14. Nicholas
Nicholas
Nicholas wrapped up the meetings at four.
He told Virginia he was satisfied with the progress, picked up his bag, and walked out without looking back. He had one more appointment that evening. The only one that actually mattered. After that, Miami in the morning.
He showered, changed, and went through his routine quickly. As he straightened his cuffs, he caught his reflection in the mirror and paused. The face staring back at him looked calm and composed, the same man who walked into boardrooms and closed deals without breaking a sweat.
But there was something underneath it tonight.
A heaviness. Low in his stomach, unfamiliar and insistent. He didn't have a clean word for it. He just knew it had been there since Tampa the first time, and it had gotten worse, not better, with every day that passed since.
He wasn't used to a woman making him feel this way.
Michael's voice surfaced in the back of his mind, unhurried and precise. Don't act without thinking. But don't run away from your feelings.
Nicholas reached for his jacket.
He wasn't running away from anything.
He was walking straight toward it.
He stepped into the bar at 5:30 and found her immediately.
She was at the bar, sitting comfortably, her presence impossible to miss.
In the low amber light, she seemed like a fixed point around which everything else moved.
Two seats away, a man in a suit leaned in, determined not to give up.
He kept talking, but Olivia stared straight ahead, her answers short and distant, giving him nothing.
The man kept going anyway.
Nicholas approached without hurrying.
As soon as Olivia saw his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, her face changed completely.
She stood, turned, and wrapped her arms around him before he had even reached her.
He pulled her close without hesitation, breathed her in, felt the tension in her shoulders, and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.
He stepped back just enough to look at her.
"You look sensational."
Her cheeks colored. "I'm so happy to see you."
Nicholas glanced once at the man in the suit. The man had developed a sudden, consuming interest in the far end of the bar.
"Do you want to stay and finish your drink, or should we head to Lilac?"
"Lilac sounds wonderful," she said.
He caught the bartender's eye. "Charge it to my room." Then he offered her his arm and walked her out.
The crowd thinned as they approached the private elevator. Olivia slowed her pace slightly, and he matched it.
"Nicholas." Her voice was quiet, almost private. "I knew I was excited to see you all day, but now that I can actually feel you next to me—I didn't realize just how much."
He stopped. Turned to face her. Brought his hand up to her cheek, brushing it gently, and then kissed her—soft at first, then with a depth that made the lobby and the noise and the other people in it simply cease to exist.
He pulled back and smiled.
"Me too."
The waiting area at the private elevator had a small crowd gathered near the rope. The man with the clipboard looked up, and his professional expression shifted into something genuine.
"Mr. Moretti, how are you this evening?"
"Fine," Nicholas said with a nod.
"Right this way. Your table is waiting." The rope unclipped. The elevator opened.
The table was different from the last one, but had the same feel. It was tucked away from the noise, private but not hidden, the kind of spot that was clearly chosen on purpose.
"How do you get these special tables?" Olivia asked as they settled in.
Nicholas smiled. "The hotel manager is a friend of mine." He left it there. "Shall we select a similar wine to last time, or would you prefer champagne?"
"Let's stick with the wine. I have faith in your choices."
He ordered a red Burgundy. When it had been decanted and the server had quietly disappeared, Nicholas reached across the table and held out his hand. Olivia didn't hesitate. Her palm slid into his.
"So, how has your week been?"
She took a slow breath. "Much better now that I'm sitting here with you."
"I'm glad."
Their conversation flowed easily about work, music, and politics. There was no agenda, and talking felt as natural as breathing. The food arrived and was good, but neither of them paid much attention to it. When the plates were cleared, and only the wine was left, Nicholas leaned in.
"What was difficult for you this week?"
Her eyes dropped. A flash of surprise moved across her face. "You don't want to talk about that. Why ruin such a lovely evening?"
"Because I'm interested in you. I don't expect every day to be a peachy day for you."
She went quiet. He saw hesitation settle into her shoulders, the careful calculation of someone who had learned not to expect anyone to ask.
"Olivia." His voice was steady. "Tell me what's bothering you. I can see it on your face. I can sense it. You're too beautiful to have a frown hiding under that smile."
She exhaled—long and heavy. "Things have been difficult at home."
"Difficult how?"
"You don't really want to hear this."
"Yes, I do." No softening. No performance of reassurance. Just the plain truth of it. "If it's bothering you, I want to know. Otherwise, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't care about your feelings?"
She looked up at him slowly, something searching in her expression. "I guess I'm used to men not caring about what I feel."
"That's too bad. I can't speak for those men—but it's not who I am." He held her gaze. "Tell me what's troubling you."
"I'm not sure where to begin."
"The beginning is usually a good place."
She let out a small, shaky laugh, but it was real. "I'm not sure we have enough time."
"We have as much time as you need."
Olivia squeezed his hand and, for a moment, just looked at him with an expression he felt deep in his chest. "You are totally amazing, Nicholas. No one has ever made me feel more comfortable or wanted."
"I'm here," he said simply. "The floor is yours."
She told him about the week with Mark.
Then she told him about the near-attack.
Nicholas felt it rush through him, cold and sharp. His jaw tightened before he could stop it. Olivia noticed. She stopped talking and watched his face.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice dropping low. "I'm fine. It just gets to me when I hear about a man mistreating a woman. Especially one I care about." He steadied himself. "Please continue."
She squeezed his hand and kept going. The threats to her job. The casual, deliberate cruelty of a man who had decided fear was a reasonable substitute for love.
Then she trailed off.
"What?" Nicholas asked.
She shook her head.
He didn't let it go.
