I arch a brow at him. “Care to elaborate, Mr. Baine?”
He chuckles. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll demonstrate. Later.”
I swallow and lick my lips while my stomach flips wildly at his erotic promise. Between my legs, I am suddenly very much aware of my nakedness and of the coil of heat that blooms there as he stares at me as if the rest of the people around us don’t exist.
God help me, but I can’t wait to find out what other things he has in mind for me.
I’m so caught up in my thoughts and Nick’s scorching attention that I hardly register the fact that my phone is ringing in my handbag. Once I do hear it, the trill seems as loud as a siren in the tranquil little patio dining area.
“Sorry,” I say and reach for my purse by my sandaled feet. “It’s probably my friend, Tasha, from work calling to check in with me. I told her I’d call her later today.”
As I grab the phone to silence the ring, I see the number there and feel my face lose some of its color.
“Go ahead and take it, if you want to,” Nick says.
“No.” I shake my head as I send my mother’s call to voice mail. “It’s not Tasha.”
“Oh,” Nick replies. His level tone is unreadable, but his face darkens with suspicion. “Do I have to be concerned about another man?”
“What? No.” I frown, shaking my head. “No, nothing like that.”
“Good.” He doesn’t smile. Nor does he press me for more details.
Dammit, I should be thankful for that reprieve and go back to our conversation as if the call never happened. But for some reason—one I don’t care to examine—I feel compelled to let him peer inside my life, my real life, if only a glimpse.
I slide the phone back into my purse, then take a sip of my champagne. “That was my mom.”
His dark brows rise a bit. “You didn’t want to talk to her?”
“Not right now.”
He says nothing for a long moment. Then, when he does speak, his words seem to be chosen carefully, as if he senses that he’s treading on shaky ground. “You and your mother aren’t close?”
“We’re very close. I adore her.”
“But you haven’t told her about me.”
“No.” I set down my empty glass. Mindful of curious ears, I keep my voice quiet. “What would I tell her? That for the past several weeks, I’ve been sleeping with one of the richest men in New York—possibly the whole country? Or that I’ve just quit my job and now I’m sitting in Miami eating octopus and drinking champagne without a care in the world?”
Nick smirks. “I know a lot of enterprising mothers who would like nothing more than to hear those words.”
“Not my mother. She’ll think I’ve lost my mind—and maybe she’d be right about that.” I shake my head slowly. “If I tell her anything about us, it will only make her worry about me. I won’t do that.”
“Because you’re protective of her,” he says, directly hitting the mark.
“The same way she’s always been protective of me. She’s had a . . . difficult life. She still does. I try not to add to her burdens.” I glance down as I exhale and fidget with my hands in my lap. “My mom is all the family I have left.”
“I’m sorry.” I lift my head and find nothing but sincerity in his face. “I’m sorry if things haven’t been easy for you.”
His words touch me, cracking something open inside me that I can’t afford to let break. I shouldn’t let him see me so clearly. I shouldn’t want him to understand my pain, or the secrets I can never fully release. Not even to him.
“What about you, Nick? I don’t think your life has always been easy either.”
I can’t keep my gaze from drifting to his right hand and arm, to his scars. He’s wearing light tan slacks and a pale blue button-down, the cuffs rolled up over his muscular forearms. To anyone merely glancing at him, his imperfections are the last thing they’ll notice. But I’ve seen the evidence of his injuries. I know he suffered something awful—something brutal—at some point in his life.
When I glance back up to meet his eyes, they seem to have hardened somewhat. He lifts his shoulder, one corner of his mouth tugging into a mirthless smile.
“When I was eighteen, I had the bad sense one night to get in the way of a drunk who was spoiling for a fight. I thought I was a hardass. I thought I could handle the situation. The bastard sent me through a plate glass window. I woke up in the hospital a week later with a shredded arm and a nearly severed hand.”
I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth. “Oh, my God. Nick, that’s awful.”