One #3
“You wear glasses?” He couldn’t imagine her in them, but the idea turned him on. Flashes of her standing in a library, glasses sliding down her thin nose while looking over the teachings of Pythagoras filled his head. He was instantly hard. Fuck.
“I’ve needed glasses since I was a kid.” She pointed at her eyes. “Contacts. I wish I could wear the colored ones. A blue would be nice, don’t you think? But I have a … stigma and the colored ones are hard to find for that condition.”
His brow creased. “You mean astigmatism?”
“Yes. Sorry.” She shrugged. “English words. Sometimes I fumble them.”
He found her attempt unguardedly charming. “I think your eyes are pretty the color they are.” They were brown, but the most shimmering shade, a deep agate with flecks as vibrant as tourmaline and quartz.
Her head tipped to the right, the candlelight reflecting in the dark highlights of her ebony hair. “You do? They are too dark, no?”
“Not at all. They’re so dark they’re almost crystalline. They’re … exotic.” The moment the words left his mouth mortification choked him. What was he doing? He didn’t flirt.
Clearing his throat—a nervous tick he wasn’t used to—he reached for the drink menu. God, he didn’t know what half these things were. “What do you like to drink?”
Steepling her fingers she laughed, the melodic chortle drawing his body to full attention, every decibel an erotic stroke up his spine. “I think tonight is a night for tequila.”
Shit. If she was going with hard liquor he’d have to keep pace. “Sounds good.” He placed the drink menu back where it had been.
His neck heated as he searched for a waitress. Maybe the bar was out of tequila. When he spotted a server he raised a finger catching her attention. As the waitress approached, his drink order played like an untried script in his head and he prayed not to botch his words.
“What can I get for you?” the waitress asked, dropping two cocktail napkins on their table.
“Two tequilas, please.”
The waitress raised a brow as if waiting for more information—information he didn’t have. Damn it. He was definitely sweating.
Nadia leaned in, all charm and grace as if she and the waitress were old friends. “Make it two Patrons on the rocks with a splash of water and a twist of lime, please.”
The waitress nodded in complete understanding. When they were again alone, Nadia smirked. “Not a tequila drinker?”
His face heated. “Not usually.”
“You could have ordered something else.”
But he didn’t have a clue what something else might be. Better to trust her taste. “I’m not opposed to trying new things.” That was a lie. But for some reason, when it came to her, he’d try almost anything.
The waitress returned with two stout cocktails, clear liquor frosting the glass.
Nadia lifted hers. “Egészségére. Or ... to health, as you say.”
Lifting his glass he tapped it to hers. “Cheers.”
She took a long sip, giving the misleading impression of smoothness. Tipping his glass back he balked as the sharp, putrid burn hit his tongue. Disguising his dislike, he closed his lips and lowered the drink. Hers was a quarter empty while his looked untouched.
“Do you like it?”
No. “Sure.”
She laughed. “You don’t have to lie, Elliot. We can get you something else.”
As she turned to find the waitress he snatched up his glass. “No, it’s fine.”
His esophagus scorched as the fiery liquid burned its way to his belly. Oh, God… Everything inside of him wanted to send it back up.
“You have a reckless side to you, I think,” she teased and smiled, her full lips pursing. He’d drink poison to keep her looking at him like that.
She sipped her drink again and he did the same, forcing the swallow of what might as well be battery acid down his throat. Silence hung heavily with every passing second. Within a minute the conversation had gone from cordial to complicated. That quickly, they’d run out of things to say.
He had to keep it going before she finished her drink. “So that man,” he hedged, refusing to use the term lover. “How long have you known him?”
Her thumb dragged over the frost of her glass leaving a dewy trail. “A few months. We were never supposed to live together, but…” She shrugged. “I suppose it’s pointless to live somewhere else when you wake up in that person’s bed every morning.”
His knuckle brushed his Adam’s apple as he loosened his tie. His mind fumbled over images of Nadia in a bed. Did she wear pajamas? What color were her panties? He wasn’t sure if he was even blinking.
“Did you love him?” he rasped.
She laughed dryly. “No.”
“But you were … lovers.”
Now she was really laughing. “Didn’t you ever have a lover just because they were good in bed? Satisfied an itch?”
His face burned. There had been that horrid episode on his twenty-fifth birthday when Jet sent a woman to his hotel room.
Flashes of how fast he’d humiliated himself made him shove the memory back to the farthest recesses of his mind.
The only purpose that night served was to get the guys off his back about still being a virgin.
Little did they know the only thing that woman left with was a stain on her skirt and pity in her eyes.
He refused to address the subject when they asked about it in the days that followed.
Glancing at Nadia, her flawless skin, and those full lips, he couldn’t imagine ever embarrassing himself like that in front of her.
The other woman meant nothing—a stranger.
But Nadia… She was the only woman who ever made him lose sight of his limits long enough to consider the possibility of something more.
Foolish. Part of him hated that she tempted hope where there was none.
A dark sense of inadequacy blanketed him, snuffing out all ambition where she was concerned. His gaze dropped to his barely touched drink. This was a mistake. “It’s getting late. I should go. Do you need a ride?”
“We just got here.”
He shook his head, unable to catch his breath or meet her gaze. His tie was choking him and he had no business speaking to her about such personal matters.
Itching to leave, his hand brushed the strap of his bag hanging from his stool. “Will you be okay?”
“Did I offend you?” Her voice turned low as she eased closer, not helping matters.
“No, but you’re probably tired and—”
“Please don’t go.” Her fingers brushed his and he stopped breathing, blinked at her perfect nails. “You haven’t even finished your drink.”
His neck prickled. Why did she make him so self-conscious? He was Elliot Garnet, co-founder, and CEO of GeekPeek. His net worth left men like Warren Buffet jealous. Yet, he was absolutely powerless when it came to her.
Easing his weight back into the chair, he nodded and brushed away the trace of perspiration gathering beneath the rims of his glasses. She slid his cocktail forward, suggesting he take a sip without speaking a word.
Ice rattled as he lifted his drink to his lips, draining it with a swallow so large it hurt his throat. He sputtered, welcoming the burn and praying it might fortify his courage—or knock him out.
As surreal as her presence was, it was equally painful. The bizarre circumstances that led him here were unprecedented and too improbable to ever happen again. Leave it to him to spoil a once in a lifetime opportunity.
Her eyes studied him as he set the glass of ice on the table. Her chin dipped, commending his effort, just before raising her own glass and emptying it as well. Suddenly, the whole situation seemed comical, so he chuckled roughly.
She laughed as well, soft and delicate. Her posture relaxed as her long arms draped over the edge of the table.
“I like your laugh. It’s deep the way a man’s laugh should be. Tell me about yourself, Elliot. I think I want to know you better.”
His humor vanished, as did his hard-on. He had a Googleplex of questions for her, but not one interesting thing to share about himself. Shit. “How about another drink?”
He needed time and alcohol to ease the sting of what was likely going to be one of the most humiliating evenings of his life. He flagged down the waitress and pointed to their empty glasses then turned his attention back to Nadia. “What do you want to know?”