Chapter 39 Audra
AUDRA
The last thing I wanted to do was stop what started against the window, but we had fantastic sex a couple of hours ago, and while I was hoping there’d be a whole lot of fantastic sex in our future, I didn’t know how many trips to New York there’d be. My mind, body, and soul were on fire around him.
“You look beautiful, Miss King,” Miles said when he saw me.
I twirled for him, too, before I said thanks.
On the ride, he told me about his grandchildren, all three of them, his wife, and funny stories about Donovan.
Even in those few interactions, I knew to be grateful that Van had this man growing up.
It sounded like he was one of the few people who genuinely cared about him.
We pulled up, and Donovan opened the door to the car but froze.
“Holy shit, Audra,” was the first thing he said as he kind of hovered around the open door with his mouth open.
“You. Wow. You’re beautiful all the time, but this is something else.
” He hopped in and sat so close to me that our thighs were touching despite there being room for six other people to sit.
He put his hand on my cheek and pulled me in for a kiss that melted my panties off—one that made me regret stopping his advances before we left.
Christ, the physical attraction between us was off the charts.
I pulled away. “You don’t look too shabby yourself.
” And he didn’t. He was wearing gray pants, a white button-up, and a navy blazer.
I hadn’t seen him change, so he must have done it after I jumped in the shower, but goodness, he looked hot.
His dirty blond hair was perfectly swept up, so not a hair was out of place, and there was the tiniest hint of stubble on his angular chin.
He looked like he could have walked right off a GQ cover.
I had to admit we looked pretty perfect together with our coordinating colors.
“Great minds, my friend,” I said as I gestured between our navy colors, giving him a megawatt smile.
“Great minds,” he repeated, grabbing my hand and kissing it.
“Did you get done what you needed to?” I asked.
“I did, thank you.”
I still didn’t understand all the different irons he had in the fire and, let’s be honest, I probably never would.
“Well, good. I’m excited about dinner,” I said as I smoothed my dress with my free hand and then took it a step further.
“You don’t think it’s too low cut?” I whispered as I ran my hand over the outline of the deep V, drawing attention to my cleavage.
The dress was a little booby. I wouldn’t wear it to Flyers, but we were in New York, and things were different here.
Donovan looked around as if I was talking to someone else, and then his lip quirked up.
“Is that a joke? Did you really just ask if it was too low-cut? Not sure that boundary exists. If your intent was to have me looking at your tits, you didn’t have to do anything, Chaos.
I’ve already been admiring them on my own free will.
And to be abundantly clear, you look fucking amazing.
” He took his hand and traced the V down and back up, just like I had done.
There were tingling sensations on my skin in the wake of his fingertip trail.
“Nah—it’s not too low at all. I rather enjoy it,” he said, and he dipped to place a kiss where his fingers had just been.
We got to the restaurant before anything else happened.
I kind of forgot that Miles was in the front, and he certainly didn’t need to hear or see any of that.
We hopped out, and Donovan led me inside and to our booth.
Not five minutes later, the chef came out to say hello.
Donovan didn’t have the same carefree smile he had ten minutes ago, but I wondered how many people knew that two dimples popped out when he was wearing a genuine one.
My guess was not many. He still looked devastatingly handsome, but this was his business face.
Introducing us, he talked up the chef’s food, caught up socially, and then sat back down.
When he left our table, I turned to him in surprise, “How do you know him?”
“I used to come here a lot. Like I said, it’s my favorite restaurant in the city.
” He shrugged like it was no big deal that the chef of a restaurant that boasted three Michelin stars came out to greet us.
I couldn’t help thinking again who IS Donovan Wright?
And once again, why was I just caring about it only since we landed in New York?
I was usually pretty quick to dive deep into someone’s life story.
I swore I missed my calling as an FBI researcher.
The whole fixed-menu dining experience was unlike anything I’d ever done before.
I hadn’t ever thought of myself as a foodie, but consider me a convert.
I couldn’t believe that Donovan was able to scratch the food itch in Savannah Springs.
