Three and a Half Weeks(23)
“Well, then, if you could text me with your hotel information, I will pick you up at 7:45 so we could make an 8:00 reservation. Agreed?”
“No, just text me the name and address of the restaurant. I’ll meet you there.”
“If you prefer. I’ll have my driver pick you up at your hotel and deposit you at the restaurant.”
Deposit me? As if I’m a check to be cashed? But I suppose in a way I am some kind of deferred payment for his trials over my silly little book. “I’ll check for the flight information first thing tomorrow.”
“Very good. I’m looking forward …”
I disconnect the call without saying goodbye. My heart is hammering in my chest, my hands are so sweaty that my phone is slipping out of my grasp, and I think I might regurgitate my salad any minute now. In just about twenty-four hours, I get to see him again. It should feel like an onerous burden—after all, the man is suing me. But all I can think of is how much I want to see him, kiss him, hold him… and my very next thought is—what the hell am I going to wear? I’ll have to go shopping tomorrow morning.”
Chapter 7
Pierre has a room ready for Ian when he arrives at the restaurant. What he really would have preferred was to host the dinner at his house but he knew Ella wouldn’t feel comfortable with that arrangement. Not now. Still, their discussion required discretion and privacy so he selected the French restaurant for its private dining rooms.
“Is this acceptable, Mr. Blackmon?” the maître d’ is annoyingly fawning.
“Yes,” he answers tersely, “it will do nicely. When my companion arrives, please ensure she is directed to join me here. Her name is Ariel Strong.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll send a waiter up immediately to take your drink order.”
Ian nods at the man and pretends to look at the menu, effectively dismissing him. I’m nervous, he realizes with some small amount of shock. When was the last time I felt this out of control? Was it when she left me? I’ve never felt this way in the boardroom, never with any other female, never in a fight I couldn’t win. This woman has me twisted in knots. He laughs. If she only knew.
Checking his watch, he expects she’ll be here in about five minutes. His driver called as soon as he picked her up at her hotel.
The door opens and he catches his breath. Not her. It’s a young waiter in a black suit that appears a bit too large for him. “Would you care to order drinks, sir?”
“Yes. I’d like a bottle of the California Malbec. Also, some mineral water. Thank you.”
“Yes, sir.”
As the waiter opens the door to take his leave, she is suddenly there in the doorway, the light from the hall radiating around her like an aura, and deepening the impact of the moment. When Ian makes eye contact, it feels as if the air gets immediately sucked out of the room, leaving him desperate for oxygen. He takes a step back before even realizing what it will say about his frame of mind.
Ella. She looks ethereal, angelic even, if angels wore killer heels. Her hair has gotten much longer, the soft waves cascade well past her shoulder blades, nearly to her waist. She’s wearing fitted black pants that highlight some of her best attributes, and a silver silk camisole, over which she has on a mesh silver sweater, open so it covers only her arms. A belt with a huge buckle sits low on her hips—as do the pants—matching her sterling jewelry that catches teasing glints from the lamplight, and her shoes are black patent leather fuck-me stilettos. The phrase dressed to kill springs to mind and he smiles slowly.
He forces himself to stand still and wait for her to come to him, all the while his eyes drinking in every ounce of her. Yes, she looks different: more confident, a bit older, even thinner. But she also looks the same: sweet, unpretentious, and possibly… terrified.
Good.
He holds out his hand as she approaches. “Ariel. I’m pleased to see you.”
“Ian.” She places her hand in his and pulls it back just as quickly.
“Please, have a seat.” He holds out her chair as she sits and then returns to his own. “You look beautiful. I hope all is well with you… apart from our little situation?”
She nods, taking a few moments to appraise the man in front of her. He’s as handsome as she remembered—more handsome than the picture stubbornly residing in her memory: the impossibly strong jaw, straight nose, mercurial eyes, long lashes, and gracefully arched brows. Oh, and that illicitly sensual mouth. The things he could do with that mouth. Naturally, everything is in proportion and topped by a headful of lustrous hair. She wouldn’t even think about the body underneath his custom-tailored clothing. For Ella, that was wading into treacherous waters since she could barely resist him physically without even going there.