18. Eighteen

Eighteen

B utterflies flutter in my stomach as the firm double knock on my apartment door reverberates down the hallway. I swiftly give myself a final once-over in the bathroom mirror and spritz my wrists with Miss Dior. I smooth down my straightened hair and pull my red dress across my stomach, silently reassuring myself that it's not too tight. It's another dress I've owned for years but never had the guts to wear and I think it's possibly the most daring one I own. The poppy red colour, spaghetti straps, and thigh-length hem give it a sexy vibe. I've pulled out all the stops tonight. It's our first date. I want everything to be perfect.

My black heels click across the shiny floor as I walk up to the door and swing it open. The sight of the six-foot-two hunk of scorching deliciousness standing in front of me sets off a fluttering sensation between my legs. He warned me not to look too hot… maybe I should have given him the same warning .

A perfectly tailored black jacket and stark white shirt hang from his broad upper body. His hands rest in the front pockets of black trousers, which fit snug against his slender waist. His hair is swept back, and his eyes travel over my body from head to toe in appreciative silence as he steps into the hall. I smile to myself at his stunned reaction and take it that the dress is a success, but don't get a chance to ask. As I close the door and turn around, his lips crash against mine and his body presses me against the door as if he can't wait another second to touch me.

I fling my arms around his neck as his hands come to rest on my waist and even though it's only been a few hours I've missed the feel of him on me. His freshly showered smell intoxicates me, and he tastes of mint as his tongue licks the length of mine and sets every nerve in my body jangling.

He pulls away from me slightly breathless and skims his hands up my back and rests them on my shoulders.

"As hellos go that was pretty nice," I smile, rubbing my thumb across his bottom lip to remove my red lipstick.

"This is a very sexy dress." His eyes lower to my chest. "I'm not sure how I feel about other guys ogling you in it."

Not this again. "Relax, I'll be coming home with you." I give him a reassuring kiss on the lips. His eyes glide down my body, and he nods slowly as if coming round to the idea. "I want to throw you down on the bed and fuck you right now, but I also want to take you out to dinner." Dark eyes hold mine and flash with an intent I've not seen before. "I'm going to have every inch of you tonight."

I press my lips together to suppress a shiver that threatens to run down my spine at his words. I'm not entirely sure what he means and don't get the opportunity to ask because he scoops down and picks up the black overnight bag that's waiting by the door with one hand, and grabs my hand with the other.

He flicks me a look. "We need to move because if we stay any longer, we're not going to make it out of here."

I agree .

He keeps a firm hold of my hand all the way down the corridor, in the lift, and even when we reach the foyer. Dave the concierge is already looking our way as we walk past the reception desk.

"Put your eyes back in, Dave," he growls as he strides by, causing Dave to fluster and turn back to the CCTV monitors.

Eventually, we pull up outside a large red-brick building in Mayfair. Le Gavroche. Eight white sash windows decorate the front of the restaurant, and an ornate, frosted glass canopy overhangs the wooden front door. Troughs over-spilling with perfectly tended pink and red roses adorn either side of the marble steps that lead up to the entrance.

This place is expensive. "We're going here?"

"It's usually booked up months in advance, but I pulled a few strings and managed to get us a table."

My eyes swing back to the frontage of the restaurant. I've heard of Le Gavroche, of course. The Michelin-starred restaurant is renowned for its French cuisine. I stare up at the restaurant and worry whether I've dressed appropriately. I've never set foot in a place this expensive before.

"You look perfect." I glance over at Art who's watching me with a smile as if he knows the thoughts going through my head. "Come on."

His hand returns to its usual place around mine as he leads me through the front door of the restaurant where we're immediately greeted by a short, bald, forty-something man wearing a smart black suit and bow tie. He greets us with a broad smile.

"Monsieur, mademoiselle," he welcomes in a French-English accent, bobbing his head in acknowledgement.

"Table for two. Black," Art says.

"Of course, monsieur, mademoiselle, this way, please. Follow me."

My eyes scan the opulent surroundings as Art leads me through the restaurant. Circular tables fill the large open-plan dining area and bottle green; velvet booths line the edge of the room. A low hum of conversation from the other diners fills the space, and faint classical music is coming from somewhere. Dark-green walls, plush carpets, and chandeliers give off an opulent and luxurious feel.

The ma?tre d comes to a halt at a booth at the back of the restaurant and presents the table with a flourish of his hand. "Monsieur Black, is this satisfactory?"

