Chapter 3
Casey
New Orleans, evening…
All through dinner I hadn’t been able to get Grant Abbot off my mind.
Not as Nate and I shared an appetizer of herbed olives.
Not as I worked my way through a delicious Creole tomato tart while he ate the crab beignets.
And not even through a round of celebratory champagne he’d ordered for us during dinner at Poisson, a small French bistro in a white, two-story house with large picture windows that looked out onto the bustling and busy Bourbon Street.
Inside, a torch singer crooned in the corner of the restaurant.
I was half present, and half still hanging out a few hours ago.
I hadn’t gone into the meeting with Grant expecting anything more than the chance to close a deal. Sure, in the back of my mind I’d hoped for more, but it had seemed like a long shot. Now I had a…deal and well, a date on my calendar a month from now.
But my suitor spoke a language I barely understood. Most men did. Since, well, my romance language seemed to be “I’ll handle everything.”
That needed to change.
And I was sure Nate could decipher the language. I was dying to tell him all about Grant. We’d shared plenty before, and he knew the ins and outs of my stalled romantic life. Still, I’d been looking for the right moment to spill the details.
Perhaps over dessert, because the waiter appeared with a chocolate lava cake that looked so delicious my mouth watered.
“Your Molten Pleasure,” he said, using the official name of the dessert while grandly setting it on the white linen tablecloth, before returning to the kitchen.
“My chef said this is the best chocolate cake in town, and that’s saying something, because the one we have at the hotel is pretty damn fantastic,” Nate said.
“You’re getting me all excited now,” I said as I picked up my fork, ready to dive in. I pointed to the cake as he finished off the remainder of his champagne. “You’re going to have some, right?”
He laughed and nodded, his amber eyes even warmer than usual when he smiled. He had one of the best smiles I’d ever seen. Plus, he had great teeth—straight and white, the kind that told you he took care of himself. “Yes. I’m going to have some. I just wanted to finish my drink first.”
I dipped my fork into the soft cake and brought it to my lips.
But before I bit down, I flashed back to Grant’s words, and the way he’d ordered my drink.
Taking control. Wanting to handle things.
Could I hand over the reins like he wanted?
As Nate dug into the cake, I sniffed an opportunity.
An odd one, but an opportunity nonetheless.
I set down my fork.
He eyed it curiously. “I thought you were excited to eat it?”
I swallowed, then spoke softly. “I have a request,” I squeaked out.
“You want me to ask her to play the Pina Colada song?” he said, gesturing to the sultry singer in the slinky cream-colored dress, gripping a microphone tight as she sang about love gone wrong.
I laughed and shook my head. Just woman up and ask him to do it. I called on my best demure voice. “Would you feed me a bite of the cake?”
He furrowed his brow. “Feed you?”
I nodded quickly, before red flared in my cheeks. “You know, because we’re celebrating,” I said quickly, even though I really wanted to say I’m trying a different tactic on for size.
“When in New Orleans,” he mused as he shrugged and dug into the cake, then offered it to me, his arm stretched across the table.
The sleeves on his white cotton shirt were rolled up; his strong forearms on display.
Nate was an exercise fanatic. He’d played soccer when he was in college, and he put a premium on fitness now too.
It sure as hell didn’t hurt being fed chocolate by someone so… gorgeous.
I parted my lips. I was poised. Waiting.
Tense beyond belief.
Everything about this felt off to me. My hand itched to grab the fork myself. But I told myself to just let go as he fed me the cake—delicious, sinful, chocolaty cake that melted on my tongue. I rolled my eyes in pleasure. “Mmm,” I said in a low moan as I finished.
Something dark flared in his eyes ever so briefly. “You like being fed that much, Case?” he joked, shifting back to his playful side.
“No, I actually hate being fed. This cake is just fantastic.”
“So why’d you really want me to do that?” he asked as he took a forkful for himself.
I took another bite, savoring the chocolate once more before setting down my utensil.
The songstress warbled a tune about longing, while outside the window a group of women in short dresses teetered on high heels as they held hurricane glasses.
Returning my focus from the action on the street to Nate, I decided to do what came naturally—be straightforward.