We just didn’t have anything like this, not even close.
We had Savinn, and though the food was superb, the décor was taxidermied animals, including her deceased dog, so, not the same.
I wondered if he planned on bringing a restaurant like this to the resort.
Not quite this level, but I wondered if he was working to bring this level of food to him.
If not, he should be. I filed it away to ask him later.
After dinner, we walked out hand in hand, and as soon as we stepped out, a camera flash went off. Someone took a picture. Of us?
“Fucks sake,” Donovan cursed and looked around for our town car.
“I can’t even get a day,” he said angrily, as he pulled me behind him, and guided us to Miles at a quick clip.
I could hear someone shouting questions, but I couldn’t quite register what was going on as a slew of thoughts rattled in my brain.
Who was that? Why did they care enough to take a photo?
No, really, who the fuck was Donovan Wright?
When we were in the car, he turned to me, “I’m sorry that happened. I didn’t think these fucking vultures would be on me today. Realistically, I should have anticipated that my arrival would be reported. That’s on me.”
“But why? Why do they care about you?”
He took a breath and looked at the sky. “I’m kind of a big name here.
And I sound like a douchebag when I say that, I get it, but it’s true.
My parents are in these bullshit society circles that I was forced into too, until I escaped,” he laughed, but there was no part of his voice that held humor.
“I have been paraded around my whole life for the sake of a camera and photo op. When I turned twenty-two, they started hounding me to find a wife and pushing me into the public eye via paparazzi photos. Twenty-Two. I rejected it and pushed back as much as I could. Then, at twenty-four, things got worse. A magazine did an article about me a little more than a year before I left. It was a most eligible bachelor thing. After that, things were fever pitch from the day it was published, until I left New York. Women, business people, paparazzi were endlessly vying for my attention. You would think that four years after that publication, they would just let it be.” He was frustrated, and I could hear the anger in his voice.
“How did they know you were here? New York is kind of huge, and they guessed the restaurant you’d be at? How come they didn’t know you were in Savannah Springs or never chased you there?”
“People wouldn’t have traveled to find me like they would for a celebrity.
Plus, those first years, I bounced around the country.
Regardless, I’m not important outside of New York.
This is all manufactured by idiots to feel special.
I keep a low profile in South Carolina, but it’s not a secret.
I didn’t change my name or anything. I’m a big deal here because of who my parents are, my finances, and the fact that I’ve been told I’m a pretty good-looking guy.
According to people, I’m a catch. Do you know what a tool I feel like saying that to you?
” He scrubbed his face. “Plus, I’d reached a point in my life where I shut people out, and everyone wants what they can’t have.
I’m sure my parents tipped off the paparazzi this time.
They knew I was getting here today because of the jet, and they knew that was my favorite restaurant.
They’ll get off seeing me in the gossip columns again.
I’m sorry about this, Audra. I honestly didn’t think this was going to be a thing.
I let my guard down.” He ran his hands through his hair.
“I fucked up.” He looked at me with eyes, asking for forgiveness.
I could feel the anxiety rolling off of him.
“Hey, it’s okay. It was just a picture.”
“No. It’s not okay. They’re going to run it in the stupid, soul-sucking gossip rags. I don’t want you splashed in that shit. They’re going to take guesses at who you are and what we are.”
“I mean, at least I look good?” I tried to bring a little humor to ease the tension written on his face.
A tension I admittedly didn’t fully understand.
“I’m not in like, sweats, with wild hair or something on my face or anything like that.
So it’s a photo. So they speculate that we’re together because, well, maybe we are?
I mean, I believe I was told to burn my running shoes.
Maybe we’re heading that way, anyway?” I looked at Donovan, who looked stunned at what I said.
“You look stressed out, Donovan. How can I help you relax?”
He froze at my comment, and I put my hand on his knee, slowly running my hand up his thigh. When I got to the front of his pants, I grazed my hand over the bulge, and I could feel him respond to my touch. He looked at my hand and then back at me again.
“Relax?” he asked.