"Perfect." Art smiles and settles down into the booth and I sidle up next to him.

"A waiter will be along shortly to take your order." The ma?tre d's eyes sweep over me and crinkle at the corners. He breaks into a smile.

"Votre dame est belle," he murmurs to Art, then with a bob of his head scuttles away.

A ghost of a smile appears on Art's face as he picks up a dark-green leather-bound menu and studies it.

I'm intrigued. Foreign languages were never a strong point of mine. Now I wished I'd paid more attention at school. "What did he say?"

"He told me my lady is beautiful."

Heat rises in my cheeks at the compliment. "Oh. And am I your lady, then?" I tease.

"Of course, and you're beautiful. Every guy in this place looked at you when you walked in." He keeps his eyes fixed on the menu and arches an eyebrow signalling his disapproval. "Trust me, I noticed."

I'm not sure what to say, so I don't say anything and pick up my menu and open it up. Lists upon lists of scrawly writing cover the pages and I have no idea where to start. I'm overwhelmed.

"What would you like to eat?" he asks.

"There's so much choice, where do I begin? Have you eaten here before?"

"Lots of times." He looks at me. "Shall I order for us both? I'm thinking of getting the tasting menu, then there's a selection of dishes for us to choose from."

I smile. "Sounds perfect."

A waiter suddenly appears at the table. "Are sir and madam ready to order drinks?"

"Yes, and food, please," Art replies .

He reels off a list in fluent French and all I'm able to catch is his request for a glass of wine and mineral water. He obviously did pay attention in class.

"Very good, sir." The waiter nods his head, collects the menus, and disappears.

He rests his arm across the top of the green velvet booth behind my head and turns his body towards mine.

"I've ordered you a glass of Pinot Grigio, I hope that's okay?"

"Of course," I laugh. "That's the only part I understood. Do you not drink alcohol at all?"

He shakes his head and unfastens the single button of his jacket. "Not a drop."

I twist around to face him, eager to know more. "When did you stop?"

He rakes a hand through his hair and glances out towards the restaurant. "Five years ago."

"Why?"

"After Dad died, I drank to forget. It helped numb the pain and blot out… everything. But it changed me into someone else and I hated that person. I knew I had to stop before it destroyed me."

My eyes lower to his waist. "Is that when you got your scar?"

He fixes me a long look and I know he's telling me to back away from the conversation. "I was lost for a while, fucked things up, and made some bad choices which I regret, but I got back on the straight and narrow and launched the gym chain."

"Why did you go into fitness?"

The waiter returns with our drinks and Art waits for him to leave before continuing. "I haven't always been athletic." He picks up his glass of water and takes a sip before continuing. "I was skinny when I was younger. It's easy to push around the weedy kid who's in foster care." He takes a long drink of water then places the glass down on the table and twists it around in his fingers. He stares at the glass as if he doesn't want to look at me. "So, one day, after a particularly fierce beating, I decided that when I grew up no one would ever beat me up again."

The look in his eye tells me there's far more to this tale than he's ready to share and my heart aches for him. My childhood was loving and full of good memories. I can't even begin to imagine what horrors he experienced when he was growing up.

I place my hand on his wrist in a comforting gesture. "Kids are cruel."

His jaw stiffens, and he says nothing, slipping his fingers through mine on the table.

I pick up my wine glass and take a sip. The cool, crisp liquid slips down a treat. He's opening up and I've got to push further. "Do you remember your parents?"

"My dad wasn't on the scene, and my mum was a single mum. She struggled for money and couldn't look after me properly, so I was taken into care when I was five." He gazes off into the distance and there's a haunted look in his eye for a second, then he seems to snap out of it. "I don't really remember her." He frowns and takes another sip of water. "I went to live with Mum and Dad when I was ten. They couldn't have kids of their own. My life transformed when I met them, and I'll be eternally indebted to them for that. Barbara, my adoptive mum, still lives in the same house I grew up in."

He lifts his eyes to mine and all traces of the pained look from seconds earlier have vanished. He breaks into an easy smile. "She'll love you."

I freeze, glass in hand, and doubt my hearing. The hammering of my heart in my ears now means I truly can't hear anything. That very much sounded like he's suggesting I'll be meeting his mum.