“Okay, confession time,” I said in a conspiratorial voice, wiggling my fingers for him to come closer.
He scooted his chair closer to me. We were inches apart, and I was vaguely aware of how he smelled.
Clean, and freshly showered, and he looked handsome in his dark jeans and white button-down.
He wore suits well all day long, but at night he owned the good-looking casual vibe like no one I’d ever known.
He had the tousled hair, the warm honey eyes, and the slightest bit of scruff on his jawline to pull it off.
His fair skin had the slightest golden tan to it.
“Confess,” he said, like he was luring it out of me.
I held up my hands. “I don’t get it. I don’t get the whole ‘let it go’ thing.”
He shook his head as if my words didn’t compute. “What whole ‘let it go’ thing?”
“The whole let-go-of-control thing. It doesn’t come naturally.”
“Is this about cake?”
I shook my head.
“Yeah, I didn’t think it was about cake. What’s it about?”
I took a deep breath, grateful I’d had a glass of champagne tonight to take the edge off my own inhibitions.
My drinks from this afternoon at Velvet with Grant had worn off as I’d returned to the hotel, finished some other work, taken a shower and then slipped into a dark pink satin skirt and a silvery cropped tank for our dinner.
I’d refueled though, and the little dose of liquid courage was what I needed to forge ahead.
“We’re friends, right?”
“Obviously.”
“And you know about Scott.”
He nodded resolutely. “The douchebag,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“You think Scott Nixon is a douche?”
“He let you go. Obviously that makes him a douche.”
I couldn’t help it. A smile took over my features at his sweet words.
Instinctively, I reached out my hand, and rested it on his arm.
A friendly gesture. But it was odd that he hitched in his breath as I touched him.
His muscles tensed under my hand. “You know what I mean. You know what he said to me when we broke up.”
“That you were too headstrong,” he said, a touch of anger in his tone. For some reason, that anger felt protective, and I kind of liked it.
“He also made it clear he wasn’t that into the sex. That I was nothing special,” I said, looking down.
“Again, the guy is a complete and utter ass,” he said, acid in his tone.
“Be that as it may, you know I’ve kind of had bad luck with men for that reason. The whole too headstrong thing.”
“I disagree about the reasons. But go on.”
“And I know all about your success with women.”
He threw his head back and laughed.
“I don’t mean Joanna,” I said quickly, and he looked away at the mention of his ex-wife.
I’d never met Joanna, but I’d have to be an idiot not to know how deeply the woman had hurt Nate.
He didn’t talk about her often, but Jack had shared some of the details from their marriage and then their divorce four years ago.
Joanna’s betrayal was the reason Nate practically had a three-dates-and-out rule.
“I mean the fact that you are…” I paused, considering my words, “the opposite of me. You’re very lucky with the ladies. ”
He blushed, a sliver of a smile appearing on his face.
“My point is we know each other,” I said. “We trust each other. We have no agenda.” I took a deep fueling breath, then ripped off the Band-Aid. “And that’s why I need you to give it to me straight. Am I too controlling? Do I need to learn to let go? Am I just too alpha?”
Nate
It was a good thing I had finished the last of my champagne, because I would have spat out my drink at the absurdity of her question. “What are you talking about?”
She dropped her head and pushed her hands through her hair. I missed her hand on my arm. I wished she’d wrap those slender fingers around me once more. When she lifted her face, she seemed both sad and frustrated.
“Here’s the thing. Grant Abbot indicated that he’s interested in me, and well, I’ve kind of been into him for a while,” she began, and my gut tightened when she said that.
Sure, she told me now and then about an occasional date she had in New York, and I’d even met the infamous douchebag Scott, who I’d like to punch for making Casey feel like shit about herself, but hearing her say she was into some other guy when I was so damn close to her that I couldn’t get the sweet, citrusy scent of her shampoo out of my mind pissed me off.
Especially because that smell was driving me wild.
“You’re interested in him?” I asked, as if I were tasting dirt. Jealousy pulsed through my veins. I had no right to be jealous.
I was her brother’s best friend, for heaven’s sake.
Besides, even if I wasn’t, I was all wrong for Casey. She wanted love, and tenderness. She wanted commitment and the possibility of forever.