20. More to Fear from Love #2
I turned to find her smiling, her cheeks flushed with triumph and nerves.
“You were incredible,” I said, doing my best not to reach for her and give her a congratulatory kiss. I never wanted anyone to think Nicolette hadn’t earned her place at the table.
“Thank you.” She drew a deep breath and let it out, the air around her buzzing with nervous excitement.
“We should do something to celebrate,” I offered, not wanting this night to end.
“Yes, we should.” Wallace zoomed to her side, looking almost harried. He wrapped an arm around Nicolette’s shoulders. Albeit uncomfortably, as if physical affection weren’t his forte. “Let’s do dinner.”
Nicolette blinked up at him, taken aback. It was no secret Wallace Hart was not the warmest of men—or fathers. And he was behaving uncharacteristically.
“Uh . . . sure,” she managed. “What do you think, Julian?” Her gaze drifted toward me.
Wallace’s lip curled at the mention of my name.
He looked between us, his brow furrowing, clearly unhappy with the ease that existed between my wife and me and at the idea of me joining them for a meal.
No doubt he’d thought I intended to make her life miserable.
It was the furthest thing from the truth.
And there was no way in hell I was bowing out of this dinner.
There was a murderous vampire on the loose, and Wallace’s recent dealings with Delia had me on edge.
I planned to dig thoroughly into her past.
“I think a family dinner is an excellent idea.” I flashed Wallace a furtive grin.
Wallace gave Nicolette an awkward squeeze, ignoring me entirely. “Shall we say the Olde Pink House, then?”
“Okay. We’ll meet you there,” Nicolette sounded pensive.
Wallace kissed the top of her head and strode out as if he still owned the place.
After several goodbyes and hearty handshakes, the rest of the board members filtered out as well. Only Simone remained; she’d struck up a conversation with Nicolette about a piece she’d written on enhanced plasma protein stability as a predictor of early hepatic dysfunction.
“I’ve attended medical school three times, and your research—and the way you present yourself—rivals any professor I’ve ever had. And I’ve attended Montpellier and Edinburgh, if that tells you anything,” Simone said.
“That is high praise. Thank you.” Nicolette looked genuinely surprised and pleased. “I had no idea you were a doctor.”
Simone smiled impishly. “I’m not in this life, love.
I thought I’d take it easy this go-around and try the business world.
And cures are such human obsessions,” Simone said lightly, waving her hand around.
“Besides, it was difficult working around blood all day and not doing more harm than good, if you know what I mean.”
Simone had never been one for subtlety in all the years I’d known her.
Which was over three hundred. She’d begged Cyrus and me to save her during the War of the Spanish Succession.
She’d been brutally injured, and she’d somehow guessed what we were.
Cyrus, struck by her beauty and her obvious terror of dying, had agreed.
I’d thought perhaps he might find a companion in her, as they were both interested in medicine.
Instead, it ended as a brief affair—like all of Cyrus’s relationships through the ages.
Thankfully, they’d been able to maintain a friendship. Cyrus had even suggested bringing Simone in to help when I decided to take over Hart Labs, given her medical knowledge and her tenacity.
Nicolette cleared her throat. “I think I get it.”
“Well, I’m sure you want to get going. We should have lunch sometime. I would love to pick your brain about cold plasma treatments.”
“Um, sure. That would be fun,” Nicolette replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“I look forward to it.” Simone kissed Nicolette’s cheek and lingered a moment, inhaling softly. “Mmm. You smell divine, love.”
Nicolette leaned back, swallowing hard, her fingers tightening around the folder she held.
Simone laughed. “I meant your perfume.”
“Oh. Okay.” Nicolette gave a shaky laugh, her shoulders loosening a fraction.
“Enough, Simone,” I interjected, giving her a pointed look. She’d always considered herself something of a jokester.
Simone rolled her eyes dramatically. “You know I’m only teasing her.” She waved a hand as she stepped away, her heels clicking sharply on the polished floor. “You two have a good night.”
Nicolette sidled up to me, her gaze following Simone’s retreat—most particularly her long legs, barely covered by her tight, short skirt. My wife’s brows lifted in a mixture of disbelief and mild envy.
I wrapped Nicolette in my arms, drawing her close enough that only she could hear me. “In case you’re wondering, I only have eyes for you. My brilliant wife.”
“She’s stunning. Mesmerizing, even.” Nicolette’s voice was soft, almost reluctant.
“Not as alluring as you.” I meant every word.
“Uh-huh.” She leaned back, a smirk tugging at her beautiful mouth. “Was my presentation really okay?” Thankfully, she moved past the Simone topic, her fingers brushing my sleeve as if seeking reassurance.
“It was, in a word, perfection. You impressed everyone, especially me.”
“I was so nervous.” She exhaled, her shoulders dropping as the adrenaline finally began to wear off.
“I don’t think anyone could tell,” I assured her.
“Thank you for helping me go over my notes a hundred times. And thank you for asking me. Honestly, I don’t think I would have ever had the opportunity if my father were still the CEO. At least not for many more years.”
“I watched him tonight,” I said gently, “and I think he regrets not seeing you for who you are.”
She shrugged, not entirely convinced. “Well, are you ready for an awkward dinner? It was so odd of him to ask. It’s just not like him. I wish it hadn’t taken losing his company to see me. For me to see myself,” she murmured, almost as if she hadn’t meant to say it aloud.
A pang went through me. I brushed back a tendril of her silky hair, my fingers lingering a moment longer than they should have. I wished there were time to get lost in her—that making love to her wouldn’t jeopardize her or me. I never wanted what we had to become an obsession.
“Never doubt yourself,” I implored.
Unexpectedly, she rose onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to my cheek. The warmth of her breath danced across my skin as she whispered, “Thank you for believing in me.”
I stilled.
It was the first time she’d shown me such private affection. This wasn’t a performance. There was no audience for whom we needed to prove that what we had was real.
She wasn’t playing a part.
“Always.” I resisted the urge to turn my head and capture her lips. I feared that if I did, I wouldn’t settle for just kissing her. So I let the tender moment stand as it was—a moment between a husband and a wife.
She settled back onto her heels, her cheeks blooming with color, as if she, too, recognized the shift between us. “We’d better go,” she said quickly, clutching her folder a little too tightly as she walked off.
I watched her go, the sway of her hair, the nervous energy in her steps, and wondered if she’d had the same thought I had.
There was more to fear from love than from hate.