and descend in the lift.
‘Good night, Mr Silverstein.’ I smile as I approach the door. He pulls it inward, a kind smile cracking the lines that form his face.
He lets out a low whistle. ‘You look mighty pretty, Miss Carmichael.’
He has a southern drawl a lot like my pa’s. It softens my heart whenever I speak to him.
‘Thanks.’
‘Got a club function?’
I nod, because it’s easier than admitting the truth—that I have a sort of date.
‘Have fun, be safe.’
He says the same thing every time I go out at night. I like it. Even though I’m long past the point of needing protecting, it’s still nice to feel as if someone cares.
Nicholas is waiting just outside, standing on the kerb, the back door of his low-set black car open. A driver sits behind the wheel. I don’t know what I’d expected. A motorbike, maybe? Not necessarily this. But most people I know are chauffeured around. In fact, I’m probably an anomaly for the fact I use cabs or the subway.
As I step onto the kerb, his eyes trail their way over me, slowly, dragging heat and electricity wherever he looks. My heart stutters, my stomach dives.
Anxiety is back, pulsing through my veins. I refuse to show it.
He takes a step towards me, and another, and my pulse races, my heart twists.
‘You look good enough to eat,’ he murmurs, holding a hand out to me. I place mine in it; sparks dance the length of my limbs, and my eyes widen in recognition of the strength of this attraction and connection.
‘I’ll hold you to that.’
His eyes show amusement, but he doesn’t laugh.
Heat explodes between us. I stay where I am; he doesn’t move either. We’re separated by several feet, but holding hands, just staring at each other.
He’s wearing beige trousers, a white shirt and a dark blue jacket, with brown shoes. He looks handsome, sexy, stylish and wealthy.
I wish he weren’t wearing anything.
‘What are we doing tonight?’ I hear myself ask, my lips shifting into a slight smile.
‘Ah. It’s a surprise.’ He jerks on my hand a little, pulling me towards him, and he kisses me on the cheek. It’s so chaste and weirdly sweet that a different kind of heat, a warmth, flows through me. And then, a whisper in my ear, just low enough for me to catch, ‘But I promise it’s going to end in my bed.’
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