"I don't want to get you involved in this," she said carefully. "And I don't want to scare you away either."
"Olivia." His eyes stayed on hers. "I don't scare easily. Just tell me."
She nodded once. "Mark told me he would have your legs broken if he found out who you are."
Nicholas’s mouth tightened, though there was no fear in his expression. “He sounds like the type of man who only picks on women.”
"That may be true," Olivia said, "but his brother is tough and crazy."
"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." He leaned in slightly. "Let's concentrate on keeping you safe. Does Mark know you're with me tonight?"
"I think he assumes. But he doesn't know who you are, as far as I know."
"He'll try to find out," Nicholas said. "So we stay a step ahead. What time do you need to be home tonight?"
"I don't have to go home. I can stay at Lauren's. She knows what's going on, and she's been as helpful as she possibly can."
"That's good." Nicholas looked at her across the table, the last of the wine sitting untouched between them, the dinner long forgotten. "Let's have dessert and go upstairs so I can put my arms around you."
Olivia didn't blink. The corner of her mouth curved. "Let's skip dessert here. I'd rather have my dessert upstairs. Alone with you."
Nicholas smiled slowly.
He signaled for the check.
He was done waiting.
The key card beeped.
The door swung open, and he was back in the same suite—his preferred room, the one the hotel kept for him. The best view in the building. Tonight, he didn't give it a single glance.
The door clicked shut behind them.
He didn't waste a second.
His jacket came off and landed on the couch. He reached for her, drawing her into the center of the living room, his hands finding the small of her back like they already knew the way. He kissed her hard and deep—no preamble, no easing into it.
Olivia didn't hold back.
She matched him completely, her hands moving over him, her body pressing in close as if she intended to close every remaining inch of distance between them. They stayed locked together like that, lost and unhurried, until he finally pulled back just enough to catch his breath.
"Let's go inside," he said, his voice rough at the edges.
He took her hand and walked her to the bedroom. The king-size bed was already turned down, white sheets crisp in the low light. He pulled her against him, felt her heart going fast against his chest, and reached for the zipper at the back of her dress.
The metal slid down in one smooth motion.
Olivia eased her shoulders forward, and the fabric fell, pooling silently at her feet.
She unclasped her bra and let it fall.
Nicholas stepped back.
He needed to look at her.
Even with every detail of their last night together still vivid in his memory, he needed it again—the specific reality of her, the curves and the warmth and the soft skin that his hands already remembered. The sight of her hit him like a physical thing.
"Olivia." His voice came out low. "You are absolutely gorgeous. Every part of you is perfect, the curve of your breasts, the way your hips sweep down into those sexy legs. Right down to your toes, you’re a masterpiece."
He didn't wait for her response.
He drew her down onto the mattress and kissed her—slow and deep, tasting her, relearning her.
They shifted together toward the center of the bed, unhurried, wrapped in each other.
Then he moved to her neck. He tasted her skin carefully, his mouth trailing heat, licking and sucking with enough pressure to make her feel every second of it without leaving a mark.
Her breath changed immediately—shorter, sharper.
His hands found her breasts.
He worked them slowly, his thumbs grazing and gently rolling her nipples until the first moan broke from her.
He moved lower, his tongue circling her areola—teasing, deliberate, making her wait for what she wanted.
She arched her back, trying to guide him.
He took his time. When he finally relented and pulled her nipple into his mouth, her moan sharpened into a cry.
He stayed there, working between them, until her sounds came steadily and her fingers pressed into the back of his head.
He slid his hand down.
Her thighs were already warm and damp. He felt the silk of her thong—completely soaked through. He massaged her through the fabric, listening to the way her breath fractured at each movement. Then he slid the lace down her legs. She lifted her hips to help him without being asked.
She kept the heels on.
He looked at her legs and felt his resolve nearly crack entirely. "Your legs look incredible in these heels."
He started at her stomach.
His tongue trailed heat downward, slow and purposeful, sliding through the perfectly manicured trim at her entrance.
The moment he made contact, Olivia let out a sharp cry—her whole body already coiled tight, already right at the edge.
He could feel it, the vibration of her, and he took that knowledge and used it carefully.
He worked his way between her legs and let his tongue explore without rushing—top to bottom, tasting her warmth thoroughly, learning her all over again. Her moans deepened and multiplied. Her fingers found the back of his head, tangling in his hair, pulling him in, her hips rising to meet him.
"Don't stop," she breathed. "Please don't stop."
He locked onto her sweet spot and held there.
She screamed.
He slid two fingers inside her and let her grind against them, finding her own rhythm, and then the climax broke through her like a wave hitting open water—pure and consuming, one crest rolling into the next.
She shook against him, his name leaving her lips over and over in a breathless, broken cry that lasted nearly a full minute before the tremors finally began to ease.
He worked her through every wave.
When she finally stilled, he looked up. Her eyes opened slowly, her face luminous in the low light—glowing with something that went beyond physical release. Something deeper. Something that landed differently than anything he'd seen on a woman's face in a very long time.
She reached for him and pulled him up toward her.
They kissed—slow, deep, and tasting of her.
She broke the kiss with a smile at the corner of her lips. "Maybe I know why you love pleasing me so much. I don't taste half bad."
Nicholas grinned. "You taste magnificent. In fact, I think I want some more."
Olivia sat up, her eyes igniting with an entirely new kind of intention.
She grabbed him.
"No," she said. "Now it's my turn."
She reached for his belt. One fluid motion—and his pants and boxers were gone. Nicholas lay back against the sheets, every nerve ending alive and electric, watching her take charge.