Chapter 25
RAINE
The inside of the massive town car felt tiny before, but with Roark’s smoke swirling above his head, I’m feeling lightheaded.
I glance over at him and then at the binders in the wheel well.
With Roark here I won’t do any work. On the positive side, my motion sickness won’t kick in, or at least not as bad as if I was trying to read.
“The village has grown a lot since we started living here. All the restaurants and stores on your right are new.” The growl in his voice is gone.
I lean toward the window. “They all look like they’ve been there a hundred years or so.”
“No, they’re new.”
“What’s your definition of new?”
He laughs but doesn’t answer. I watch the village disappear. Somewhere in there is the little hotel that I’ve booked my sister for Friday night.
We’re long past the town and heading through the valley, past small cottages and the occasional modern house. It’s so green here, and the sky is the bluest of blues I’ve ever experienced.
He names the other small towns we drive through before we get on the highway.
Even without him here, I doubt I would have pulled out my work.
It’s too beautiful, too different from home.
The Allegheny mountains are beautiful, but they’re not the Alps.
Most of these are topped with snow, though it’s eighty degrees here in the valley.
Somehow, Roark has slipped across the seat and his leg is pressed against mine. I haven’t said anything. Because I don’t want him to move away. And that’s crazy. I kissed his friend, his . . . business partner? I’m still not sure what they are to each other.
He leans forward, his shoulders turning to look out my window.
“There—there is the old watch tower. It’s the tallest building in this district.
” His finger lands on my window, and my pulse pounds a fast rhythm through my body.
His cheek is an inch away from mine. I close my eyes.
He smells so good, like sage and mahogany.
“It’s majestic.” I slowly turn my head away from the view as it vanishes at highway speeds. “You must really like it to be that enthusiastic about it.”
There’s a warm chuckle form him. “No, I just want to get closer to you.” His other hand lands on my cheek, cupping it. My lips part, and his land on mine.
His kiss is different than Evander’s that night. It was frantic. Relief. This is control and dominance. I’m not a duchess in his arms but a little kitten waiting for him to tell me what to do.
His tongue passes between my lips, prodding into my mouth, and I’m liquid in his arms. My hand grasps his forearm. Rock solid. My other hand lands on his chest. I’m a swirl of emotion. My skin’s on fire. I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted a man more.
His other hand is at the back of my neck. He holds me to him. I want him to take control.
But then my damn brain starts. He’s my boss, a boss who has more secrets than I know facts about him. I pull back. My lips are swollen from his kiss. “I . . .”
“It’s okay, Raine. I shouldn’t have. Forgive me.” He bows his head to me.
“Uh, there’s nothing to forgive.”
He leans back in the leather town car seat. “I feel the same way. You are beautiful and smart, Raine. But I shouldn’t have kissed you. My apologies.”
“Because Evander kissed me?”
“No, this has nothing to do with my—with Evander.”
Then it has something to do with Kieren? But I’m not going to say it. I touch my swollen lips and turn back to the passing scenery. We’re definitely entering the city proper. “Are we almost there?”
“Yes,” Roark says. The car turns into a parking lot. The street is mostly businesses and restaurants. “We’re here.” He jumps out and opens the door for me, taking my hand. I bring my bag with my papers but leave my folders behind.
“Thank you, Percy,” I say to the darkened front window.
“This way.” Roark takes off with his long strides. Leo gave me the address. I check it on my phone, confirming we’re at the right place.
“This looks like a restaurant.” I slow my focus, going from him to the number on the building.
“It is. Leopold made an arrangement to talk to the agent here instead of having to go into the government building.”
“Okay,” I say slowly.
A ma?tre d’ stands at the front. “Ah, Mr. Lang,” he says with a French accent. “Your party is waiting for you. Follow me.”
The rest of the restaurant is empty, even though it’s lunchtime. He leads us into a private dining room to the side. The place smells wonderful.
A middle-aged woman in a beige suit sits at a table in the middle of the room. She has a glass of water, bread crumbs on the table tell me she has already eaten. She stands when she sees us approach. “Mr. Lang. Nice to see you again.”
“Same. This is Raine Fischer. Raine, this is Berit Hoff-Larsen.”
