37. The Baccarat

37

The Baccarat

NICOLE LAMB

Flying east over the North American continent, coast to coast, ate up the hours as they flew against the sun’s path.

After four hours of airtime, a sumptuous lunch that was definitely unlike any standard airplane food that Nicole had ever been served back in steerage, plus two lattes later, they landed at seven o’clock at night in White Plains, New York.

As Kingston had said, a waiting car drove them, their luggage, and her backpack into New York City, through the squared-off maze of Manhattan, to a building that seemed to be encased in gold-glowing crystal. Dark marble slabs jutted out over the doorways above the sidewalk.

Instead of a pumpkin magicked into a stagecoach, this was a chandelier transformed into a skyscraper.

The chauffeur held the door for Nicole as she got out.

Kingston met her on the sidewalk, casually buttoning his suit jacket.

“Who stays in a place like this?” she asked. “Celebrities? Kardashians?”

“Celebrities tend to stay at the Mark or the Carlyle. This is quieter.”

They went inside the hotel lobby, dark wood paneling the walls contrasted the crystal-encrusted chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, frosted crystal candlesticks on coffee tables, and a crystal chessboard. As Nicole went by, she picked up a pawn, which was sharp glass and heavy in her palm.

She put it down quickly.

The answer as to who stayed in a place like this occurred to her.

Money.

Probably Old Money.

But definitely A Lot of Money.

Wealth.

Wealthy people with so much money that they didn’t want to stay where the celebrities did because they did not desire to be seen.

At the desk, the attendant smiled serenely at the two of them. “Welcome to the Baccarat Hotel. Mr. Moore, how lovely to see you again. And you’ll be staying with us for a week?”

After their phones had been keyed to open the suite, a bellhop led them up to a crystal-encrusted suite. Inside, every surface held a crystal candy dish or votive lamps, and matching bathtub-size chandeliers like glass-scaled Cthulhu-dragons dripping with frosted glass daggers hung over the dining table, living room sitting area, and king-size bed in the bedroom.

“What did you say the name of this hotel was?” Nicole asked him.

“The Baccarat. Yes, just like the crystal. It’s very French, but the service and the spa are incomparable. And the food, of course. We have an hour before our reservations downstairs.”

“Do you bring all your mistresses here?”

“Of course not. One takes one’s mistresses to the RH Guest House. Very discreet. No photos allowed.”

She turned and stared at him. “That just rolled off your tongue.”

He laughed. “I was wondering whether you’d catch it.”

“Do you have a mistress? Is it me? Am I the mistress?” She made it sound like a joke.

He walked over to her and smiled down at her, placating her. “You’re not a mistress. I’m not married and never have been. Even relationships have been few and not recently.”

She squinted up at him. “That’s what all the married guys say.”

His expression softened. “Did someone say that to you?”

“Oh, once.” She flipped her hand like she was flipping off nothing that mattered. “But it was a few years ago, and I don’t want to kill him anymore. Mostly.”

His eyes took on that blue-fire devilish sparkle. “Is that why you started buying medieval weapons a few years ago? To murder this knave who dared treat such a beautiful woman so badly?”

Um, yeah, it matched up, but she hadn’t thought of it that way. “Well, I started buying them when I graduated and passed the PE exam, so I had real money for the first time. That’s why I started collecting them, not to kill that other guy.”

She had bought that first steel dagger quite soon after she’d figured out Jackass Face was a cheater and dumped him hard.

Weird. Huh.

“Tell you what, if we ever run into him, I’ll kill him for you.” Kingston lifted her hand and brushed his lips against her palm, then her wrist. “I would never want you to soil these beautiful little hands with blood.”

Lethal violence seemed excessive, probably, at least practically. “You would?”

He looked up from her wrist, almost vampiric as he gazed at her, and his voice was lower. “Try me.”

She knew he was kidding, or at least being chivalric, but she was turned on.

Which was probably why he’d said it.

He straightened and lifted her chin, kissing her. “Do you want to be late for our supper reservations?” he whispered.

“That seems rude,” she whispered back.

“Then we’d better hurry.” He grabbed her hand and lifted it over her head, twirling her away from him like a ballerina to face the bedroom. “Go.”

She began walking away through the living room populated with exquisite vases and cut-crystal bottles, and she passed a wet bar with glass shelves loaded with amazing glassware, wine glasses with blue crystal bowls and silver stems and highball glasses like ice sculptures.

White velvet upholstery as soft as a puppy’s tummy invited her touch, and the dark walnut wood kept everything from becoming eye-blindingly ethereal. Even the sconces on the wall were covered in crystal: crystal drops, crystal scales, and crystal-beaded shades.

Nicole knew she was gawking but couldn’t seem to stop. “Kingston?”

“Yes, my little engineer?”

“I brought some sundresses and that little black dress that I wore to our first date, but maybe we could go somewhere a little more casual? I don’t think my on-sale finds from TJ Maxx will cut it here.”

