Q smirked. "Good girl. Knew you'd come around to giving me what I want eventually."
I couldn't make eye contact. I wasn't ready. And I both loved and hated the panic he'd instilled-which would remain the rest of the dinner-knowing what awaited the moment he got me back to the room.
Needing to change the subject, hoping he'd forget all about it, I muttered, "The hotel-you keep a long standing room there? Why?"
Q blinked, taking a sip of whiskey. "I had a lot of business dealings in Italy last year. We expanded rather heavily into the Italian market, and I needed to oversee a few … complications." His jaw ticked; he tried to hide it by swallowing another mouthful of alcohol.
"By complications … you mean girls?" I kept my voice low, looking around the restaurant. The beauty of the booths bordering the perimeter meant no one looked directly at us and were too far away to eavesdrop.
It didn't stop Q from never relaxing or glaring at the waiters as if they were assassins.
His face tightened, but he nodded.
"How many?"
"Four last year-before I met you." He took another swallow, before placing the heavy glass on the table. "Je ne veux pas en parler." I don't want to talk about it. Running a hand through his hair, he added, "We're on a date-not talking business. So, tell me. What have I been missing out on by not putting myself on the market."
I smiled, appreciating his attempt at humour. "Well, there's things like sweaty handholding, nervous laughs, endless awkward silences. The very first kiss where our noses bump and-" Brax popped into my head. Everything I'd listed, I'd done with him. The giggles, the forehead bashing as we went for our first kiss. Why the hell am I thinking about him?
That was in the past. I didn't want to do any of that with Q. However … "And of course the generic list of questions." That I wouldn't mind indulging. I wanted to know more about Q-I wanted to know everything.
"Generic list?"
"Yes, you know. The how old are you? What do you do for a living? Do you want kids? That sort of thing." I took a sip, cursing my thudding heart. Such innocent questions but rather large milestones we hadn't talked about. Especially the last one.
Q sat back, collecting his glass to nurse the amber liquid. His lips twitched. "Okay … I'm twenty-nine. My birthday is the eighteenth of December-which makes my star-sign-fuck, I don't know." He took a sip. "I run my own company, which you now part own, and yes eventually, I think I do."
My heart flopped out of my chest and into my martini glass. An image of a miniature version of Q came from nowhere. I'd never thought of having children. Never entertained the idea of being responsible for another human being-let alone one created by the man who I'd grow old with. But … wow …
Q's eyelids lowered to half-mast. "That's only a recent development. I swore I'd never have something so vulnerable in this sick and twisted world. But-since meeting you … I have this crazy need to make you immortal."
I couldn't breathe.
"But at the same time, I don't want a little girl-I would drive myself insane-I've seen too much shit happen, and I'd have a heart attack trying to keep her safe."
My heart wouldn't stop clanging. I never thought Q would want children. Never in a million years. Dammit, now I couldn't get the image of a little girl running after Q, with long dark hair, surrounded by sparrows and other winged creatures.
I swallowed hard, taking a gulp of the lychee alcohol. I flailed around, trying to think of a change of subject. "Um, I think that makes you a Sagittarius." Oh, God. I wanted to slap myself. What a ridiculous thing to say after the man I was in love with admitted to a commitment bigger than marriage, more life-changing than even nine billion dollars. Children!
Q narrowed his eyes. "I see two things make you nervous: what I'm going to do to you tonight, and talking about any offspring we may or may not have." He ran a finger over his bottom lip. "After all, we do need an heir to take over our company. Can't rely on Frederick to propagate-I think that man shoots blanks."
I wanted to laugh.
But all I could focus on was ours.
Our company.
Our children.
No longer mine, and his, and separation.
Together.
Ours.
The waiter appeared with a groaning tray of food. I leaned away, throwing back the rest of my drink, silently thanking the intrusion. I needed time to think. To pull myself together.
Plates of delicatessen hors d'oeuvres, salads, gourmet breads, dips, gnocchi, prawns in ravioli, lobster fettuccine, tiny lasagnes, and feta wrapped with aubergine decorated the table.