“Yes, thank you for coming all the way to Zurich with your paperwork.” Her red bob falls to the sides of her cheeks. She’s got a government ID attached to her suit collar. I’m not an expert on Swiss IDs—or any IDs, for that matter—but it looks real.
“Of course. I apologize. I really thought I had filled everything out fully. I’ve been taught to pay attention to details. I’m really shocked that I messed something up.” I leave off the my-father’s-a-lawyer portion of the story. That tends to come off as a threat, when I don’t mean it to at all.
“Oh, your paperwork was done very well. Better than most. You were selected for a random interview. It’s a way of double-checking both you and our system. I’m sure this will go smoothly.”
“Okay.” It’s like a weight lifts off my shoulders. I was never in trouble in school—well, not until my parents pulled funding during the fall semester of my senior year—but I can imagine it would’ve felt like that.
The next twenty minutes fly by.
“I think that’s all I need,” Berit says, giving Roark an odd look. One I can’t figure out. It makes me oddly jealous, though.
“Really, that wasn’t too bad.”
“Exactly. If you want to extend your stay, make sure you follow protocols.” Berit tucks her computer into her bag and shakes my hand and then Roark’s. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“How is Arthur?”
“He’s good.”
“And the kids?”
“Growing like weeds. My oldest is a good foot taller than I am now. Thank you for asking.” She heads for the door and waves when she makes her way out.
“She was nice,” I say. “I couldn’t place her accent, though. It didn’t sound French, German, or Swiss.”
“Norwegian. She’s lived here for thirty years or so, though.”
“Oh,” I say.
“Since we’re here, we should have lunch.”
“Oh, I don’t know if here is a good idea? Wren always says if a restaurant isn’t busy, it’s for a reason.”
“In this case, it’s because I bought out all the tables but the ones they already had reservations for.”
“Oh,” I say, sounding more and more like a hooting owl, and sink into my chair.
“I’ve already asked them to make us a table upstairs.” Roark rounds the table and takes my hand. “This way.”
We go up two floors and come out into a smaller space.
There’s a bar on the far side of the room.
The windows are arched like a solarium, and doors open out onto a small balcony.
There’s maybe five tables inside, but Roark takes me outside, where there are three smaller tables.
Only one is set. But I don’t sit. The restaurant has a view of the lake straight ahead, and to the side you can see part of the old city, and beyond, the new government center.
“Wow.” A ferry is taking off from the dock below.
“Breathtaking, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“This is one of my favorite places in Zurich.”
“Not your favorite?”
“No. Maybe we’ll have time for that another day.”
I nod as if we’re going to be making regular sojourns to the city. We stand side by side for a long time, until the shoes of the server scuff across the tiles behind us.
“Good afternoon. I’m happy to take care of you. Your first course is ready when you are.”
“Do you need more time?” Roark asks. He motions to the lake.
“I’m ready.” I turn and catch him staring at me. His eyes are heated, so much so that it makes my breath hitch. He can’t be feeling the same way I am. Can he?
Roark helps me into my chair. It’s silly, but each and every time, it makes me feel special. The menus are gone. He reaches across the table and takes my hand, interlocking our fingers. His thumb gently glides over the back of my hand, sending goosebumps up my arm.
“You ordered already?” I ask.
“I did. Leopold said you don’t have any allergies.”
“That’s true.”
His blue eyes glow brightly at me, and the rest of the restaurant fades away. “I hope you like it. No worries if you don’t. No need to eat it.”
That’s a big difference from the one other time I let a guy order for me. Jeff—he thought he was being suave ordering a preset menu. But when the food wasn’t great, he glared at me when I didn’t eat much. I ended up cleaning my plate and was rewarded with food poisoning the next day.
This meal isn’t like that one at all. Everything they bring is fantastic.
“I think you’re going to have to roll me down the stairs.”
“Or carry you.” He sweeps me into his arms and goes straight out the front door.
“You didn’t—”
“When you buy out a restaurant, they take payment upfront.” He chuckles and places me in the back seat of the car before climbing in next to me. “You know how to say no?” he whispers, his chin in the crook of my neck.
“I do.”