He walked over to her again and stared down at her, a small, fond smile lifting one side of his mouth. “You could be dressed in a tattered bathrobe and bunny slippers, and I would still find you beautiful.”

Her body warmed under his gaze. “I appreciate that, and that’s lovely, but other people won’t. It’s not fun being underdressed.”

“Wear that sexy black dress tonight. It is perfectly appropriate for the hotel restaurant. If you would like some other clothes, we can pick up some other dresses for the rest of the week if you want.”

“I’m an Oceanside, California girl. I know more about surfboards than haute couture. Seriously, ask me if I’d rather have a F-One Mitu Pro Bamboo board or a Jimmy Lewis Stiletto because the answer is it depends on what kind of waves you’re going to ride.”

He tilted his head and then ran his hands down her arms. “A whole new dimension to my little engineer. I like it. But more to the point, they have professional shoppers at the hotel. We can arrange for someone to make appointments and escort you to boutiques who will know exactly how to put you together. Would that be acceptable?”

“I suppose. I feel like I should know how to buy a dress because I’m a girl, but I suppose even an engineer doesn’t know everything.”

He walked over to the wet bar along one wall and poured himself one finger of whiskey. The crystal highball glass caught the setting sunlight streaming in through the windows. “I’ll arrange it for tomorrow morning and afternoon. I have a quick meeting, anyway.”

“Is that where you get your suits? You have a hotel personal shopper like that who takes you around?”

The glass was almost to his mouth, and he mentioned, “I have a tailor in London,” and slid the whiskey into his mouth.

“You do? Does Sidewinder sell that many golf clubs in England?”

The whiskey must’ve caught in Kingston’s throat because he coughed a little before he said, “Scotland. I tend to travel to Scotland, where wealthy golfers from all over the world go. I stop in London on the way.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“Let’s hope so. All right, dinner reservations in just over forty-five minutes. I’ll take this bathroom and clean up.”

“I can wait until you get out of the shower.”

“All these suites here have two bathrooms. Toddle along, my little engineer.”

Nicole toddled along, and she did her make-up as carefully as she’d ever done it, trying hard.

Supper was perfect, just like always, with Nicole casting glances around them and Kingston looking at her.

The high floor of the hotel looked down on the sparkling diamond and ruby strands of Manhattan traffic in the black velvet night.

The Grand Salon restaurant glowed with twinkling crystal.

Blood-red drops studded the white-crystal chandeliers, and topiary spheres covered in gem-red roses, from basketball- to beach ball-size, stood on tables, sweetly scenting the air.

This menu had prices, high prices, prices for the salads like Nicole would have paid for a whole nice meal including drink, tax, and tip.

She tried ordering a watermelon and tomato salad, but Kingston wouldn’t have it. “Do you want vegetarian, fish, chicken, or beef?”

“I’m fine. We ate on the plane,” she insisted.

“Six hours ago. We ate on the plane six hours ago. I won’t force-feed you, but I distinctly heard your stomach grumble when we walked in. I was wondering if I should have had room service waiting.”

“Oh, no. No, I’m fine,” she reassured him. “I just don’t need a meal like this one.”

He cocked his head and stared hard at her. “Like this one, how?”

“Like—” She leaned over the table at him and whispered. “—these prices.”

Kingston snorted mildly. “Stop looking at the numbers. Get what you want, or else I’ll order the Wagyu Steak Frites for you. That’s what I’ll probably get. I know you like a steak occasionally.”

That was just a downright threat.

The Wagyu was the most expensive thing on the menu, of course. She could have taken six people out to eat at her favorite Mexican restaurant for the same amount of money as just one order of the Wagyu.

He looked over the top of the menu at her, and his voice lowered. “Tell me what you want to eat.”

Nicole took one more glance at the menu, but she’d already been eyeing what sounded good. “The cavatelli with shrimp.”

It wasn’t the cheapest thing on the menu, which would have aroused his suspicion, but it was less than half the price of the Wagyu.

And it sounded good.

“Excellent choice.”

He signaled to a waiter and ordered for her, then added the Wagyu for himself, and then he spoke a bunch of French that Nicole didn’t catch.

When the waiter was gone, Nicole said, “You really ordered the Wagyu beef.”

“Proper Wagyu beef is an excellent dish. The chef here does it exceptionally well. You should try a bite.”

The waiter was back with a napkin-draped wine bottle, which he twisted the cork out of with a champagne-distinctive pop, and then poured the pale wine that sparkled like the crystal around them into the flutes beside their plates.

It was yummy.

After their salads—the summery watermelon and definitely heirloom tomatoes were exceptional and slightly spicy from red chili—she tried a bite of his beef.

The Wagyu steak was exquisite, tender without being mushy, earthy and meaty without being too strong, and the sear was almost sweet on her tongue.

Nicole’s eyes popped open.

She didn’t think she’d ever be able to eat a regular ol’ ribeye again.

Kingston was watching her, his fork held in the air between them.

