Chapter 29
Tabitha
I was late, which wasn’t like me at all, but we’d found last-minute typos in a piece that needed to be fixed.
I’d rushed out of work, gym bag in hand, without doing my planned last-minute shower, makeup, and hair refresh at the gym.
Instead, I’d had to make do with a quick change in the work loos.
I’d wanted to be me, and comfortable, so I’d packed a stretchy black skater dress with a low sweetheart neckline that flared at the waist. My work flats had seemed too sweet, so I’d thrown in my spiky red heels to add some excitement.
I thought about taking off my string of pearls but decided that was a bridge too far.
But as the smartly uniformed attendant opened the door, I had a crisis of confidence. I was worried that we might not have as much to talk about in a formal environment, that things would feel different here.
Stop overthinking, Tabs. Things were really good between us.
Not just that silvery-around-the-edges sexual tension.
But fun, where I could wear my granny nightie and we could joke about it.
But I didn’t bring my granny nightie today.
I’d even worn my Saturday night specials—my black satin underwear—in anticipation he might see them.
The Baronial Lair was already heaving with people at the bar, and most of the tables were full.
The vast room was a perfect mix of glittery purple, pink, and gold, with a huge open fire.
Waiters dressed in tartan moved across a carpeted floor.
I was energized, then overwhelmed by the space and panicked internally about not being able to find Tim seated at a table.
Then I found him, near the bar that dazzled with mirrors and pretty bottles and colorful glassware.
Tim stood out from the crowd, literally towering over their heads.
He was on his feet watching the entry doors, and my heart pounded.
He was very obviously waiting for me, not pretending to be having a drink.
Oh God, I loved that. His face sparked with recognition, and he immediately strode over to me.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I said, although he’d gotten my message. “I’m never late.”
“Like I said, don’t worry. It’s not a problem.”
“You know I hate keeping people waiting.”
“Tabs, I’ll always wait for you.”
I took him in. His usually mussed-up hair was smoothed back, his dark gray jacket sharpened his shoulders, and the slight shine of his gray shirt brought out the lights in his brown eyes.
His wool pants tried to hang straight but couldn’t quite smooth over the muscled thighs that pressed against the fabric.
He looked incredible, and not for the first time, I thought, this man would really know how to throw a woman around in bed. And the glint in his eyes, the curve to his lips, hinted that after said throwing, he’d know his way around a woman’s body.
A lot of throwing and knowing, and it was making every nerve in my body tingle.
“I’m just glad you’re here.” He touched my arm as he held my gaze. “You look beautiful, Tabitha.” His voice was low and gentle and soft, sending sensuous ripples throughout my body.
“Thank you.” I was so nervous, I was about to blurt out something bizarre, like what my dad would say. Gosh, you scrub up jolly well too, old pal. But I stopped myself and went for what I really thought. “And you look very handsome.”
He smiled. “Thank you.” He glanced at the ma?tre d’, who’d swooped by. “I’m sorry, I don’t think there’s time for a drink at the bar. They want us to be seated.”
I wanted more than anything to sit at that bar.
The stools were very close, and I could have breathed in his cologne, which smelled like fresh grass mixed with an unsettling note of sawed wood, and sneak peeks at him in the vintage gold mirror without being obvious.
But I was almost relieved because I knew I’d also be worried about where I’d put my knees and hands, not to mention sliding off the stool.
We were led to our table, a pink velvet banquette in a secluded corner. Tim steered me with his large, warm hand on the small of my back, sending sparks of anticipation up my spine.
Sliding into the banquette, I ran my hand over the back of the soft velvet seat, gazed happily up at the sparkly chandeliers, and laughed.
I laughed stupidly at the perfection of the restaurant’s shimmering old-world glamour and charm, amid the soft lighting and roaring fire.
This was the place Ishani and Sunny had talked about at the pub.
Gosh, that seemed a century ago. At the time, I hadn’t been as interested as I usually was, and I wondered if I’d finally tired of London.
But I loved everything about this place.
Why hadn’t I been to this restaurant sooner?
Because my life has become consumed by work and Mum and Dad’s continuing nonsense and various crises.
My stomach dipped at the thought of my parents, so I pushed all those thoughts away. I wanted to soak up Tim next to me in this marvelous room.
“If I were to design my dream restaurant, this would be it.”
He grinned. “Well, good. I did a lot of Googling and asking around, and when I saw photos of this place, I thought of you.”
I looked back at him. His reply was so honest, and I appreciated how much effort he’d made. His intense gaze caused my chest to tighten, and my belly erupted into butterflies.
“Well, you did good, as the Americans say.” Oh Tabs, what a dorky thing to say. “So, you must have been sick of concrete after Sunday,” I blurted.
His eyes bored into mine. “I don’t want to talk about the show… Do you?”
My breathing went shallow. Even though his eyes never dropped below my chin, I could feel my every pulse as though he’d traced down my body with a lazy, lingering gaze. I almost had to look away.
“No, not really,” I murmured. “What should we talk about?”
“Good evening, madam. Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Baronial Lair. Would you like a drink to start?”
I startled at the waiter, who’d popped our little bubble.
Tim turned to me. “Tabs?”
I breathed out. “Yes. A glass of champagne, please.” Better not drink too much tonight.
“I’ll have the same,” Tim said.
I looked at him as the waiter headed off and raised an eyebrow. “You drink champagne?”
“Yes, I drink champagne.” He wagged his head, mock-offended, back to the old Tim. “I’m not a complete philistine.” He winked at me. “Well, one glass.”
The waiter returned quickly with our drinks.
I took a sip. “Ooh, that’s good.”
“Better than that cheap sparkling cider we tasted when we were thirteen?” Tim grimaced. “Just before you went away for boarding school?”
“Ugh. I can’t even smell cider without my stomach turning.”
His grin about our in-joke made my stomach flip-flop in a way not related to the drinks.
“A toast to being grown up and having better booze,” he said.
We clinked our glasses together, and his blazing gaze disarmed me. I went to sip my drink but took a swig to recover my senses.
We talked for a while about all the dreadful boozy drinks we drank growing up. We started to relax and brush up against each other, his leg grazing mine, his arm touching mine, like a little dance, trying to get closer but pretending it wasn’t happening.
“Thanks for having dinner with me,” he said. “I was really looking forward to this.”
“To joint ventures and voluminous nightgowns,” I said, offering my glass to him. Ugh. Why didn’t I just say, Me too? I was still so nervous. “Thank you for inviting me, Tim,” I said.
He lifted his glass and clinked the edge of mine. His fingers brushed mine, sending an electric shock up my arm that was way out of proportion to how little of our skin had touched.
Sincere now, I held his gaze, feeling myself melt under his velvety brown eyes. “I was looking forward to it too.” And I had been. Each day, when not thinking about work and deadlines, my mind had slipped to Tim, wondering what he was doing.
And now we were here, and it felt so right.