Losing Control(86)

The foreign language-speaking table is too loud, she complains.

“Internationals, what can you do?” Rich grins at me as if we’re sharing a secret laugh. Cecilia scowls again and then quickly rearranges her face as if emotions cause aging.

Cecilia remarks that the boobs on the model wearing the tank top are much too large. “She must be a prostitute,” Cecilia says. “No runway is going to let her walk.”

After a while even the delicious food loses its appeal under this wearying critique. Each time she makes a comment, she looks at Rich for support. He only gives her a pained smile and then, when he thinks she isn’t looking, he shrugs at me as if to say he doesn’t have any control over her attitude.

When she isn’t talking and he isn’t sneaking looks at me, his eyes are everywhere. On the stark expanse of skin that the model shows every time she stands up to adjust her tube top. On the nearly naked bottom of another patron who is wearing hot pants and high heels.

“Is the food not to your liking?” Ian eats his dishes and mine because my appetite is gone.

“Too rich,” I say, but I see understanding in his eyes.

Finally when the last item is served and coffee is being distributed to Ian and I, with two after dinner ports for Sissy—that’s what they call her—and Richard, Ian asks Richard what he’s doing at Catch. “It seems like such a coincidence.”

He laughs. “Not at all. I heard you were interested in investing in Sean Price’s new food venture and that you were down checking out his business. I guess eating at Le Cirque every night gets tiresome?”

Ian shrugs. “I live down here. I haven’t eaten at Le Cirque for months. Too far uptown for me.”

Rich makes a tsking sound. “Still in that warehouse. That seems so déclassé. But maybe you’ve always had a little of the commoner in you.”

“Always,” Ian replies dryly, but beside me he is vibrating like a speaker box turned too loud. His hand has a vice grip on my thigh. “Some would blame it on my mother. She wasn’t even from the city.”

Rich’s eyes dart toward me and then Ian and back again. He laughs and wipes his mouth twice. Obviously nervous, he taps his fingers against the side of his bottle. “I didn’t know your mother well. Most of my dealings were with your father.”

Cecilia scrunches up her nose at Ian. “This type of conversation is very low class. Perhaps we could move on.”

“Of course, Sissy,” Ian says smoothly. Underneath the table, his fingers are almost bruising me. Whatever wrong Richard Howe has inflicted upon Ian, it is serious and powerful enough to cause him to lose his vaunted self-control, both at the Aquarium and then here. We’re able to finish dinner together, but it might be the longest meal I’ve ever sat through. Despite the chef’s culinary wizardry, I ate almost nothing.





Chapter 28


“THAT WAS UNPLEASANT,” I SAY when we get back to Central Towers. As expected, Mom is asleep. She can’t make it past eight in the evening most nights. “I don’t understand how he can make a play for me one night and then show up with his wife another.”

“He’s testing you. He wants to know if having a wife is going to be a problem. I bet in a couple of days, you’ll get more texts.”

He drums his fingers on the side of the sofa as he has a glass of wine to unwind. That was my suggestion. He’s agitated, and I’m afraid he’s not going to be able to sleep tonight.

“At least it’s just texts.”

“For now,” he says sourly, his hand gripping tight around the stem of the glass. A vision of him throwing the tumbler against the wall at the Aquarium flits through my mind. He catches me eying the glass and downs the contents in one swallow. Standing up, he pulls me to my feet.

“Let’s table this for now. It’s been far too long since I’ve had a taste of you.”

He makes love to me as if the devil is riding him. His hands are rough and possessive. He’s in the grip of some madness, but the need in his eyes is obvious and unmistakable. Whatever he needs, I want to give him.

“I want you,” he growls.

“You have me,” I say, “in whatever way you need me.”

In the aftermath of the storm, with the sheets tossed on the floor and the pillow wet from stifling my cries of completion, we lie entangled with each other. The tension that started building from the minute Howe showed up still hasn’t left him, even after the sex.

“Won’t you tell me?” I ask, stroking the sweat-soaked skin of his back. “I want to understand. If this,” I gesture between us, “is truly something that matters to you, then you can’t leave me in the dark.”