“Yeah, it’s good,” she said.

He casually switched their plates.

“No, no, no! I didn’t mean that! It was just a really good bite. I’m sure I’ll like the pasta and shrimp, too. That’s what I ordered.”

“You will eat,” he said quietly, forking a bite of her pasta into his mouth.

And then he looked at the plate with the slightest raised-eyebrow surprise. And then he ate another bite, this time with a shrimp, and made a little “ Hmmm” sound.

Yeah, okay. Nicole was outfoxed.

She ate the insanely good Wagyu beef fillet with its fantastic crisp-outside, fluffy-inside steak fries, and a lemony herb sauce that somehow, impossibly, made it all even better.

This meal would probably be the best food Nicole would ever eat in her life, so she tasted and chewed every bite, noting how this bite was a little more rare and tender, that one was a little more crisp, and so on.

Her tongue absorbed every flavor out of the food, savoring it.

Kingston’s smile at her was too knowing as she tucked the last bite of steak fry in her mouth, biting down on the fantastic potato goodness.

Around the fry, she demanded, “What?”

He shook his head and went back to his shrimp. “Nothing. Just glad you enjoyed it.”

“That obvious?”

“The Wagyu is known to be good. I don’t think anyone would disagree with you.”

“It was a really good steak.”

“I just hope I can make you moan like that later tonight.”

Oh, dear God. “You’re joking.”

“Mostly.”

“Are you sure you’re not the oldest child? This sort of thing is exactly how I keep my younger brother in his place. I mean, not with S-E-X-Y jokes, but you know, keep him humble.”

Kingston didn’t flinch. “I’m not an oldest child.”

“What are you, then, birth-order-wise?”

He looked up. “Ah, the dessert menus.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Nicole protested, both because of the meat and potatoes she’d eaten but also from mentally adding up the bill from the salads and the shrimp and the Wagyu-flippin’-beef and the several bottles of champagne and the who-knew-what-else. “I’m stuffed.”

“Just a bite,” Kingston said. “Sorbets, maybe? We could share.”

The menu said the sorbet was only eight bucks. “Okay.”

“Great.” To the waiter, “We’ll split the Summer Sundae.”

Which was thirty-four bucks, not the single scoop. “Whoa!”

He still spoke to the waiter and lifted the champagne bottle half-out of the silver ice bucket. “And another bottle of this in the room, and we’d like the candlelight turndown service.”

“Yes, sir.” The waiter looked between Nicole and Kingston, and then he angled his body forward, asking, “Special occasion?”

“Just for us,” Kingston told him.

“Ah. I’ll bring the sundae and arrange the rest.”

Kingston turned back to Nicole. “You’ll love the strawberry yuzu sorbet in the sundae. Trust me.”

And she did.

And the Alphonso mango sorbet.

And the creamy sauce— “What is this?”

“Coconut cardamom caramel,” Kingston told her.

“Okay, wow.”

And the teeny fruity sandwich cookies were amazing, too.

“Mini macarons,” Kingston clarified.

And more champagne.

The napkin-twisted pop made her head spin and her mouth water.

Nicole liked champagne, sure enough, but each bottle tasted a little different, a little sweeter, tarter, or citrus-y-er.

“You’re going to have to carry me upstairs,” she told Kingston.

His smile, a little fuzzy from the champagne, sharpened. “Promises, promises.”

“Yeah, well, word to the wise, put pressure on my tummy at your own risk. I have overindulged on everything. This is too much.”

Later, she would believe the champagne made her say it.

And him.

Nicole sighed. “Look, Kingston, I have to ask, are you maxing out your credit cards to stay at places like this, and at the Four Seasons in SoCal, and the plane, and that resort in Carmel, and the sporty rental cars?”

He smirked a tad and glanced up at her. “Don’t worry about it.”

Nicole continued, her voice low so the richie-riches around them wouldn’t hear her. “We can eat at a taco truck because I know all the good ones in Oceanside and Carlsbad, and you can crash at my place when you’re in SoCal. You don’t have to take me to fancy places. You don’t have to do all this. ” Her breath caught, but she pressed on. “I like you for you.”

She saw the moment her words hit him.

He froze.

Kingston had just reached for his tall glass of champagne and was on the verge of lifting it, and he froze.

His watch was half-peeking out of his shirt cuff, which was just a half-inch of pristine white below the dark sleeve of his suit jacket, and it twinkled like the crystal around them.

Two quick heartbeats later, he lifted the glass and sipped, then set it down.

The base of his crystal glass rang as it tapped the bread plate.

Kingston looked up at her slowly, his blue eyes so still that Nicole had an intuition flash that she was about to be broken up with, but he said, “I love you, my little engineer. You have absolutely enthralled me. Be reassured, I am not ‘maxing’ out my credit cards, but I would, to give you anything you wanted. I am all too aware that I am teetering on the brink of destroying everything I have because I would rather lay it at your feet than do what must be done.”