For 100 Days(52)
Chapter 21
We spend the bulk of the day naked together in Nick’s penthouse. True to his word, he makes it his mission to keep me well-pleasured and multi-orgasmic both in—and out—of his bed.
After the hours of creative, vigorous exertion, I’m not sure how I have the strength to stand upright as we ride the elevator down to the lobby to meet the limousine waiting to take us to the gala. I can’t deny that I’m anxious about tonight as well. The closest I’ve ever gotten to an elegant black-tie gathering is the handful of weddings I’ve worked as a part-time bartender on those rare occasions when the opportunity arose and my schedule at Vendange allowed. Now, here I am, attending possibly the social event of the year as Dominic Baine’s date.
Standing next to me in a black tuxedo, starched white shirt, and black silk tie, Nick is the epitome of confidence and class. He’s attractive no matter what he wears—and even more so when he wears nothing at all—but seeing him dressed in formal attire is a revelation. Like this, the wealth and influence he commands is unmistakable. Although his stance is relaxed beside me, his long legs slightly apart, power vibrates off every inch of his tall, athletic form.
I notice how his hands are folded loosely in front of him, the unmarked one resting lightly atop his scarred one. It’s a stance I’ve seen in him before, and I realize only now that this is part of his mask. He looks so handsome and commanding, there’s little chance that anyone would notice his flaw. But he hides it anyway, as if the damage shames him.
It doesn’t diminish him at all in my eyes. I see a survivor. I see a man with secrets and hauntedness of his own, and I want to understand him. I want him to know that there is nothing about him that I find displeasing. In fact, he’s so magnificent, he takes my breath away.
He’s so damn sexy, he makes me hunger for him all over again, even though I’ve certainly enjoyed my fair share of him already today.
“Keep looking at me like that, Ms. Ross, and we won’t make it into the car, much less to the party.” When I glance up, I find a spark of humor in his eyes, and in the smirk that tugs sensually at the corner of his mouth. “On second thought, keep looking. I’ll call Patrick and tell him he can return the car to the fleet garage.”
I laugh and give his biceps a light smack. “You will not.”
“No, but I should.” He reaches over to smooth the backs of his knuckles gently along the side of my face. The look he gives me is as solemn as it is heated. “You look beautiful, Avery.”
“Thank you.”
I want to look good for him. I’ve spent the past forty-five minutes getting showered and ready back at Claire’s apartment, both excited and apprehensive about the prospect of arriving anywhere on Dominic Baine’s arm. Although I would give anything to be wearing something as elegant as the designer cocktail dresses and couture gowns that fill Claire’s walk-in closet, my budget runs more toward department store discount racks.
I’m anxious as I stand beside Nick in the little black dress I bought on clearance with Tasha last year and the strappy black Jimmy Choo sandals I got for a steal at a second-hand store in Park Slope not long after I settled in Brooklyn. Will everyone sense the imposter in their midst tonight? For that matter, will Nick?
Whether he senses my nerves or not, as the elevator chimes with our arrival on the street level of the building, Nick takes my hand in his and leads me out to the lobby. Manny is there at the main door as we stroll across the gleaming marble toward the sleek black limousine waiting just outside. I detect the faintest lift of the doorman’s brows as we approach, but it’s there and gone in an instant.
A consummate professional, Manny merely smiles, then smoothly opens the door for us. “Good evening, Ms. Ross. Mr. Baine.”
“Evening, Manny.” Nick nods in greeting, placing his hand at the small of my back to allow me to exit ahead of him.
As I pass through, I offer Manny a smile that feels a little awkward, considering our conversation the other day and the fact that the doorman is probably aware of the time I’ve been spending in Nick’s apartment. His face shows no judgment. If anything, I can’t help thinking there is a small note of approval in his kind eyes.
“Have a pleasant evening, Miss. Sir,” he says, escorting us to the standing limo where Nick’s driver waits with the back door open.
We climb in and are quickly on our way. It doesn’t take more than a few minutes to make the drive down Park Avenue to the five-star hotel that’s hosting the gala. If my nerves were jangling before, they spike with new apprehension as the limousine pulls in behind a parade of similar glossy black vehicles at the hotel’s entrance.