealous. Absolutely not.”
“You seem jealous.”
“No, I seem very large and very poor. That’s not the same thing.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but the server came in with the first course. She put several small dishes in front of us—sushi, seaweed, roe, ginger, wasabi. I kept my eyes down until she left, but I could feel Dane’s gaze on me, steady and unwavering. When the server left, I took another bolt of sake, feeling it burn my throat.
My stomach turned. I wasn’t hungry. I had no idea what was wrong with me.
Without a word, Dane stood. Ignoring the food, he circled around the table, coming behind me. He sank to his knees, his thighs bracketing me, his chest against my back.
I jumped as if I’d been burned. I felt his breath land softly against my neck. “You’re wound tight,” he said.
I made a choked sound. Every nerve in my body was firing, ripples of sensation moving over my skin. Dane was warm against me, his chest and stomach hard, his body hot through the layers of our clothes. Except for the kiss last night, when I’d felt all of him, I hadn’t touched Dane in so many years. I hadn’t even shaken his hand.
My brain told me to pull away, but my body wasn’t having it. My body leaned back into his of its own accord, seeking the long-lost familiarity of Dane. A shaky breath left my lungs as my shoulders relaxed back, as I breathed in his scent, as my kneeling legs eased open to press against his.
His hands came up and he put his palms to my shoulders, then moved them down my bare arms. I was already wet at that single touch, the slide of his palms over my skin. The throbbing deep in my belly that I knew so well started up, thrumming inside me. The same feeling I’d had so many times around Dane, including that first night when I got into bed with him. It was mindless hunger, primal and hot. From the very first, I had always been hungry for this man.
“What do you want me to say?” Dane said softly, moving his hands to my breasts and cupping them knowingly through my dress. “Do you want me to say that those other women weren’t you? Because they weren’t, Ava. They weren’t even fucking close.”
I shivered, the movement obvious against him. His response was to let out a breath that was laced with pain and to move his hands down to the hem of my dress, slowly pushing it up. Between his muscled, dark-clad thighs, my own pale thighs appeared, inch by inch.
I should stop this. We were in a restaurant, with people who could hear us in the other private rooms. There were servers somewhere outside the sliding door. We were nearly in public, and what was he going to do? Fuck me? Dear God, let him fuck me.
“Dane,” I whispered.
His teeth grazed my earlobe, the skin of my neck. “Relax,” he whispered back, as if he didn’t want the neighbors to hear either. His palms were warm and sure as they moved up the smooth flesh of my inner thighs. “I know you, Ava. More than anyone.”
My thighs relaxed like jelly under Dane’s touch, then pressed wider to accommodate him. He was right: he knew me. His hands knew every contour of my skin, and his breath against my neck matched mine. He had kissed me last night, then pulled away. That taste of him had made me crazy, made me want to crawl out of my skin every time I looked at him. But now being in my skin was the best thing that had ever happened to me. If he stopped, I would lose my mind.
“I’m not going to stop,” Dane said, and I realized I’d said that last part out loud. Then his teeth grazed the skin of my neck, and his fingers moved under my panties and between my legs.
I bit my lip and pressed onto him, seeking the sensation. My body wasn’t reluctant, and there was no reason to pretend it was. Besides, I didn’t have the energy to pretend. I was too focused on how fast he could make me come.
I was soaked and slick, and his fingertips moved easily over my flesh, dipping inside me and rubbing, making me ache. I gasped and moved my hips, trying to get him where I wanted him, and his free hand gripped my thigh, holding me in place. Then, slowly, his torturing fingers moved out of me, up to my clit, circling it, then giving it a slow, luxurious rub. Because Dane Scotland knew everything about what made my body scream. Everything.
My hand gripped his forearm, my nails digging into him through his sleeve. I closed my eyes and became nothing but a swirl of sensation, spiraling up into the sky like smoke. Dane rubbed me just like I liked it, circling my clit and then brushing lightly over it, following that with a gentle press of his thumb. Again, and then again. One more time.
The orgasm shivered up from deep in my belly, tensing my thighs as it shook me. I bit back a cry and rode the wave, my body hungry for every drop of pleasure. After a long minute I let out a breath and sagged back against Dane as his hand reluctantly left my throbbing skin and pulled down my dress.
For a second, I was euphoric. There was no other word for it. I didn’t care where we were, that Dane and I had broken up a long time ago. I just felt so freaking good. I put my hand on his thigh, started to slide it upward. “What about you?” I asked, whispering as a soft conversation went on in the next room.
Dane’s arm came around my waist and a growl came from his throat. He’d never made that sound before—possessive, primal, male. I shivered at the sound of it.
But his free hand came down over mine, stopping its progress. “You know what I want,” he said roughly, his voice low. “You, in a bed. All mine. No one around and no time limits. So I can do anything to you I want, for as long as I want.” He let go of me, slid back, his heat leaving me. “Nothing else will ever fucking do.”
And with that, Dane stood and silently left the room.