"You want me to meet your mum?" I ask, to be certain I've heard him correctly. Of course, I'd like to meet her but the tiny voice in my head is back and is asking me whether it's too soon. We've known one another for a week, which doesn't sound very long, but when I think about how I feel about him, it doesn't seem too soon at all.

"Of course."

"I'd like to meet her." I smile and take a long slug of wine.

He glances around the restaurant. "So, how's this going so far for a first date?"

I place my wine glass down. "We've sort of done things backwards, haven't we? You usually go on a date then have sex."

He shifts his arm slightly behind my head and strokes his fingers across my bare shoulder. "It was the right way for us. So, how's it going?"

"What?"

"The date?"

"It's wonderful. Why are you so keen for the feedback?"

"This is uncharted territory."

I frown as I realise what he means then laugh in disbelief. "Don't tell me you've never been on a date before?"

He lifts a shoulder into a shrug. "This is my first."

I blink in surprise unable to fathom the fact that he's never brought a woman out on a date before. "But you're thirty." I take another sip of wine, unsure whether I want to hear the answer to the next question. "How can that be?"

We're interrupted by a couple of waiters arriving with trays and placing a variety of dishes on the table until it's so full I can barely see the tablecloth underneath.

My eyes widen at the sight of all the food. "We're never going to eat all this," I squeak in disbelief.

Art gives a smile of thanks to the waiters as they leave us and rearranges the plates so there's a little more room. "There's a little bit of everything: scallops, artichoke, trout, pulled pork…"

My mouth waters at the delicious smells wafting from the array of dishes. "It all looks divine."

He plays host, placing various foods onto a plate for me to sample and I sit back and let him, secretly enjoying being looked after.

I spear a piece of broccoli with a fork as he takes a mouthful of fish. "So, we were saying," I carry on, steering the conversation back to where we were.

He shoots me a quizzical look and I'm not sure whether he's genuinely forgotten or if he's avoiding the question. "What were we saying? "

I still can't quite believe it. "You were about to tell me how come you've never been on a date before."

"Dating's never really come up."

I still don't get it. "But… how? There have been women?"

He flicks me an uncertain look before carrying on. "Yes, there have."

My stomach twists at the thought of him being with another woman. Strange, I know. This man has been in my life for a week, but I feel like I've known him a lifetime.

I tuck into a piece of salmon. "And I'm guessing there have been quite a few... women."

"Yes, but it was just sex." He puts down his fork.

It clearly wasn't just sex for Tara. She's still on the prowl three years later. I push the thought of her out of my mind. She's not going to ruin my evening. "For you maybe, but what happened if they wanted to take things further?"

"Some did." He wipes the corners of his mouth with a napkin and shifts his half-eaten fish out of the way, sliding a dish of cheese soufflé in front of him. He picks up a spoon and cuts into the fluffy centre. It looks delicious and suddenly my salmon seems boring. "But I wasn't interested in taking things further with any of them." He eats a mouthful of the soufflé and nods in approval. His tongue darts across his bottom lip as he takes another spoonful and offers it to me. "Try it. It tastes nearly as good as you."

I put down my fork and my eyes slide to the spoon he's offering to me. "Open."

My stomach does a delicious slow flip at his firm tone, and I press my thighs together to stem the growing ache. I keep my eyes on his as I part my lips, causing his gaze to darken as he slides the spoon into my mouth. The warm rich, soufflé is delicious and dissolves on my tongue and I savour the flavour. He pulls the spoon out of my mouth, his eyes fixed on my throat. "Swallow."

I feel a twinge at my centre as I do as I'm told and swallow it down. He reaches out a hand and slowly wipes his thumb across my bottom lip and I daringly part my lips taking the tip inside my mouth. I have no idea what we must look like to the other customers because right now I feel as though we're the only two people in the room and the glint in his eyes tells me he feels the same. My breathing is ragged, and I can see the sharp rise and fall of his chest as I suck the tip of his thumb. After a few moments, he removes it from my mouth and places it between his own lips, sucking. Every fibre of my being feels as if it's on fire for this man, and we've barely touched.

He moves his arm from the back of the booth and straightens in the seat. "We're leaving," he announces, gesturing to the waiter.

Although I'm turned on beyond belief, I can't help but glance at the array of half-eaten dishes on the table and feel a little bit guilty. "All this food must have cost a fortune and it's all going to waste."

He shrugs. "It's only money." He flicks me a simmering look that makes me melt. "What I want is priceless."